TESTING Kuno's Junkyard

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GAMMA ONE
A SPACE ODYSSEY




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Eget est lorem ipsum dolor. Sed cras ornare arcu dui. Felis donec et odio pellentesque diam. Euismod in pellentesque massa placerat duis ultricies. At ultrices mi tempus imperdiet. Adipiscing elit pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et. Tellus mauris a diam maecenas sed. Ut morbi tincidunt augue interdum velit euismod. Enim facilisis gravida neque convallis a cras semper. Enim sed faucibus turpis in eu mi bibendum. Posuere sollicitudin aliquam ultrices sagittis. Aliquam malesuada bibendum arcu vitae elementum curabitur vitae nunc.

Semper eget duis at tellus at urna condimentum. Adipiscing enim eu turpis egestas pretium. Diam maecenas ultricies mi eget mauris. Maecenas volutpat blandit aliquam etiam erat velit. Urna et pharetra pharetra massa massa. Nisl purus in mollis nunc sed id semper. Et tortor consequat id porta nibh. Vulputate mi sit amet mauris commodo quis imperdiet massa tincidunt. Mattis vulputate enim nulla aliquet porttitor lacus luctus accumsan. Morbi tincidunt ornare massa eget egestas purus. Nisi est sit amet facilisis magna etiam tempor. Et ultrices neque ornare aenean euismod elementum nisi quis eleifend.




 
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P E A C H E S


O V E R V I E W


Name: Ona Sumford
Nickname: Peaches
Age: 29
Role: Interceptor

Appearance:

War defines her. Resting roughly at 5’8”, Peaches is small compared to her male cohorts, but more than makes up for it in athletic capabilities. Her body is in peak physical condition; slim, but hardy, more than capable of bearing the brunt of her gear and Void’s hostile environment. Battle scars from before the Scorching and after linger, from the various burn marks on her chest and neck to the long scar running down her cheek from her eye. Her skin is uneven and rough; away from Earth and all its amenities, she no longer has the luxury of maintaining anything but basic self-care. Sleepless nights keep her under-eyes permanently blemished. Grey eyes bore out tiredly from below unkempt brows. Her dirty blonde hair is kept at shoulder length and slicked back for better autonomy in her helmet.



P E R S O N A L


Personality:

A general apathetic aura hangs over the Interceptor. Almost always taciturn, Peaches’ muted reactions to daily events marks her as someone unphased--and perhaps uncaring--towards anything. One could mistake her dullness for a lack of passion for life. In reality, the habitually droll expression on her face masks a brilliant mind beneath. The young woman is keenly aware of all that goes around her. Nothing escapes her eye; it is merely processed and tucked away in her memory, perhaps to be pulled out at a later time. Her intellect combined with her long-suffering patience well-equip her for her mode of military service. Having been intelligent since childhood, a sense of perfectionism has also followed her into adulthood. She is meticulous in all her work and focused to a fault. Failure is not in her D.N.A., and her greatest curse is the inability to let a mistake rest without doing all she can to fix it.

Backstory:

Ona Sumford didn't have much growing up. Born to a single mother in Georgia, U.S.A., she learned to live life simplistically, never having quite as much as the other children in her class. She was an exceptionally gifted student, but she began to show a severe lack of interest in her studies and a general apathy as she got older. She remained stagnant intellectually and emotionally for quite some time, much to the dismay of her mother and school counselors. By the time she reached her senior year, her mother was at her wit's end with her. At her mother's urging, she began to focus on preparing for college. But her mind always seemed to be on anything but school.

Predictably, things did not last. A year was all she gave to college. Sometime in her sophomore year, Ona abruptly dropped out of school and enlisted in the army. She was an unforgettable character at her training camp. "Peaches" was the moniker her platoon gave her. Their commanding officer often teased--and flirted--with her, saying that she was "sweet as pie" despite her constant stoicism. That, and her Southern twang was what spawned the nickname that would follow her all the way until the present. Her silly title did not distract higher-ups from her deadly talents. Much like in school, Peaches was a quick study, and she proved to be surprisingly adaptable in the many simulated tests they gave her. Seeing her potential, U.S.E. officials made her first assignment protecting the fledgling colony on Europa from hostile fauna.

She spent two years there before being promoted to the recon division on Void, where the turmoil between Voidants and U.S.E. leadership grew worse by the day. Her mission was to track down pockets of rebel meetings and bring in their innumerable leaders, a task she performed with brutal efficiency. When the Scorching came, miscommunication from her C.O. caused her to miss the commlink warning. Peaches doesn't remember how she was found. She had just barely reached the safe zone when the atmosphere ignited, causing her to catch some feedback from the explosion. Her teammates were forced to drag her to safety, just in the nick of time.

U.S.E.'s response was sympathetic, though less than apologetic. Deeming her injuries "minor enough" to continue on, they offered her a deal: aid the Interceptors in wiping out the pockets of survivors on Zoid, and thereafter be returned to Earth for healing and extended shore leave. Peaches inevitably accepted. She was then attached to a breacher squad commanded by Cpt. Alexander Brodrick as a scout and sniper, where she has served for the last two years;


A B I L I T I E S


Skills:

Peaches is known as one of the best hunters in her field. Considered the “bloodhound” of her squad, she is incredibly adept at picking up Voidant trails and tracking them down. Her enhanced endurance and speed allows her to pursue a target relentlessly with little to no rest, her versatility in open environments allowing her to spend long sessions out on the surface world. Like any soldier, she possesses average melee skills. More importantly, she is an excellent long distance shot, making her incredibly dangerous for any Voidants out in clear areas. When needed, she is utilized to scout ahead of a breacher squad and provide a safe opening into a Voidant stronghold.

Weaknesses:

Peaches is a perpetual insomniac. Consumed by the dangers of war, her mind never rests, paranoia keeping her eyes open until the early hours of the day. Sometimes she’s able to relax long enough to catch an hour or two, but most of her energy is replenished with Nacs and short naps throughout the day. Her fatigue can affect her emotions. When she is exceptionally tired, she can hardly focus and is prone to erratic behavior.

A brutal injury left her vocal cords damaged beyond healing. Her vocal range is now severely limited, unable to go louder than a low, husky speaking tone. Should a crisis occur out in the field, she would be unable to convey an emergency through commlink without difficulty, if at all. Any rapport given to fellow Interceptors is minimum and kept on a need-to-know basis.

Personal Motive:

Zoid is anything but home. Peaches detests everything about the planet, from its deathly environment to its squalid buildings to the wretched natives who scurry across its surface, Voidants who she derisively refers to as moles. Strong memories of the peace on Earth contrast sharply with her current living conditions, and she is desperate to return home as soon as possible. It is the main driving force behind her purge of Zoid.



G E A R


Equipment:

Peaches’ power suit is built primarily for stealth and versatility. Weighing 20 pounds less than the standard breacher gear, her armor sacrifices some of the extensive defensive capabilities other suits have for speed and better mobility of her body. The thickest plates of armor are situated over vital organs in the head, chest, and abdomen, with a lighter material covering her legs and arms. The suit can sustain a limited amount of small-arms fire but, unlike some more durable tech, will provide little relief against heavy artillery. Advanced grip pads are placed on the soles of her boots and the palms of her hands to allow for better climbing. Because less power is devoted to reinforcing the armor, more can be supplied to other amenities. Peaches’ suit is equipped with an advanced camouflaging system that is referred to as “Ghosting”: the complete blending in of her body with the surrounding flora, making her virtually invisible. Limitations on this feature are that it drains power quickly, so she must be frugal when putting it to use.

Other unique amenities include short-distance propulsion jets attached to her shoulders and an additional internal oxygen supply, allowing her to spend an extended amount of time out in the field. Her weaponry mainly caters to long-range attacks, including an armor-piercing sniper rifle with blunt and implosive bullets available. A separate attachment she refers to as “Big Boy” gives the rifle status as heavy artillery; the two, single-shots loaded are explosive, and can be readily used to destroy large structures. If forced to fight in close quarters, Peaches is equipped with a large baton stun gun and a small pistol.

Supplies:
  • 2 EMP charges
  • Standard commlink
  • 4 days worth of oxygen
  • 2 days worth of food/water
  • 2 flash grenades
  • 2 fragmentation grenades
  • 1 medkit and rapid seal-gel
  • 4 catridges for primary weapon only
  • 1 extra "Big Boy" charge
  • Beacon*
  • 12 Nacs*
Nacs - Black market tablets that give her boosted energy for a short length of time. They are not government issue, but her U.S.E. doctors turn a blind eye towards use of it, so long as she maintains her proficiency.

Beacon - An implanted device in her helmet to signal to breachers where a Zoidant refuge is. An emergency feature that is attached in case of an ambush or if commlinks are down



SAIL - AWOLNATION ​



P E A C H E S



Time: 03:00 | Location: Keplica Recreation Hall

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Mi eget mauris pharetra et. Hendrerit gravida rutrum quisque non tellus. Dapibus ultrices in iaculis nunc sed augue. Ullamcorper malesuada proin libero nunc consequat interdum. Venenatis tellus in metus vulputate eu scelerisque. Feugiat vivamus at augue eget arcu dictum varius duis. Congue eu consequat ac felis donec et odio. Et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas integer eget. Viverra adipiscing at in tellus integer feugiat scelerisque varius morbi.

