Return of Saturn - Rebuilding Our Home (OOC; OPEN)

[Cylarn]

The Gang and Our Times
(Taken from Return of Saturn: The Last Hurrah)

"Well, we've all known each other for a while now, I guess. It's been what, 10 years since the gang was all together, right? it must've been, but I guess that with all of the crap that's happened, we never all had the time to meet up. Those times were good, back when we were all growing up in Charlotte. We didn't all live in the same neighborhood when we were kids in the 90s, but we ended up at the same playgrounds, same daycares, same schools. I wouldn't say that it was inevitable that we started hanging out as kids, but social class doesn't matter when you're a kid, or it shouldn't. Well, we all started hanging out together, and together, people used to hate all of the mischief that we'd cause."

"We dump-sacked the upscale neighborhoods of Charlotte and we water-ballooned the Eighth Grade Christmas play together. We burnt down at least one shed with cigarettes, we got shot at by a security guard for shoplifting, and we had to tangle with the Charlotte Police on multiple occasions. We were a handful, but we didn't always destroy stuff. We snuck and skipped out and went on roadtrips, or we hung around outside gas stations, hoping that someone would buy us a six-pack. We did some questionable stuff, but we weren't bad kids. As far as I remember, we were all academically-good kids, just not sociably."

Boston Police during the early stages of the downfall of Boston.

"Remember '04; when we were getting ready to graduate? Man, we were so naive back then. Excited about joining the Service, excited about college, excited about life. We didn't plan on what was going to happen next."

"Now, most of my knowledge on this stuff comes from what I heard and what I saw, but we all remember those first reports. 'Walking dead;' bodies were popping up and walking around, like in a zombie movie. All over the world, this was going on. At first, no one cared. We watched our American Idol, and we went off to college normally in the fall. Some of us joined up, like I did. People cared more about supposed WMDs in Iraq and terrorists in Afghanistan than they did reports of the walking deceased wandering around in the slums of Bangkok."

"It took a full two years - Fall of 2006 - for the sickness to reach the United States, and by then, a lot had already happened. Thailand had all but capitulated to the walking dead, which was the tune throughout Southeast Asia, as well as in other parts of the world. Some places - like Burundi, Burma, and half of the West Coast of Africa - had already stopped checking in. The news was always showing battles, like the one from Fallujah when the Marines got routed by the undead and ended up demolishing the town with a massive amount of explosives. People in Europe and the US pretended like it didn't matter to them, like AIDS, but they were all secretly concerned. Reports of zombies in the US usually came from the police in big cities like Los Angeles or New York City, who'd sometimes encounter lone walkers skulking about in alleys. Unlike the people, the government was surprisingly more prone to action. The CDC was out and working with the WHO to find a cure, FEMA started prepping for a catastrophic emergency, National Guard units were put on alert in various states, and cops were talking to the public about how to handle lone shamblers. Still, the average American was more concerned about rising gas prices and other things. We didn't want to think that anything like in Bangkok or Fallujah would ever happen here."

"For the next 8 years, things got progressively worse for us. The first American zombie hordes had finally formed up in the big cities, and for the first time in a while, it really felt like war was on our doorstep. The first response was to deploy a mixture of police riot forces and Army National Guard units into hotspots, but while the zombies were a threat in of themselves, the civilian population panicked. It had finally happened to us; rather than seeing some foreign kid running away from a shambling horde, we were watching American kids - kids we might've known - running from identical hordes. People started looting and breaking into places, but it got worse when more guns got involved. Sure, people were turning their guns on zombies, but then you had criminals and cops in open conflict, or civilians going wild and shooting up a mall because of a few zombies. In the beginning, the rioters were a bigger problem than the shamblers."

"We got pushed out of the East and West Coasts, aside from a number of isolated safe pockets and fortified port cities. By 2008, troops and cops and irregular militias had carved out four major safezones - in Asheville, Los Angeles, Anchorage, and San Antonio - which were all run by the government. For the first time in modern history, American warplanes were bombing American soil and American cities. Colonies of boats protected by naval ships and hassled by pirates began to form off of the American coast. In the safe zones, life got more strict and rigid as the Military took over the government. It wasn't easy to live as a civilian in the Reclamation War, but you worked hard towards a common goal and you could actually witness the fruits of your labor. Rationing was - and in some places, still is - commonplace. Not everyone liked it, and there were two rebellions fought during these long 8 years. They were far too long, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel."