Eget est lorem ipsum dolor. Sed cras ornare arcu dui. Felis donec et odio pellentesque diam. Euismod in pellentesque massa placerat duis ultricies. At ultrices mi tempus imperdiet. Adipiscing elit pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et. Tellus mauris a diam maecenas sed. Ut morbi tincidunt augue interdum velit euismod. Enim facilisis gravida neque convallis a cras semper. Enim sed faucibus turpis in eu mi bibendum. Posuere sollicitudin aliquam ultrices sagittis. Aliquam malesuada bibendum arcu vitae elementum curabitur vitae nunc.

Semper eget duis at tellus at urna condimentum. Adipiscing enim eu turpis egestas pretium. Diam maecenas ultricies mi eget mauris. Maecenas volutpat blandit aliquam etiam erat velit. Urna et pharetra pharetra massa massa. Nisl purus in mollis nunc sed id semper. Et tortor consequat id porta nibh. Vulputate mi sit amet mauris commodo quis imperdiet massa tincidunt. Mattis vulputate enim nulla aliquet porttitor lacus luctus accumsan. Morbi tincidunt ornare massa eget egestas purus. Nisi est sit amet facilisis magna etiam tempor. Et ultrices neque ornare aenean euismod elementum nisi quis eleifend.

 
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GALACTIC DNA
CHARACTER CREATION


"What's a Gamma Baby without a mother?" - an unknown colonist's unsuccessful pick-up line to his well-endowed bartender

Gamma One isn't simply the domination of the human race over a cluster of planetary bodies. It is a vibrant, gorgeous diaspora of intermingled celestial beings scattered across each world like dandelion seeds in the wind. While Terrans were the first to come, they were certainly not the last nor the greatest. Each race has contributed to the intricate web that ties the Gamma Babies together, though it hasn't been all peaceful. While the Tribunal has done some good in maintaining the status quo, power in the wrong hands can still corrupt. But war, like tempers, ebbs and flows and - with the right laser gun - is killed entirely.

Let's take a peek at the genetic make-up of Gamma One.


THE GAMMA BABIES


  • Affectionately dubbed "Gamma Babies" due to the star system becoming each of their safe havens, the four main races that dwell within Gamma's planets are the Terrans, Wohduns, Ramites, and the A'noi.

    Terrans

    Unlike the other races, these are a people with neither recorded history nor ties to a world beyond the borders of Gamma One. This, couple with their race being the "pioneering" nation to discover Gamma One has given them the title of the original or true Gamma Babies.




















 
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GAMMA ONE
A SPACE ODYSSEY


A man can remake himself among the stars. Where space knows no bounds, so, too, does life’s will grow in leaps and bounds and strides. The expansion of mankind into the Gamma star system has paved the way for a brand new sort of western frontier. Laws are as strong as the guns upholding them, and in this bright, roaring Neon Age, anything is possible with the right ship and attitude.

All that’s left to decide is what kind of Gamma Baby you want to be.

—----------------------------​

Welcome to Gamma One, a roleplay realm that will take players throughout the titular star system somewhere far, far away from the little old Milky Way. Here in the Gamma system, space knows few constraints. Both Terran and Native life thrives on the cluster of planets scattered throughout the cosmos, but watch as pirates and officers and colonists alike jostle for space and just an all around good time amongst the stars. There will be faction battles; there will be space battles! And for enterprising minds, there will even be side stories to explore. Adventure is at the forefront of this cosmic saga, for both the player and their character!

Realm architecture will be that of a purely open world, player run endeavor supplemented by realm subplots and mysteries. While this is a sci-fi setting, it is not meant to be wholly dark; comedic, light-hearted tones are highly encouraged and will be implemented throughout most of the world-building. Players are more than welcome to “take to the stars” and see where their adventures lead them!

After all - anything is possible in space.

 
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THE STORY BEGINS
HISTORY & SETTING


Nobody remembers when the first Terrans came to Gamma One. The pre-Neon Era space vessels from the Milky Way were massive, clunky relics that barely survived the 200,000 light year journey from Earth, and the pioneering Terrans who managed to wake up alive from cryo sleep were dismayed to find their data logs fried to bits. Historians estimate that it was around the same time the Wohduns, fleeing the genocide of a conquering race on their home planet, emerged at the outer rim of the galaxy. It would take them a decade to reach the freshly colonized city of Sarva, and together the Gamma transplants transformed the wild planet of Terra into a veritable hub of trade, commerce, and civility.

The Terrans were never able to get in touch with their home planet, and over time their history on it before Gamma One was forgotten, their new reality settling into their bones and DNA with every passing of the alien star. Earth has become mythologized in their history logs, and the fanciful talk of more Gamma Babies arriving upon the edge of the cosmos lingers just long enough in one's mind for all Terrans to keep one eye constantly on the past and the other on the future. In time, more nations and clans came seeking refuge amongst Gamma One's embrace: first the war-hungry Ramites, and next the A'noi, each race finding their niche amongst the growing constellation of Gamma's denizens. With the latest advent of Artificial Intelligence to count within its ranks, the star system has never been more of a wondrous - if not tempestuous - cosmic melting pot.

Our story will be told in star system Gamma One, which spans five planets to date and four main satellite locations or space stations. The time in history is currently the Neon Era. Think big, bright, and bold- the somber notes of colonial rule has fallen to the gaudy showmanship of the modern day Spacer.

 
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Amélie


Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Mi eget mauris pharetra et. Hendrerit gravida rutrum quisque non tellus. Dapibus ultrices in iaculis nunc sed augue. Ullamcorper malesuada proin libero nunc consequat interdum. Venenatis tellus in metus vulputate eu scelerisque. Feugiat vivamus at augue eget arcu dictum varius duis. Congue eu consequat ac felis donec et odio. Et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas integer eget. Viverra adipiscing at in tellus integer feugiat scelerisque varius morbi.

Eget est lorem ipsum dolor. Sed cras ornare arcu dui. Felis donec et odio pellentesque diam. Euismod in pellentesque massa placerat duis ultricies. At ultrices mi tempus imperdiet. Adipiscing elit pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et. Tellus mauris a diam maecenas sed. Ut morbi tincidunt augue interdum velit euismod. Enim facilisis gravida neque convallis a cras semper. Enim sed faucibus turpis in eu mi bibendum. Posuere sollicitudin aliquam ultrices sagittis. Aliquam malesuada bibendum arcu vitae elementum curabitur vitae nunc.

Semper eget duis at tellus at urna condimentum. Adipiscing enim eu turpis egestas pretium. Diam maecenas ultricies mi eget mauris. Maecenas volutpat blandit aliquam etiam erat velit. Urna et pharetra pharetra massa massa. Nisl purus in mollis nunc sed id semper. Et tortor consequat id porta nibh. Vulputate mi sit amet mauris commodo quis imperdiet massa tincidunt. Mattis vulputate enim nulla aliquet porttitor lacus luctus accumsan. Morbi tincidunt ornare massa eget egestas purus. Nisi est sit amet facilisis magna etiam tempor. Et ultrices neque ornare aenean euismod elementum nisi quis eleifend.
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Ren
Caretaker | 16
Name:

Ren

Nickname:

Kid, Son

Race:

Asian-American

Age:

16

Home Territory:

Graceland

Profession:

Hired Hand

Description:


Saddled with a mediocre height of 5 ft 8 in, the young man does not strike anyone as an immediate physical threat. Much like his avian namesake, Ren is thin and delicately formed, a few pounds shy of a healthy weight. There is a softness to his overall appearance that belies a sharp mind. His eyes, almond in shape, black in color, are rimmed with lashes, brilliantly filled with life as they look out upon the world. In more ways than one, he has his mother's face, misleadingly feminine save for a squared jaw. He is more pretty than handsome, and it irks him. There was a time when he used to wear his hair long, but in a recent period of self-awareness, Ren has gone to clipping his hair to just below the ears.

There is no shortage to the clothes Ren can wear. It is a novelty to have clothes that actually fit; in the meantime, Ren has done well with whatever clothes he manages to squirrel away. A needle and thread have done wonders for many a worn pair jeans or shirt, and he is not bothered in the least if they hang off his small frame like rags on a scarecrow. Shoes are the only thing the teen is particular about. They must fit.

Personality:


There is an intrinsic friendliness to Ren’s overall person that makes him quite likeable by others. Aside from his youthful optimism, he draws on his own troubled beginnings to treat community members with kindness and empathy, notably compassionate for one so young. It is easy for him to become invested in other’s lives; though he would not personally consider himself nosy, he does try his best to help out, even if his efforts are ultimately rebuffed by the recipient. Curiosity spurs most of his actions; he is inquisitive, to a degree that has gotten him into trouble once or twice. He is drawn to knowledge of the old world like a moth to the flame. A few times his wings have become singed, and he’d retreat, only to return some time later, ever incorrigible.

His age reflects poorly on him in other aspects. Though not as gullible as a younger child, Ren struggles to discern truth from fiction and as such often takes things said at face value. While he does not appear to be, he is sensitive in more ways than he would like to the thoughts and opinions of others. As he grapples to find a sense of identity, his mood can be volatile at times, an unfortunate after effect of his own self-reckoning. It does not help that Ren continues to internalize this ongoing battle. This is one battle he believes he must face alone.

Bio:


For Ren, there are no memories of a world before the undead. He was only one years old when society collapsed, and his mother, barely 21, was determined to fight tooth and nail to keep them alive. Even if it meant isolating them from other survivors. His early childhood was a large muddling of constant travel, cold meals, and a pervading silence as he was often urged to remain quiet for reasons unknown to his young mind. He did not see much of the decaying landscape. Much of the brutality surrounding him escaped his view, as his mother tried her hardest to preserve his innocence. To this day, he can not fully remember her face. He can only picture her smile: fleeting, wan, something that came and went in the few moments they shared as a family.

Their life alone was not meant to last. It ultimately came to an end when, while exploring an abandoned farmhouse, a Newborn zombie set upon his mother. As it just so happened, there were two bullets left in his mother’s gun. The first bullet was used to dispatch the Newborn as it drove its teeth into her arm. A minute and a half passed, his mother locked in rigid contemplation. The second bullet then followed, blowing out the back of his mother’s head. The blood and bits splattered distinctly against the wall, like a colorized Rorschach test. Ren was only six years old.

He does not remember much of what happened next. Ten or so days later he recalls sifting through trash on the road for food when a man emerged from the gloom, a warm disposition about him. The man saved him from certain death; Ren would later come to know him as Benjamin Crane, a kind doctor who took the boy with him back to Graceland. From then on, the two were inseparable, Ren laying claim to one who quickly became a beloved father figure to him. Where the good doctor went, Ren went. In time, the boy flourished under the man’s care, the traumas of his past ebbing away as he embraced his new life. Opportunities to better himself came as he began to branch out to other members of the community. Many of the older members taught him rudimentary skills in various practices. As such, he was able to keep busy, splitting his time between assisting the doctor and performing random odd-jobs throughout town.

Life was as peaceful as it could possibly be...up until the tragic abduction of Minh Lee. Now Ren is on a mission to help find him, and he will do whatever it takes to bring his friend back home.

Pack:


By survivalist standards, Ren is a hoarder. His black hiking backpack is large, and he makes full use of it on his travels, cramming it to the point of bursting with knick knacks and useless oddities he'd like to bring home to Graceland. At present, after emptying most of his junk at home, most of the space is filled with bare necessities. That is not to say that a few frivolous items have not stuck their way in. His supply list is as follows:
  • Two collapsible water canteens
  • 1 Liter Portable water filter
  • Slingshot
  • Pouch with 12 smooth pebbles
  • Rain poncho
  • Space blanket
  • Hand-powered flashlight
  • Small, red tent for two
  • 3 needles and 6 ft of thread
  • A half bottle of gorilla glue
  • Swiss army knife
  • Small compass with cracked screen
  • Over-sized red scarf
  • One set of spare clothes
  • Five days rations of food
  • Two sticks of beef jerky
Useless items that he keeps solely for selfish reasons are: a rubber bouncy ball, a small sketchbook and pencil, a small palm-sized mirror, a set of playing cards, and a water damaged copy of YA novel The Hunger Games. In the front pocket of his pack rests an intricately designed flower hair clip, the red bloom of the metal petals having turned a faint brown. He never wears it.

Skills:

  • Scout - Ren is the ideal person to send ahead to scope out an area. His triple threat qualities - small, quick, and silent - allow him to move about virtually unseen through abandoned homes and unexplored territories.
  • Sharpshooter - He learned how to shoot at the age of 12 and is keen to practice whenever the opportunity arises. His more obnoxious mode of target practice is with his trusty slingshot. Unfortunately, the boy is prone to take aim at whatever comes his way, including more than a few hats off unsuspecting passerby.
  • Caretaker - A nurturing soul, much like his guardian, Ren is built to take care of other's needs. He can manage to cook most anything, as well as bandage and clean wounds, take vital signs, and tend to the physical state of ailing ones.

Strengths:

  • Whippersnapper - Youth is on his side. He has a young, sturdy body with all the energy, stamina, and endurance that comes along with it. He also has a sharp mind and does not easily forget things.
  • Runner - The teen is incredibly fast, quick and nimble in a way most zombies - or people, for that matter - can't keep up with, lest they tire themselves out.
  • Malleable - Ren is adaptive. He is both eager to learn and make needed adjustments along the way. He picks up skills more quickly than some of his older contemporaries.

Weaknesses:

  • Mother Nature - He is currently in the throes of puberty, and it is not doing wonders for his emotions. That, combined with his continued repression of childhood memories, leaves him particularly sensitive.
  • Young, Dumb & Broke - Relatively sheltered and young, Ren does not have the insight and sound judgement of others around him. His naivete puts him in a vulnerable position.
  • Paci-fist - No hand to hand combat skills whatsoever. He is utterly useless in a brawl.

Romanceable:

Wait right there, I'm calling the authorities.

Art:
Credit to ARTIST
 
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BOUNTY HUNTERS ATTENTION
WANTED
☞ DEAD OR ALIVE ☜

"Na Zhao"
★ CASH REWARD ★
★ PERSONALITY ★
Perhaps the best word to describe Na is pensive. She is a woman given to deep introspection, though that is not to say she is humorless or lacks joy. Merely, she thinks long and hard about things in her life, be they cause for great suffering or great wonder. She is perceptive, industrious, and most importantly minds her own business. There is little by way of adventurousness in her, preferring to take the longer road, if it means for certain it leads to its intended destination. She is possessed of a great compassion, however, and she will break that usual caution if it is in service to another. Otherwise, she is an elegant and stately woman, despite the fact she has little to her name. However, she does hold long grudges, and her distrust is not something quickly dispelled. Men - white men especially - are targets for her discomfort, and while she is quiet and prefers not to interfere, she makes her misgivings clear when dealing with those of the male persuasion.

★ BIOGRAPHY ★
She does not remember her mother. She remembers a boat, her father hiding her in a basket, and a long, long trip. After what seemed like an eternity, her and her father landed on a shore foreign to anything she truly knew. With what little he had brought with them, they journeyed on foot first through this new land he called 'America'. For a while they were merely itinerant, her father finding odd jobs, but eventually they landed in a valley of other gold prospectors when Na was around eleven or twelve. It was here she would stay - and here that she would see her father for the last time.

Na grew and grew into a beautiful young lady at the edge of the gorge that served as her father's bread and butter. She learned from him the process of finding gold, smelting it, and selling it, as well as learning traditional medicine from the women who lived alongside the river around them. While her father inducted her into living in this new world, the women of the river reconnected her to the old one, back home in China, in Guangdong, a place she could just hardly remember herself. Na was not the cautious woman she would come to be. That was brought about when she was nineteen years old.

Unable to find someone her own age to marry who was suitable, she was soon impressed and taken by a young man by the name of Walter Clay, a hunter. Her father was leery of him and his fast-talking ways, and he forbade his daughter to have anything to do with the young trapper. However, in defiance, she continued to meet him in secret. Together they hatched a plan - dissatisfied with life here, she would go into the city with Clay and some gold she would take from her and her father's stash to get married and start a new life. After all - she had found it, hadn't she?

The plan worked smoothly. Under cover of night, they fled as young lovers, riding far into the night on his horse to a city. Clay promised the next morning they would be wed as soon as they had cash for the gold. They celebrated their nuptials prematurely, her certain in his fidelity. But come morning, he had fled, and the gold and horses with him. She had been deserted in an alien city, without a penny to her name, with not even her virginity to call her own.

Even had she the ability to go back home, she knew she could not. The community would ostracize her, disgusted and disappointed in her lack of filial piety, in her willingness to throw away her most precious asset, and in her eagerness to toss wisdom from her doorstep. She quickly tried to find other kinsmen to work for, managing to throw herself at the mercy of an widow running a laundry business. It was here she learned the art of Chinese medicine, as well as working her fingers to the bone. She was an unkind woman, but she knew much, and Na bowed under her tutelage until she had the money to buy herself a horse and leave the city almost ten years after she had arrived.

Over the years, she offered different.... services. She has become something of a jack of all trades, though she now possesses a cart and two horses, rather than just the one. And seeing the letters inviting prospective homesteaders to come settle in Highlawn, she jumped on the chance to finally get back a little of that idyllic time living with her father beside a creek, when all she worried about was tomorrow's breakfast and today's panning.

★ WORK EXPERIENCE ★
Na has worked as many different things. She was once a gold prospector with her father and their community of Chinese panhandlers. Together, they had quite a lot of gold, and she learned the process of turning it into nuggets for later sale. She also learned how to discern whether others are trying to trick her out of her due cost, keeping track of the daily prices of gold and other goods. While a laundrywoman, she worked hard, but her biggest asset was the callouses on her hands from steeping them in boiling water and the muscles in her back from lifting tons of clothing. And her time with Mae Chiang gave her acupuncture, massage, and traditional brews, as well as the I-Ching, Chinese fortunetelling. She has other skills besides - less savory, less genteel. She speaks not of this portion of her life, and she never plans to use those skills again, in the dark streets at night waiting for men the way a fisherman casts a net for fish. She is also a gardener and horticulturist, growing many obscure plants for medicinal and culinary purposes.

★ SKILLS★
The diminutive Chinese woman is surprisingly strong for her size, given a life of hard, menial labor. She is familiar with guns, though she has never owned one or shot at a living thing. Her gold panning skills have left her with good eyes for detail as well as a wealth of metallurgical knowledge, such as telling the purity and cost of certain jewelry or gold nuggets by feel alone, though with so much time gone much of this knowledge has eroded.

Her knowledge of human anatomy is somewhat extensive given her abilities with acupuncture, but she is more well-versed in Chinese traditional medicine than in Western. That said, she does not lose her head around blood, and she has helped deliver quite a few children by this point, both by profession and through necessity.

Her knowledge of both native and Chinese horticulture also plays into her traditional medic abilities, as well as her ability to cook with what is on hand. She has also learned, purely by association with others, how to use other plants in the area as medicine as well, such as willow for fever and yarrow for bleeding.