"2014 was when we won the war. Now, most folks say that since technically part of the country is still controlled by the undead, that the war is still ongoing. In 2012, after a questionable campaign on the US-Mexico Border and pacifying the coasts, the Military pressed the undead into the Great Plains - an area almost 800 miles around - and enclosed the remaining hordes within with construction completed in 2014. With no major zombie activity or outbreaks in the United States, the government declared that they had successfully pacified the hordes. At this time, the US was the only major world power to have successfully brought its undead problem - and the outbreaks - under control. We were war-weary, but with some of our overseas presence still intact, US troops are still fighting the undead in various hotspots worldwide."

"2016, and things are slowly transitioning back to the way they once were - but with marked differences. Everyone - and I mean every adult and some kids in this country - carries a weapon, whether it be a gun or knife or club. The military still runs the show, but they're promising a return to a civilian government. Hell, we've already got local government in places like LA and New York, but it's not like we're in a rush to get Congress back together. The virus is still around; so are the zombies, but the survivors of the war know better now. We have come a long way, but how long is our path?"

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Cal's Letter

Hey Guys,

I am unsure of how many of y'all are still kicking; it's not like we have stayed in contact for the past twelve years or anything. Hell, I was in Iraq when shit flew into the fan. I know I bumped into a couple of you guys under less-than-favorable circumstances. I know some of y'all are doing greater things. Through the contacts I've got in the government, I hope that this letter finds y'all well.

I'm back home in Charlotte, by the way. Things here are getting back to normal, but we're a far cry away from the metropolis that we all grew up in. Guys, our parents are mostly dead; my dad died back in '05 with most of the Char-Meck PD, and my mom died of heartbreak in Asheville. Looking into whatever I could find on everyone, not a lot of our loved ones made it out alive. As for their remains, they could be anywhere by now. I didn't think about my folks until '12, but now, I feel alone and on my own. Y'all can say the same, I hope. I spent my youth killing, and I didn't intend to stay in the Army as long as I did. Hell, it's done a number on me."

“If you’re alive and you got this letter, come to my old house in Dilworth. The ugly, two-story brick house on Elm Street. Y’all remember where it’s at. This city is gonna start rebuilding itself, and we have the opportunity to run this place. I know that it sounds far-fetched and crazy, but this city hasn’t had any life for the past ten years, and now it’s going to be revitalized. You got natives coming back to clean up their old homes and restart normal lives, and then you’ve got the out-of-town businesses and such that are coming into the city to take old deeds and sell them off to the highest bidder. We play it right and stick together like we did before things went tits-up, and we stand to come out on top.”

“My house is a start. I am offering it as a place for all of us to feel welcome, like in the old days - at least before we pissed off my dad by swiping that pound of grass from his precinct. There’s room for everyone, and from here, we can rebuild. We are young and we are tested; Charlotte is ours.”

Love,
Cal,
or Captain Walter Calhoun, US Army (ret)

[Cylarn]

Information Section

In the changed world that we live in, many social attitudes and opinions have changed and stayed the same in different ways. When it comes to social aspects such as race relations, racism has largely fallen by the wayside, as the Reclamation War put many different Americans of many different ethnic backgrounds together, and made them fight a common threat. There is some prejudice against South and Central America, as Texas and Mexico are currently embroiled in a refugee crisis caused by a mass exodus of refugees from down south. There is a renewed sense of community, pride, and relief in the US, with most Americans participating, in some way, in an activity that supports their community, state, and/or nation. Jobs are readily accessible, as infrastructure and industries alike have a need to be rebuilt.

Although things seem well, the American population is growing nervous. Having lived under a military government for years, a number of constitutional liberties have been suspended in the interest of national security. This decision, made during the opening years of the war, ignited two medium-intensity civil conflicts in the Rockies, staged by anti-government groups and disaffected civilians. Although amnesty was offered and granted to many rebels, many people criticized the government for its handling of the largest rebel faction in the nation, the Constitutional Defense Brigade, at their headquarters in Aspen, Colorado. The so-called "Bloody Blizzard" of 2011, in which over a thousand rebel fighters were killed by government troops, has exposed the government to scathing criticisms. Currently, the military government is in the process of transitioning power over to a civilian government, through an ongoing election process supervised by the military.