@Doctor Jax
 
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REALM EXPECTATIONS
Q & A


What are the realm rules?
  • All Iwaku site rules apply to this realm.
  • Reading the entirety of the lore is not mandatory. However, it serves as the foundation of our realm, and character forms that violate the integrity of the lore will be rejected.
  • Only art images are allowed for GM-run story arcs. Players who choose to run their own side stories may determine pics at their own discretion.
  • Characters must be posted for at a minimum biweekly in GM-run rps. If I do not hear from you after two posting periods (four weeks), you will be ejected from the rp.
  • Initial character applications must be approved by me. After that, players are free to post as many characters as they like on the same character thread. Only character threads that have been rejected will be archived.

Are players allowed to create their own lore?

Absolutely! I'll provide the framework lore for the realm, but players are more than welcome to introduce new elements into the mayhem. After all - there's a whole star system out there to explore. Who knows what you'll find?

What will be the realm set-up?

Ideally, I envision this realm to be largely a sandbox for players with very little GM (a.k.a. me) dominated storylines. I will provide both locations and subplots for players to explore. The rest will be on player initiative!

What's the secret formula for the Krabby Patty?

*cuts to a commercial break*
 
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TREMAINE

Name: Tremaine Martin
Nickname: Tre
Date of Birth: July 1st, 1999
Age: 21

Physical Description:

Barely on the cusp of adulthood, Tremaine’s physicality resides in the ambiguous area that so many of his age and race belong to. He can appear, on any given day, to be anywhere from his mid teens to late 20s. His facial features, though handsome, are rather lifeless in person, like a still painting infused with a human conscience. His eyes are often dull and half-lidded in a perpetual state of boredom.

Despite his innate laziness, Tremaine manages to maintain an impressive build. Just under six feet in height, the young male is of a fit physique, his muscles typically buried under sportswear, hoodies, and whatever else requires minimum work to coordinate. He does not walk - he shuffles. When he speaks, he at times falls into the bad habit of mumbling, and the slow, heavy drawl of northern Georgia is a constant accompaniment.

Glow color: Goldenrod | #DAA520

Category: Espionage
Power: Perceptive Amnesia

Power Description:

His gift entails causing another individual to lose memory of him after looking away. In its basest form, it gives him a cloak of anonymity. Subjects will find him utterly unremarkable and quickly disregard his presence, allowing him to fade into the background. When questioned later, they will find themselves unable to recall his features or what he said to them. When applied against one specific target, Tremaine can cause them to forget him entirely. Their mind will be wiped of the encounter the moment they turn away. With varied focus and exertion, this can also extend to injury he causes another person, though the evidence of his actions will remain. When effectively used, he can remain entirely imperceptible.

With all abilities, his power has its limitations. Perceptive amnesia has no bearing on surveillance equipment, and as such he can still be picked up on recording devices. The power to be forgotten becomes less potent as more subjects watch him. He is working at the ability to control larger crowds and for longer periods of times.

Personality:

Tremaine exudes a blase, perpetually unimpressed attitude. His daily mantra is not to give a f*ck, and for the most part he succeeds, maintaining a dry and unenthused reaction to most things. It can't be helped; forced to grow up quickly, Tremaine presents himself with a "seen it all, done it all" confidence. Unchecked, this at times leads to a cocky attitude. Conditioned to be independent, he tends to rely too heavily on his abilities and does not like asking for help.

Brief Pre-History:

Life in Atlanta tended to move fast.

Tremaine's mother couldn't handle raising him. Barely sixteen, she was just shy of a baby herself. She couldn't bear missing out on her fleeting youth; by the time Tremaine was old enough to talk, she was off, enjoying the vibrant city clubs every other night. Tremaine got used to being alone. Folks tended to have a habit of forgetting to check in on him, and his own mother often dismissed the boy's presence. The boy became heavily reliant on his peers for company. Loneliness was a constant thorn in his side, and he found himself drawn to the wrong crowd.

At fourteen, his life took an unexpected turn when his father resurfaced in his life. His father attempted to rein in some control over the young boy, but by then he was too wild, too used to life on the streets and wrongdoing. Resentful towards his father's intervention, Tremaine was convinced by a "friend" to run away, and the two found themselves in the Big Easy. There, aided with Tremaine's abilities, the two made a profit robbing small-time stores and homes. After his friend was caught, Tremaine continued his nightly activities, determined to stay self-sufficient.

It was only a short time later, on the eve of his sixteenth birthday, when he ran into a man named Macintosh...

 
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PLAGUE



A final black death was upon the world, and its name was Armis.

Its origin remains unclear. Like most pandemics, it spread with seemingly little ease. Harmless at first, but soon evolving into something far more sinister - and lethal. By the time scientists developed a viable cure, millions had fallen to its wide-reaching arm. Millions more followed in the coming days, and in the wake of desperation and weakening social structures, anarchy loomed at the forefront.

The end days were upon them.

Panic swept through the nations. The modern nations swiftly closed down their borders, but it was too late. In a matter of months, countries dissolved into chaos as the diseased outnumbered the healthy, and in a desperate attempt to protect themselves, the healthy retreated behind the thick walls surrounding cities. Those who were unlucky enough to be left outside soon fell into vicious brutality in order to stay alive. As the world devolved into the throes of primordial savagery, humanity quickly learned nature’s first lesson.

Eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed.

Survival of the fittest.

The savages took what they had no right to; laying claim to both land and people alike, they ravaged the former U.S. in their violent wars for supplies and territory.

What was left of civility hunkered down within the main city bunkers and strongholds. Somewhere out there the shambles of government still functioned, though it was anyone’s guess who was at the helm anymore. Hope was a fleeting construct that came and went, and as former Americans continued to prey upon fellow men, a grim realization became clear.

America was dying. It needed a cure, and quickly.

The final issue from the president came to what was left of the U.S. Army soon after, and the message was clear, to both citizen and soldier alike:

Reclaim what was ours. Take back the country.

After all - we’re all that stands against the end of humanity.




GM NOTE:

The setting for this rp is the year 2021, roughly two years after Armis has ravaged the western hemisphere. As Reapers - hardened civilians joined with the remnants of the U.S. Army - your task is to reclaim U.S. territory by any means necessary, as well as cure any survivors found in your path. America will be brought back to its former glory - whether with its citizens cooperation or not. Some things to note:
  • 6-8 players will be accepted for this rp.
  • Posting requirement is weekly to biweekly.
  • Artwork will be required for character pictures.
  • No reserves will be accepted for slots.
In addition: The darker themes of post-war atrocities will potentially be explored during our journey. Topics such as murder, assault, torture, etc. may come up at some point in the rp, and I just want to warn anyone if that’s not your cup of tea.
 
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[accordion=bcenter|90%]{slide=[div=background-color:#000000;color:#ffffff;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]O V E R V I E W[/div]|center}[div=background-color:#ffffff;color:#000000;font-size:12px;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]
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[COLOR=black][B]Role:[/B][/COLOR] liek, what's ur career

[COLOR=black][B]Appearance:[/B][/COLOR]

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Anything else I should know about your character? Such as what equipment they have, supplies, etc.
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Name:
Nickname: (optional)
Age:
Role:

Appearance: (please provide a written description as well as an image)
Personality:
Background: (brief history. 3-5 paragraphs MAX)

Skills:
Weaknesses:
Other: Anything else I should know about your character? Such as what equipment they have, supplies, etc.

Theme Song:





P E A C H E S


O V E R V I E W


Name: Ona Sumford
Nickname: Peaches
Age: 29
Role: Squad Leader

Appearance:

War defines her. Resting roughly at 5’8”, Peaches is small compared to her male cohorts, but more than makes up for it in athletic capabilities. Her body is in peak physical condition; slim, but hardy, more than capable of bearing the brunt of her gear and New America’s hostile environment. Battle scars from before the pandemic and after linger, from the various burn marks on her chest and neck to the long scar running down her cheek from her eye. Her skin is uneven and rough; with little access to former beauty products, she no longer has the luxury of maintaining anything but basic self-care. Sleepless nights keep her under-eyes permanently blemished. Grey eyes bore out tiredly from below unkempt brows. Her dirty blonde hair is kept at shoulder length and slicked back for better autonomy in her helmet.



P E R S O N A L


Personality:

A general apathetic aura hangs over the Army captain. Almost always taciturn, Peaches’ muted reactions to daily events marks her as someone unphased--and perhaps uncaring--towards anything. One could mistake her dullness for a lack of passion for life. In reality, the habitually droll expression on her face masks a brilliant mind beneath. The young woman is keenly aware of all that goes around her. Nothing escapes her eye; it is merely processed and tucked away in her memory, perhaps to be pulled out at a later time. Her bone-dry sense of humor combined with her long-suffering patience well-equip her for her mode of military service. Having been deemed an intellectual prodigy since childhood, a sense of perfectionism has also followed her into adulthood. She is meticulous in all her work and focused to a fault. Failure is not in her D.N.A., and her greatest curse is the inability to let a mistake rest without doing all she can to fix it.

Backstory:

Ona Sumford didn't have much growing up. Born to a single mother in Georgia, U.S.A., she learned to live life simplistically, never having quite as much as the other children in her class. She was an exceptionally gifted student, but she began to show a severe lack of interest in her studies and a general apathy as she got older. She remained stagnant intellectually and emotionally for quite some time, much to the dismay of her mother and school counselors. By the time she reached her senior year, her mother was at her wit's end with her. At her mother's urging, she began to focus on preparing for college. But her mind always seemed to be on anything but school.