Despite the hordes having been wiped out by the military, lone shamblers and isolated pockets of undead still wander around, though law enforcement have no trouble in identifying and eliminating zombies. That being said, a majority of adults either carry a weapon or keep one in close proximity, such to the extent that it's now commonplace to see pistol-toting pedestrians in almost every social environment. In rural areas, armed residents have formed militias for defense, in coordination with law enforcement, while private undead eradication units worked alongside police to eliminate the undead in urban areas. However, in certain areas such as military and government installations, airports and aircraft, weapons are tightly controlled and either are checked into the facility's armory, or in the case of aircraft and airports, securely stowed in a case and transported as a checked bag.

As for the state of zombies themselves, the government's official stance on zombies is that they are "...an immediate and ultimately destructive threat to the security and stability of the United States of America." In American society and culture, they are both reviled and touted as some sort of pop culture icon. In a way, they have become a part of life for average Americans, considering that for 8 years, America fought a destructive war for her survival. Zombie-hunting, for sport and for public safety, has become mainstream in popular culture, such to the extent that many popular media shows revolve around the undead. They are constantly the topic of comedians and others, who seek to permeate the otherwise terrifying visage of the undead.

Of course, there are grassroots political groups forming for the purpose of zombie advocacy. There are two main z-rights organizations, each with their own different ideals. The Liberation Society believes that zombies, while destructive, are more or less misunderstood humans, and thus deserving of a proper death. They vehemently oppose the exploitation of zombies, and with their ranks filled with semi-professional zombie-hunters, they advocate for the "Ameliorant;" the total extermination of all zombies from the face of the Earth. LS-sympathetic citizens and rising politicians often demand that the government begin an offensive in the "Dark Zone."

On the other hand, the Zombie Friendship Society sits on the radical fringes of the z-rights movement. Unlike the well-organized Liberation Society, the ZFS is a loosely-aligned amalgamation of various small z-rights groups with different perceptions on z-rights. The largest sect of the ZFS, the Lazarus Review, is a collection of scientists, doctors, and others who believe that the undead can be cured, and thus are opposed to the extermination of zombies outside of self-defense. Easily the most rational ZFS sect, they are responsible for the world's largest private initiative to discover a cure, second only to the WHO. However, unlike the respected Lazarus Review, the Church of the Doomsday Herald is considered to be a twisted criminal organization. Secretive in their activities and beliefs, the Church is a cult that views the undead as the heralds of Doomsday, and dozens of rumors circulate the nation about suspected necrophilia-related rites, human sacrifice, and the worship of obscure death gods. Although they are members of the ZFS, they bring a horrible stigma to the group.

The virus is referred to by different names depending on the locale. In the United States, it goes by the name of the "Lazarus Virus," also known as "Laz." As I speak further with my Co-OPs, we shall lay out the framework and basics of the virus. As for now, follow the general Romero format for the virus and zombies; slow shamblers, infection vectors involve contact with bodily fluids (saliva, blood, etc).

The American Front of the Reclamation was fought from 2006 to 2014, according to the military government. Fighting, civil unrest, and city-scale massacre took place throughout the entire Contiguous 48, as well as in Alaska, Hawaii, and almost every major American territorial possession. At this stage, the North American continent is largely secured, aside from in Mexico's southern states, where refugee traffic - often carrying infected - has led to outbreaks and a continued loss of social control. The United States and Canada have largely contained their infections, aside from the American "Dark Zone" and Canada's arctic regions, where thousands of undead lie frozen. The American Front can be split up between the American, Mexican, and Canadian efforts to control the infection.

American Front - US

East Coast - Refugee traffic from the Caribbean and from West Africa, along with existing infection factors, enabled for the East Coast to largely fall in the beginning, aside from staunch human resistance in major military installations such as Fort Bragg. This period of defensive warfare went on for 4 years, with survival largely dependent on the transportation of resources. The federal government relocated from Washington DC to Los Angeles, though the nation suffered greatly from the loss of the President, when Air Force One was struck on the LAX tarmac by a landing plane. Major cities like Miami, New York City, and Boston succumbed to the hordes. Special Forces personnel paradropped into the Appalachian Mountains and organized the remaining survivors into mobile, highly-competent militias that, unlike their Western counterparts, were largely loyal to the government due to the nature of their operations. These men and women were instrumental in pacifying the mountains and clearing towns for humans to move in and fortify.

Beginning at the end of '09, EASTCOM (the military on the East Coast) abandoned all but 4 major military bases, consolidating its forces in 4 different task forces with the intent of taking back the nation, with the government training its forces for the specific task of eliminating entire hordes with single platoons. Operation High Tide was the successful 4-year operation which led to the pacification of the East Coast and end of the military's defensive strategy. In the wake of the military's reclamation efforts on and along the East Coast, once-derelict factories and power facilities were restarted and jobless refugees were soon trained and assigned under experienced engineers from the Army Corps of Engineers.

Border Regions - Both borders experienced unprecedented traffic, from both refugees and the undead. In the north, attempts were made by the government to evacuate civilians, though many families hurriedly packed up their things and moved north into Canada and certain isolated areas of the US on the belief that the undead were at less of an advantage in cold weather. Although this strategy worked and in many cases resulted in the freezing of the undead, the harsh winters took a toll on the refugees. Food shortages, a lack of reliable heating aside from bonfires, constant reports of theft, and other miseries plagued the impromptu refugee camps. In many places where the human need for food had completely depopulated an area of its native wildlife, people resorted to cannibalism in order to stay alive.

US and Canadian troops often violated one another's sovereignty by conducting operations out of their lawful borders, but such activity was largely ignored and often welcomed by beleaguered troops during harsh action. In the initial stages of the American Front, the CBSA took in almost 100,000 American refugees in the first 72 hours of the border exodus.

Along the US-Mexican Border, the situation fared much more dramatically. Refugees from West Africa, South and Central America, and the Caribbean made an exodus up along Mexico's border with Guatemala, bringing infected and even undead family members with them. The destructive trek overwhelmed security forces in Central America and turned the region into a state of anarchy and mass murder. Mexico didn't fare much better, and although their central government fell apart in 2008, various state governments and military brigades remain active, now fighting alongside foreign volunteers and US forces in certain regions. The cartels even carved out their own narco-states in cities like Tijuana and states like Sinaloa. Refugees, now joined by Mexican citizens, moved north towards the US-Mexican Border.

Throughout the course of the war, right-wing paramilitaries fought alongside state defense forces, the military, and law enforcement as they fought their own problems, but also when the exodus reached the border. Some disgruntled veterans of the Border Campaign describe their action as a "war crime," as tens of thousands of refugees were killed in order to stem the tide. A brigade of Mexican Marines and soldiers, angry at the US for bombing their position on the border, responded by launching an assault on the city of San Diego. A week of brutal urban warfare commenced, with US troops emerging victorious but with heavy casualties as a result. A similar attack carried out in the desert near El Paso resulted in a tank battle and once again, Mexican troops were forced back across the border. Large skirmishes have long since faded, and Mexican and US forces now work together.

The South - In addition to two major hurricanes, the South was arguably hit the hardest. Having hardly been rebuilt after the first two hurricanes, New Orleans became a burning city as the hordes grew. Hurricane Russell, yet another Cat 5, dealt the final death blow to New Orleans, submerging most of the city. With the loss of such an important port, naval and refugee traffic focused on Floridian and Texan ports on the Gulf. The virus spread easily in the South's major cities, especially in regards to lower-income urban areas. Emergency and military services were overwhelmed in many cases, and commanders consolidated their forces at almost every major military base in the South. Like in other regions of the nation, militias, the Guard, law enforcement, and armed citizens once again played important roles as buffers against the undead advance, and once again, there was a revolt, this time in 2009.

The Freedom Front formed in Louisiana and Mississippi, and although they counted a number of minority officers and soldiers in their infancy, the organization took on more racist tones as Neo-Nazi and white supremacist militia leaders made moves to secure power from moderates within the group. In addition to clearing out scores of undead, the Freedom Front also committed a number of atrocities. Militiamen were responsible for the murder of 100,000 minority citizens, and many experts liken their effects and brutality to that of the Interhamwe. Although they were feared greatly, they lasted little more than a year, when the 3rd Infantry mopped up their headquarters in Tuscaloosa.