Predictably, things did not last. A year was all she gave to college. Sometime in her sophomore year, Ona abruptly dropped out of school and enlisted in the army. She was an unforgettable character at her training camp. "Peaches" was the moniker her platoon gave her. Their commanding officer often teased--and flirted--with her, saying that she was "sweet as pie" despite her constant stoicism. That, and her Southern twang was what spawned the nickname that would follow her all the way until the present. Her silly title did not distract higher-ups from her deadly talents. Much like in school, Peaches was a quick study, and she proved to be surprisingly adaptable in the many simulated tests they gave her. Seeing her potential, U.S. officials made her first assignment squashing a terrorist uprising in south Senegal.

Armis struck on her return to the U.S. two years later. As chaos wrenched the country apart, Peaches was forced to strike down many of her fellow Americans on the varied - and often, disjointed - orders feeding down from command. She was fortunate to be stationed in Springfield when the barricades were erected. In the birthplace of the Reaper Corps., she was elected to lead the first fledgling team on their initial assignments. The first few projects were wholly successful, though there were a few niches on the road - after a team member unwittingly caught Armis and attempted to kill her while alone together, it was decided that the role of First Officer would be essential. Peaches took a temporary leave of absence from the Corps. before returning some months ago, more committed to the Reaper mission than ever.


A B I L I T I E S


Skills:

Peaches is known as one of the best hunters in her field. Considered the “bloodhound” of her squad, she is incredibly adept at picking up target's trails and tracking them down. Her enhanced endurance and speed allows her to pursue a target relentlessly with little to no rest, her versatility in open environments allowing her to spend long sessions out on the field unhindered. Like any soldier, she possesses average melee skills. More importantly, she is an excellent long distance shot, making her incredibly dangerous for any enemies out in clear areas. When needed, she is utilized to scout ahead of her squad and provide a safe opening into the occasional Savage stronghold.

As captain, much of her combat duties fall over the direction and guidance of the skilled and unskilled Reapers within her squad. Though she regularly ventures out on field missions with her subordinates, it is expected that she delegate hands-on duties accordingly.

Weaknesses:

Peaches is a perpetual insomniac. Consumed by the dangers of war, her mind never rests, paranoia keeping her eyes open until the early hours of the day. Sometimes she’s able to relax long enough to catch an hour or two, but most of her energy is replenished with Nacs and short naps throughout the day. Her fatigue can affect her emotions. When she is exceptionally tired, she can hardly focus and is prone to erratic behavior.

A brutal injury left her vocal cords damaged beyond healing. Her vocal range is now severely limited, unable to go louder than a low, husky speaking tone. Should a crisis occur out in the field, she would be unable to convey an emergency through commlink without difficulty, if at all. Any rapport given to fellow Reapers is minimum and kept on a need-to-know basis.



G E A R


Equipment:

In addition to her main Reaper attire, her fatigues have a striped gold and red collar, as well as a gold crown insignia on the right side of her chest to identify her status in command. Her weaponry mainly caters to long-range attacks, including an armor-piercing sniper rifle with blunt and implosive bullets available. A separate attachment she refers to as “Big Boy” gives the rifle status as heavy artillery; the two, single-shots loaded are explosive, and can be readily used to destroy large structures. If forced to fight in close quarters, Peaches is equipped with a large baton stun gun and a small pistol.

Supplies:
  • 2 EMP charges
  • Standard commlink
  • 4 days worth of oxygen
  • 2 days worth of food/water
  • 2 flash grenades
  • 2 fragmentation grenades
  • 1 medkit and rapid seal-gel
  • 4 cartridges for primary weapon only
  • 1 extra "Big Boy" charge
  • Beacon*
  • 12 Nacs*
Nacs - Black market tablets that give her boosted energy for a short length of time. They are not government issue, but her military doctors turn a blind eye towards use of it so long as she maintains her proficiency.

Beacon - An implanted device in her helmet to signal to command her current position, as well as a call for aid from fellow Reapers. An emergency feature that is attached in case of an ambush or if commlinks are down.



SAIL - AWOLNATION ​

 
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  • Bucket of Rainbows
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NEW AMERICA


2021

Not much is left of the old society. Much of the world has succumbed to the plague, and what remains of the population have built tiny cities on the bones of the old. Surprisingly enough, the Internet remains available to those with access. Many have used it to try and find lost loved ones, although the instances of this strategy working out are almost nonexistent. Within the walls, these infant towns struggle to carry on life as it once was before. Over 80% of all major power sources were lost when mankind retreated behind city walls; thus, people-Americans especially-have resorted to using windmills and other natural sources of power. In order to conserve precious fuel for the campers, people no longer drive their vehicles. Properties previously used to sell cars have been converted into storage space for military supplies or turned into farm land for crops. As far as politics, every semblance of a village has seemed to elect some sort of governor of their own. It is currently of great debate whether or not to reinstate a president over the shambles of America. In other parts of the world, they have regressed back to ancient, native ways of living off the land. Some parts of the world have no survivors.

THE DISEASE

Definition: August 29th, 2013 was the first dated discovery of Armis. Named after the doctor who died from it, Armis is a highly contagious auto-immune disease spread as a viral infection. Although it is considerably dangerous, it is not recognized as lethal, due to the fact that it forces its victims to stay alive in a state paralleling a zombie-like condition. The process of this virus is as follows: the virus attaches to lymphocytes and slowly suppresses the immune system. Later on, pathogens travel into the brain and damage several parts of the brain, including the frontal cortex. This results in hallucinations, memory loss, and emotional and behavioral abnormalities. Slow to act and hard to see under a microscope, Armis is rarely caught until the third stage of its development. Where this disease was birthed is still unknown; the amount of victims it has consumed is innumerable. For now, scientists can only make the cure, and perhaps in the future, when society has managed to stand upright once more, they can hope to investigate future causes for Armis.

Armis is transmitted in a similar manner to other viruses. While it is not airborne, it can be contracted through any bodily fluids or through an open wound on the skin. Adults have more tolerance built up against this virus than the elderly and children do; however, when they do contract Armis, it progresses more quickly in them. The reason for this accelerated development is unknown. The stages for Armis are as follows:


STAGE ONE


This stage is known as the sleeper stage. The virus has yet to take on a malignant form, thus giving the host none to mild symptoms, these including: coughing, sneezing, runny noses, etc. It imitates the common symptoms of a cold or allergies, thus making it hard to catch it early on. Patients are prescribed medication and advised to get plenty of rest.

⇨ Chances of cure working: 100%


STAGE TWO


This is the trickiest of the stages, and it is sometimes skipped over in the disease progression. By this point, Armis is still hard to detect, although symptoms have grown to include: sweating, paranoia, slight nausea, small rashes, and sometimes early signs of stage three are present, although this is rare. Patients are less likely to go in to the doctor due to increased paranoia, making it harder to diagnose. These individuals are strongly advised to go to the hospital.

⇨ Chances of cure working: 95%


STAGE THREE


There is no longer any doubt that this person has Armis. There are both physical and mental factors pointing towards infection, and the symptoms have escalated into: abscesses, leprosy, strong insanity and/or paranoia, as well as various problems that develop on their own. Infected ones are forcibly taken to hospitals the moment they are seen by soldiers or other officials. If noticed by civilians, they must be reported immediately. The cure is administered at the hospitals. In Stage Three, the cure enables damaged skin and brain cells to restore itself and heal. Depending on how long they've been in Stage Three, patients could lose the function to move certain limbs and/or need them amputated. They could also have changed bone structures.

⇨ Chances of cure working: 65%


STAGE FOUR


This is the stage dubbed as TFG or "Too Far Gone". When left to their own devices, a victim of Armis will quickly advance to the worse condition possible. These include but aren't confined to: skin lesions, permanent brain damage, insanity, and sometimes even full-blown necrosis. Chances of victims remaining alive in this condition are one in ten. Many attempts were made to save such individuals until it was finally realized that they were beyond saving. Reapers are instructed to kill and burn TFGs on sight, as even the dead ones remain vectors of infection. Caution: TFGs have projectile vomiting. There are also some TFGs who look like stage two or three from afar, but turn out to be stage four at close range.

⇨ Chances of cure working: 0%

REAPER CORPS.

They arrived on the cusp of a new era. Male, female, young, old, ex-soldier to retired teacher—they became one and the same in the armor-clad ranks of the Reaper Corps. Anyone was welcome to join, and based on skills and physical capacities, you would either be placed in the field or work with training recruits, as well as helping with the production of cure serums. The ones in the field (these being the ones who actually bear the name Reaper) were up against a colossal task. Each unit of Reapers—made of six to eight persons each—would be assigned a large region to “canvass”, this roughly translating to: “clearing the land of all infection”. Whether this be by extermination or through the cure depended on who or what lived in each territory. But it was always stressed that saving a life was the ultimate goal.

A new development in the Reaper Corps. has resulted in role classifications. In addition to any combat training, Reapers are given the additional opportunity to specialize in one field of duty. The roles are as follows:
  • Squad Leader - A typical assignment for a Reaper unit takes anywhere from three months to a year. Over such a long period of time, it would be nearly impossible to achieve without some needed leadership, and this leadership is provided by The Squad Leader. While presiding over the unit, she is expected to make the final decisions on various matters, as well as direct them for the next course of action. She is expected to have a general knowledge of all personalized skills in case there is unexpected personnel deficiencies.
  • Containment Operative - Everyone knows that the ultimate goal of the Reapers is to cure and save as many people as they can. But it would be unrealistic to assume that everyone in the world can be saved. For the times when reality hits hard, The Containment Man is there. His job is to make sure that the territory is clear of infection, as well as clearing out dead bodies and torching incurable areas. He also makes the final call on whether a region is cleared yet, a job he is incredibly adept at.
  • The Catcher - One of the hardest parts of clearing out areas is tackled by The Catcher. Armis victims are known to be insane and extremely paranoid, making them difficult to administer the cure to. It is the Catcher's job, then, to root them out and deliver them for their treatment. This job varies in difficulty depending on the patient. The lower stages can usually be reasoned with to get their cure; others are more violent and must be forcibly restrained or even trapped like animals (thus dubbing this position the nickname "human tamer").
  • The Executioner - The Reaper Corps. handbook states that The Executioner is tasked with "ensuring the safety of all present." However, there is more included with that. This person must enforce the security of the team and secure the perimeter, making sure that there are no surprises from TFGs or savages. Not everyone is up for this job. This position is often filled with ex-soldiers who can endure the physical and mental strain.
  • Tech Expert - This position was the last one to be added to the Reaper unit. Originally, the director was in charge of manning the camper--a large, armored vehicle that the Reapers travel in-- but that all changed with the arrival of The Tech Expert. They are charged with camper repairs, navigation, occasionally going out to canvass the area with the rest of the team, and most importantly, mapping out the territories, which often requires the aid of the Containment Operative.
  • Nurse - There is currently a high demand for Reapers to fill this position. Patients often come into the camper on the brink of becoming TFG, and proper care and administration of the cure is needed for them. On top of that, it is generally expected that at least two Reapers will need some form of medical care over the course of a mission, although it might not be serious. That is why The Nurse is required to have a well-equipped knowledge of medical treatments and the cure. Previous medical experience before the Armis outbreak is not required, though it is requested.

All Reapers must wear a general uniform consisting of solid black army fatigues and thick rubber boots. Military-grade weapons are provided to those with the skill to use them. Any further supplies needed are retained on the camper (See - "Territory | Technology - Modes of Travel")
 
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  • Ah Seen It
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TERRITORY


NEW AMERICA

Little remains of the former United States. What hasn’t been reduced to rubble by enemy artillery has been occupied by one of the numerous factions warring for control over territory. Notable locations are as follows:
  • Springfield, IL - Current Reaper headquarters and base of operations.
  • Nashville, TN - An ally to Springfield. Run by a fiercely militant civilian force.
  • Anaheim, California - Though confessing to pacifism, many of its survivors provide needed supplies to Springfield and Nashville.
  • Dallas, Texas - Half the city lies in rubble. The other half is still committed to the country, and has proved a formidable ally in times of need.
  • Naperville, IL - Just North of Springfield, Naperville was once a Reaper outpost until savages came and wrestled control. It is understood that the citizens are being held as slaves.

The rest of New America is considered the Badlands - a wild, lawless land ravaged by savages and Armis victims. It is unknown the exact borders of the clan territories. Reapers are expected to proceed with caution once outside ally city limits.

TECHNOLOGY

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Eget est lorem ipsum dolor. Sed cras ornare arcu dui. Felis donec et odio pellentesque diam. Euismod in pellentesque massa placerat duis ultricies. At ultrices mi tempus imperdiet.

ANTAGONISTS

ANARCHISTS

Neither diseased nor savages, the Anarchists are a culture of Americans committed to independence of mind, action, and possessions. The power vacuum that exists has done nothing but allow them to thrive. They have grown too used to the lack of a government and will oppose any attempts to reinstate, even going as far as attacking fellow survivors and Reaper envoys. Some factions are able to be reasoned with; others are brutishly militaristic in nature, immovable in their solidarity. Reaper protocol dictates that those who fall follow this creed be momentarily ignored for the greater good. Any violent attacks initiated by them, however, must be repaid in full. All enemies will be brought to heel.

SAVAGES

When the mass exodus of humans behind the city walls occurred, not everyone made it. Hundreds of people were left stranded in the ruins with no heat, power, food, or water, and only the infected to keep them company. It was no surprise, then, when they regressed back to the savagery once denounced in the world. Splitting up into tribes, the savages only know one code: kill or be killed. If you're not them, you're a threat, and threats must be eliminated. These tribes range in size anywhere from five to thirty members. The savages are marked by their odd, multi-layered clothes and various tattoos; most of them have full-face paintings. Some tribes are cannibals, while the others have been known to kidnap Reapers as slaves, trophies, or ritualistic offerings to their pagan gods. Recently, one of the larger tribes of savages have acquired armed weapons from an abandoned army base, making them extremely lethal. This tribe currently resides in Unit 14's new assignment. Their leader Nero is known to be fiercely territorial.
 
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PLAGUE


The setting for this rp is the year 2021, roughly two years after Armis has ravaged the western hemisphere. As Reapers - hardened civilians joined with the remnants of the U.S. Army - your task is to reclaim U.S. territory by any means necessary, as well as cure any survivors found in your path. America will be brought back to its former glory - whether with its citizens cooperation or not. There are five classified roles available:
  • Containment Operative
  • The Catcher
  • Executioner
  • Tech Expert
  • Nurse
It is permitted to have more than one of each role (please refer to Lore for information). In addition, one character will be later selected for the added rank of First Officer - the next in command, should something befall the squad leader. If a certain role isn't filled by the time the rp starts, an NPC will take its place. I've also created a template code for the CS, though a plain sheet is readily available as well. Feel free to mess around with either of them.
Code:
[div=margin:auto;width:820px!important;][div=margin:auto;width:450px;min-height:453px!important;background:linear-gradient(#f4f4f4,#696966);display:inline-block;vertical-align:top;margin:7px;]
[CENTER]
[div=background-color: #ffffff;
border: 2px solid #000000;
margin: 0 auto 20px;
color: black;font-size:40px;text-shadow: 2px 2px 0px #ff4d00;
padding: 30px;
display: inline-block;][FONT=Orbitron]Insert Name Here[/FONT][/div][/CENTER]


[accordion=bcenter|90%]{slide=[div=background-color:#000000;color:#ffffff;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]O V E R V I E W[/div]|center}[div=background-color:#ffffff;color:#000000;font-size:12px;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]
[dscroll="180px"]
[COLOR=black][B]Name:[/B][/COLOR] 
[COLOR=black][B]Nickname:[/B][/COLOR] Optional
[COLOR=black][B]Age:[/B][/COLOR] 18+
[COLOR=black][B]Role:[/B][/COLOR] liek, what's ur career

[COLOR=black][B]Appearance:[/B][/COLOR]

[/dscroll]
[/div]
{/slide}
{slide=[div=background-color:#000000;color:#ffffff;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]P E R S O N A L[/div]|center}[div=background-color:#ffffff;color:#000000;font-size:12px;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]
[dscroll="180px"]
[B][COLOR=black)]Personality:[/COLOR][/B]

[COLOR=black][B]Backstory:[/B][/COLOR]

[/dscroll]
[/div]
{/slide}
{slide=[div=background-color:#000000;color:#ffffff;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]A B I L I T I E S[/div]|center}[div=background-color:#ffffff;color:#000000;font-size:12px;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]
[dscroll="180px"]
[B][COLOR=black]Skills: [/COLOR][/B]

[B][COLOR=black]Weaknesses: [/COLOR][/B]

[/dscroll]
[/div]
{/slide}
{slide=[div=background-color:#000000;color:#ffffff;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]OTHER[/div]|center}[div=background-color:#ffffff;color:#000000;font-size:12px;margin:-7px;padding:7px;]
[dscroll="180px"]
Anything else I should know about your character? Such as what equipment they have, supplies, etc.
[/dscroll]
[/div]
{/slide}[/accordion]
[div=width: 404px; height: 33px; overflow: hidden; margin: auto;][div=width: 58px; z-index: 1;][MEDIA=youtube]JaAWdljhD5o[/MEDIA][/div][div=padding: 5px; height: 38px; background-color:#000000; z-index: 2; pointer-events: none; top: -35px; opacity: 0.99; color: white;][FA]fa-play-circle fa-2x[/FA] [FA]fa-pause-circle fa-2x[/FA][SUP]  SONG NAME & ARTIST [/SUP][/div][/div]
[/div][div=margin:auto;background-image:url(https://via.placeholder.com/320x453/);width:320px;height:453px;display:inline-block;vertical-align:top;margin:7px;][/div][/div]
Name:
Nickname: (optional)
Age:
Role:

Appearance: (please provide a written description as well as an image)
Personality:
Background: (brief history. 3-5 paragraphs MAX)

Skills:
Weaknesses:
Other: Anything else I should know about your character? Such as what equipment they have, supplies, etc.

Theme Song:

 
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NOTABLE EVENTS
 
  • Useful
Reactions: Red Thunder
REAPER PROTOCOL


1.) Primum non nocere. - First, do no harm. Saving the lives of fellow Americans will always be prioritized.

2.) Infected ones must be effectively contained before being allowed entry onboard a camper.

3.) Reapers must check themselves for infection after every trip outside the camper. Reapers who have picked up the infection will be detained in the Sick Bay immediately.

4.) Reapers must do a daily video diary with a personal camera. This is mandatory.

5.) Personal turmoil between fellow Reapers must be handled immediately. If a conflict between Reapers continues for over two days and/or interferes with the mission, the squad leader will find a solution to the problem. If the squad leader is the cause of such a conflict, the director will be reviewed before the Board of Health & Safety, whereupon a decision will be made.

6.) Located between every major city is a checkway point, which is usually in a church or cathedral. These checkway points are where Reapers deliver patients and finished Territory Cards. Reapers also stop here to replenish food, supplies, and the cure.

7.) Reapers receive Territory Cards at checkway points and/or headquarters. These Territory Cards outline the areas where missions will take place; they also hold the estimated amount of infected ones in the area. These areas must be returned when finished and clearly labeled by color (Green means “All infected ones recovered”, Blue means “Not affected by infection”, and Red means “Burned/Cleared of infection”).

8.) Reapers must complete at least three missions before returning home for vacation and/or retirement. Those who have been infected are allowed to stop postpone or quit their service as a Reaper.
 
  • Ah Seen It
Reactions: Red Thunder
TREMAINE


Cold wooden planks sent a shock through Tremaine's skin. It helped to stir him some; his eyes heavy with sleep, he had all but rolled from the bed to the floor, and the quick transition from warm to cool shook some fog from his head. The sooner, the better - he had things to do today. His limbs moved mechanically: one hand sloppily shoved an earbud into his ear, and the other scrolled through the apps on his phone until he found his music app. He glanced blearily at the time.

5:44. He pressed "Shuffle" on the playlist and tossed the phone off to the side.

“Laaaa laa la la, wait ‘til I get my money right.”

The beat dropped in Tremaine’s left ear, and the alarm blared in his right.

His arms tensed. With a grunt, the young man lowered himself to the ground, nose barely brushing against the wood before he raised up again. It was his daily routine: he liked to start the day cracking even before their set time to wake.

Let the rap push him on even before the compound's alarm did.

When the ringing noise stopped, he stopped, coming to stand with a long, leisurely stretch. There was a good forty minutes left before breakfast, and the man wasted much of that time playing games on his phone. The last ten minutes were crunch time: in a rush, he got dressed and ready to roll, and

He never saw as much waste as he did when it came to mealtimes. Chefs at the compound liked to cook enough to feed a group twice their size - nevermind half the kids there barely ate much, if anything at all in the morning. Sometimes he wondered where all the leftovers went after it was picked over. Deep down he knew, and - look, it wasn’t his food or his money, but damn if that didn’t leave a sour taste in his mouth.
---------------------------------------------
He got what he always got. -----------------

Grits. Biscuits. Sausage. Potatoes.

After finishing his bountiful breakfast, Tremaine listened listlessly as Macintosh ran through the itinerary of the day. Sounded like an easy day; knowing Mac, however, Tremaine knew something else was bound to be thrown their way. There could be no rest for the wicked. Not in the way he’d ever dreamed of having, anyways. Soon they were dismissed, and off Tremaine went, Run the Jewels blaring noisily into his ears.

Training was treated with the same lackadaisical attitude that he gave everything else. Minimal effort was expended on Mac’s little circus. Sure, it was enough to get by, but he sure as hell wasn’t breaking his neck trying to impress the man. His reluctance to participate intensified tenfold by the time it came to their “show-and-tell.”

The pop of his gum smacked loud within his mouth. He feigned disinterest as others went before him. When it came to his turn, he detached slowly from the wall, wiping the nervous sweat off his palms on the sides of his pants.

He was loath to demonstrate this new ability of his. It was a monstrous thing, what he had created, and he resented himself for allowing others to push him to achieve it. Unfortunately, in order to demonstrate it, he needed a meta, and he claimed to hold no great love for the people in that room, he found the idea of using it on them...disconcerting, to say the least.

Pop! went the gum against his tongue. He shoved his hands in his pocket and took a breath.

“I need a target or sum’n.” Chewing idly on his gum, his eyes swiveled to where Mac watched the group, and he gestured lightly with his head. “Can I-”

Use you? Borrow you? Break you?

“-practice on you?”

Mac grunted approvingly and he stepped forward with little hesitation. "Do what you must."

Tremaine concentrated.

Perception manipulation was a one-trick pony. It was always intrusive. To pull the wool over someone’s eyes, to reach in and turn the lights out in their heads.

--------------------------

What made a meta themselves. What they thought defined them - their powers, and how to use them. He sought it out like a flower’s petals to the sun. And when he found it?

Tremaine went for Mac’s meta ability and attempted to hide it from his own mind.

He despised every second of it. When he felt he had successfully shrouded Mac’s mind properly, he exhaled, the only outward sign of his own discomfort. His eyes lifted to look at his “partner”.

“Feelin’ somethin’ or nah?”

Mac blinked. In truth, he hadn't really felt much of anything, just a subtle touch in the back of his mind, like a soft breeze in the middle of summer. But he was expecting it and each time Tre practiced on him, he grew more accustomed to the mental touch of his abilities.

Abilities.

Abilities...

Abilities.

Memories flashed through his mind. His daughter being killed, finding a group of kids with powerful abilities, getting the order to kill Gen... He crossed his arms over his chest, realizing that Tre had successfully erased his memories for the first time. Mac grunted, arms crossing over his chest, wondering if it was his age that allowed the memories to come back so quickly or if it had something to do with his own powers. Either way, he nodded approvingly. "Good job."

A bitter knot twisted in his stomach. Without a word, Tremaine slunk away. Should the others ask what was done, he refused to answer. His eyes bore a hole in the wall for the rest of the session until they were dismissed.

Tremaine did what he could to help with party decorations.. He slipped away as early as possible to take a quick nap before the party, and when he returned, he was fairly more presentable - if you could call a black Nike hoodie and sweatpants that. More effort had been put into taming his fro, and there was the faint scent of Fahrenheit cologne wafting from his body. The gum in his mouth had been swapped for Frito’s chips, and he ate noisily as he made his way over to the birthday girl.

Next to Kevin’s box, Tremaine placed his own gift: a black velvet jewelry box, cheaply made, and small in size. In lieu of wrapping, a white bow had been tied to the top, and on a yellow post-it stuck on the side, “VINNO” was written in a child-like scrawl.

“Happy birthday,” Tremaine mumbled.

Back home, hugs were more everyone’s style, but some of his so-called teammates didn’t appreciate the same Southern hospitality. Instead, he shoulder-bumped his friend lightly, flashing her a small smile before retreating back into the foreground, coming to sit on the couch alongside Turi.

Wordlessly, he offered the bag of Fritos to her.

collab with | @rissa
 
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TOM ABBOT

Name: Dr. Tom Abbot
Age: 35
Sex: Male
Nationality: British
Appearance:

Tom presents an orthodox study of an East End working-class male. The rugged man stands at a fair 180 cm height and is of a good and stocky build. His muscles lie undefined, yet he is solid and strong, years of towing patients, comrades, and heavy supplies lending itself to his innate strength. He is privy to thick, windswept light brown hair and a short beard of the same fair quality. Thin lips and a pointed beak of a nose peek out from among the hairs. His medium, unkempt eyebrows are typically drawn together in a constant appearance of somber study. Below this are perhaps his most compelling features: his eyes are warm pools of gentle brown. While not particularly attractive, they are comforting and kind and best reflect the inherent compassion buried underneath much of his stoicism.Tom’s last memorable feature is his sole outward flaw. His left ear is missing a chunk of flesh from the apex thanks to a ricochet bullet. While otherwise largely intact, he has lost much of his hearing in that ear. Those in the community know to speak up when presented with his left side.

Character:

Even before the wars and its horrors, Tom was a perpetually serious individual. The Brit smiles little, and laughs even less. Though not a sour man by any means, his commonly reticent attitude leaves much to be desired for those seeking fun and witty entertainment. With enough drink in him, he can be quite funny - for those who can manage the desert dry of his jokes. Other than that, the English male can best be described as mellowed. Older folk would say he had an “old soul” - in a sense, he did. The war and life after has aged him prematurely, and much of the passionate emotions that define younger men has all but shriveled up in him. With a long-suffering patience he has weathered every storm. Anger is not becoming to him, and so he very rarely expresses it. What defines the man most is his kindness. Even in the face of constant trials and tribulations, Tom has not lost the love he has for his fellow man, and it is in that sense of compassion that Tom has managed to find the will to keep living on.

Brief Backstory:

Tom was never meant to stay in the East End of London. He writhed for most of his youth in the seedy poverty that so pervaded his family and escaped in a way many of his day often did: it was straight to the military for him once leaving secondary school. When he finished his tour at 22, he went back home to London to enroll in medical school and endeavored as broad an education as possible, focusing primarily on traumatic surgery and care. He emerged as a general hospitalist and was soon hired at a public hospital to help man their booming emergency department.

Somewhere, somehow in the chaos of school and work, Tom found time to fall in love with a magazine columnist named Darla. The two made the rather rash decision to get married in 1979 after only three months of dating.

It was an ill-fated match. Darla was a woman filled with life: vibrant, vivacious, and frankly much too young for Tom's aged spirit. She craved love and companionship that Tom was too distant to give. He loved her more than anything in the world but did not know how to show it. Consumed by his medical residency, Tom was unaware of the rift growing between him and his wife. It proved to be a fatal oversight.

At age 31 his service was reinstated to help supplement the bulk of fighters stationed near the Fulda Gap. His advance was ultimately halted to treat the wounded in Cologne, and it was there that Tom’s world was torn asunder twice: first in the form of a divorce notice levied over the phone by his wife, and second by the encroaching bombs that rent the city in two. In the ensuing chaos, he and his remaining fellow soldiers made his way to Hanover - soon to be New Hanover. There they have remained, he in particular unable to turn away from the sweeping number of sick and wounded desperately needing care.

Joining Ranger One was one of the recent bright spots in his life. While it is unquestionable that his craft in New Hanover has benefited a great many, he felt a dull stagnation of his skills. He is, after all, bound to two codes: both to that of a doctor and that of a soldier, and he is quite honored to employ the solemn duties of the latter.

Skills:

The predominant value of Tom’s life lies in his invaluable skill to save lives. As a hospital and field-trained traumatic surgeon, Tom has a significant wealth of knowledge and expertise when it comes to treating conditions stemming from (but not limited to): hemorrhage, broken bones, GSWs, wound evisceration, shock, stroke, heart attacks, and acute seizures. His patients range from a waddling toddler to a laboring mother to a elderly man in dire need of palliative care. In the face of medical supply shortage, he has been forced to adapt in order to keep his patients well and alive. The sterile O.R. of old has had to make way for the cleanest room one could find, and aseptic technique has conformed to the age-old dogma of traumatic surgery: “Save the life first, treat the infection later.”

The flipside of Tom’s medical prowess extends to mental afflictions in various cases. The man does not profess to be a psychiatrist nor a psychologist. But empathy is a powerful tool when utilized properly. The term “patient-doctor privilege” is one he exercises faithfully even in the absence of civil laws. Compassion to listen, to placate, to understand. Patience is a virtue of his, and his steady calmness and willingness to bend a listening ear at all times has mollified even the most violent spell of psychosis. Coaxing one to peace is something he is frightfully used to, even before the war. The negative side to this is that many a villager has felt comfortable confiding a secret in him, and while Tom is not necessarily opposed to this, some things he would have much rather preferred living his life not knowing.

While not necessarily his main scope of practice, Tom has begrudgingly tended to the needs of Hanover’s furrier companions. Some things remain the same no matter human or animal, and Tom doesn’t mind setting the occasional broken bone or stitching the odd cut of a much needed beast of burden. Family pets remain a sore point of contention to him. No amount of needling or crocodile tears will make him expend any amount of energy to treat a useless pet, and it is one of the few times the man becomes cross over anything.

Much to his and his teammate’s benefit, Tom possesses an uncanny eye for detail. Not just in surgery - in the field, in a gunfight, where every second of every moment counts, and one wrong move has you staring down the barrel of a gun. Tom can’t help but notice things. It is the soldier’s instinct in him ever-present. It is not so much paranoia as it is a constant state of preparedness. He is forced to be on guard at all times. After all - the last time he let down his guard was when a bullet took the top of his left ear clean off. One can never be too careful.

Relationships:
  • Richard “Dickie” Pearson, aged 32: While most of their company splintered soon after the bombs ceased, Dickie remained at Tom’s side. The fellow Brit is a shining example of optimism persisting in the face of tragedy, smiling in spite of his own trials and the loss of his left forearm. He remains one of Tom’s few lifelines to the living. He is a brother forged by fire, and the younger man looks after Tom’s well-being diligently despite resistance.
  • Sofia Berkhalter, age 27: A warm body to hold when the nights get cold and lonely. He will never replace her beloved Jon, nor she his Darla, but they both accept one another as a passable substitute. In addition to her nightly “assistance”, Sofia also works under him as a nurse from one occasion to another, particularly aiding him with female patients who may feel uncomfortable with his sole presence.
  • Franz and Mika Fischer, aged 10 and 9 respectively: Orphaned siblings he’s more or less taken into his care. The little scamps are prone to following him about his day to day, and he has taken to giving them menial tasks and off-the-cuff lessons throughout their encounters. He does not think of himself as impacting their lives any, but in fact has become a pseudo father figure. Purely for their amusement, he acts as if it is a great bother to have them hanging about.

Equipment:

Primary weapon - SPAS 12 with foregrip and extended capacity

Secondary weapon - M1911 pistol

Supplies kept excluding ammunition are held within his pack so long as they do not exceed a certain weight. Staples of his bag include mostly medical supplies: a suture kit, a free needle, free ties, gauze, betadine, rubbing alcohol, strips of clean cloth, a disposable #10 scalpel, and a half-full bottle of chloroform tightly sealed about the cap. Tom is always on the look-out for pharmaceuticals to pilfer from homes and vehicles; thus, a compartment on the back of the bag is reserved for such items. A small flask of a mystery liquid also sits nestled in a side pocket. Tom calls it his “emergency sedative”, yet the flask smells suspiciously of gin.
 
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WHAT LIES BENEATH PT. I




Mission Report: 10/20/21 | 12:00 | Lexington

Life’s propensity to thrive even in the wake of annihilation continued to establish mankind’s indomitable will to survive. Lexington was dead by many counts; to survive in a place so stripped of resources would, at face value, appear impossible to those who only a few years prior had not known the scrape of starvation, desperation, and disease chafing at their bones.

And yet even in barren deserts life miraculously found a way, crawling and shifting beneath the ever-ending sands. Across the way, in the dried out husk of an apartment complex, what little remained of the town watched with beady eyes the movements of the Reaper Corps. Blinds parted, feet shuffled, and mouths moved.

A hushed voice first, dry as parched skin.

“It’s them. Dunno the rest.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that ugly mug before. ”

“Damn. So many this time. Nice big boxcar, too. Wonder what’s in it-”

“Shhh!” The former hissed.

Across the way, from between white blinds, binoculars pressed against the dirty glass. The one they’d identified as the leader seemed to stare momentarily in their direction, and the lurkers stilled until her deceivingly lazy gaze passed on. More people came from the camper much to their consternation, and they watched intently as the first woman said something to them all. Then she and another red-haired man turned away and-

“Guns! They have guns,” a third voice chimed in excitedly. “We can take th-”

“Shut up.”

The first pair went away. The others who stood about at the car lingered moments longer until eventually, in mismatched pairs, the group dispersed, each going their separate ways. The remnant stayed behind at the vehicle. So two plus three plus two...and the two from before. Nine total. Tongues ran over chapped lips.

The chattering continued in a frenzied pitch.

“They’re splitting up-”

“Stupid.”

“So stupid.”

“Let’s go. Before they do.” Another voice joined them. “And tell the others. Bring their nice big boxcar too.”

“Ok!”

In the shadows they left, the scuffling and shuffling of feet ebbing away like so many sounds in that small, listless town. The binoculars remained, held in place as of yet by unknown hands. And through it the two women left at the camper were watched. Carefully. Intently.

Patiently.

Within the metal vehicle, something else came to life, a voice bleeding through the interior from the Box. Garbled and broken, yet quick with urgency.

“...Command to...report, over...Co-...Unit Six to report...emergent! Sergeant...copy, over. Repeat-”



This was once America.

Some years prior and this Ikea had only served as a department store neither unimportant nor essential, hanging somewhere in the balance of frivolous human needs. Now it was left as a cold reminder of what might have been.

The electricity was gone, and the sunlight filtering through the comparatively small glass store window only helped to illuminate the very front of the building. The store’s sheer size was only magnified by the immense darkness blanketing the far reaches of the building.

Like a museum, its contents were carefully preserved. Lexington was already virtually empty by the end of the country’s collapse, and those who remained had little desire to trawl a furniture store when they were starving. Drawers and chest loomed like blackened specters in the foreground, and undisturbed couches and bedroom sets remained in their fixed, carefully placed positions. Semblances of homes lay on display in every corner. Presented first to the Reaper trio were living room sets.

It was a jarring contrast from outside. Cleanliness and order were not the markings of their era, and perhaps that was why the marks on the ground were so easily distinguished. They started at the door and led away from them.

Muddy, numerous, and widespread. A group of footsteps trailing far into the darkness.

They were not alone.



Emergency lights, while unimpressive to look at, held acid batteries that were said to last anywhere from ten to fifteen years. The engineering came from a simpler time. Emergencies had once meant losing power for perhaps a few months to a year due to natural disasters, and men of old had had the intuition and foresight to prepare for the oncoming storms.

It was the station’s last beacon. A fluorescent glow emanated from the back corner of the gas station above the bathroom, washing the aisles and counters in a dull hue of white. In the wan light, the gas station’s new tenants skittered to and fro across the grounds: mice, innumerable in number and emboldened by the lack of predators. Their focus lay within a family size bag of Funions spilled haphazardly across the dirty linoleum floor.

Much like the rest of the abandoned city, the interior of the gas station lay in a frozen state of chaos. The shelves had been largely stripped of supplies, though a few intact snacks were scattered here and there, apparently forgotten in the mad frenzy for food. The bulletproof glass that divided the store counter from the rest of the store was covered in stains, thumbprints, and a few posters. Here and there a crack was found, some a spider web of lines crawling away from a single round impact point.

The entrance of the Reapers scared away the mice in a tinny frenzy of squeaks. The subsequent silence was constrained, heavy with secrets the hallowed building could not share. It was enough to make one’s skin crawl, and should wandering eyes look further, they would find some of the marks on the cashier’s window to be bloodied. Some marks were redder in hue than the others.

One last abnormality remained. At the rear of the store, just beneath the glow of the emergency light, sat the door leading to the employee’s area. Someone had affixed a makeshift contraption to the knob to try and stop it from turning, but it looked crude and poorly made. Whoever had made it had wanted to make sure no one could get in. Either the room had served as a supply room of sorts for scavengers or perhaps a paltry home to escape the brutal winter.

Either way. They wouldn’t know until they found out.



GM NOTE:

Ah, the sweet sensation of being watched.

Your negligent GM has returned at last from her unwarranted sabbatical. As thanks for your patience, I’ve set up some fun surprises for everyone! I encourage everyone to continue exploring. I'll definitely be available for collabs and such for environment details. If you’re curious as to what Peaches and Otto are up to, more details will be forthcoming at a later time. No spoilers.

From this point until the next chapter, GM replies will be shorter in order to help propel character interaction. No more fancy coded posts for a while, ya feel me?

 
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  • Bucket of Rainbows
Reactions: Red Thunder