1. As OP, my word is final.
2. My designated Co-OPs are extensions of my authority.
3. Be respectful in the OOC.
4. Observe all standard RPing rules (no godmodding, powerplaying, etc).
5. All of the characters grew up together in Charlotte, North Carolina. With the way times have gone, relationships are likely to be strained, or strengthened in some cases. Feel free to discuss with other players how your character views the others in the gang.

[Cylarn]

The Gang's Characters

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[b]3 RP Samples:[/b]
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The Gang

• Logan ARMSTRONG - The Shakespeare-quoting son of Appalachian hillbillies, and an idealist whose principles are as stubbornly inflexible as his affection for his old friends. Armstrong was once the foremost intellectual leader of the Constitutional Defense Brigade, and also served as one of the CDB's top field commanders. Today, he is both a fugitive from the military government and among the best-known political thinkers in the United States. He has returned to Charlotte in an attempt to locate his younger sister, Rose. Description by Reverend Norv.
• Mark DAMJANOVIC - The calm, relaxed kid that often had his head in the clouds. Reality seeped back in during the War, burning out the bad habits and instilling a foundation of duty and responsibility. The change wasn't all positive, leaving more than a few marks that still haunt him today and an underlying bitterness hidden with an everyday mask. He's since returned to Charlotte, but Marcus isn't the same person the group once knew him to be. Description by Mincaldenteans.
• Cesar IGLESIA - A brilliant, charming student who went on to became a loving father, sophisticated world traveller, and renowned scientist. Iglesia's work during the Reclamation War in developing anti-zombie chemical and biological weapons destroyed his marriage and left him plagued with guilt, but made him a hero for many Americans. Today, Iglesia is a man struggling with PTSD and depression, but he is also a well-known public speaker and advocate for democratization. He has returned to Charlotte to see Walter Calhoun and his other old friends. Description by Reverend Norv.
• Devin NEWBURG - Shy, sickly, big eared, big eyed and feet larger than he was tall. If Logan was the big brother figure of the group, Devin was certainly the little runt of the gang. The first to move away, contact with Devin was sporadic at best and nil in the wake of the Oakland Outbreak and thereafter. He's grown and matured since, becoming something of a star on the internet as he covers stories with a journalistic perspective. Devin has reluctantly come back to Charlotte, skeptical of what to expect. Description by Mincaldenteans.

[Mincaldenteans]

POST EDITED: Previous application edited to fit current setting.

It all starts with someone poking a zombie with a stick.

At least, that's the popular "joke" these days. In today's world, we find ourselves less and less desensitized to the idea of the zombie infection now that the military have mopped the infected and retaken much of what we've lost. Words like 'containment', 'oversight' and 'eradication' are used sparingly in favor of 'safe zones', 'security', and 'perseverance'. The media sugar coats and the masses are drawn, all the while too happy (or paranoid) to give their rights away to the government so long as the horde are far from their comfort areas. I don't think I've stood on either side of the spectrum where the Reclamation War is concerned, nor some of the worse atrocities and incidents that occurred right in our backyard. Call me cynical and detached, paint me a bastard for not taking a side, but I report the truth. Take away media and politics and get up close to an infected to realize one very salient fact: the dead don't care.

My name is Devin Newburg. I am 31 years old, male, and a field reporter. That in itself is a loose term, but we'll get back to that later. I was born and raised (mostly) in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was a very shy kid, truth be told. and it took a lot to get me out of my shell. I was also the kid that was too skinny, too short, too big eared complete doe eyes and who got sick more often than not. Didn't seem to stop me and my antics, however, and I gratefully lay the blame upon a group of friends who - thankfully - wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Outside of being bedridden, I was a massive sci-fi geek, I liked my books and music was an eclectic hodgepodge of whatever sounded good to my ears. And when my health was actually on my side, there were a lot of memorable times, at least right through junior year in high school. The amount of shit we went through together should've been filmed and the places that were graced with our presence should be kept for posterity. But it wasn't always smooth sailing, I had my fair share of being bullied also; it was always one of those jocks or preps, anyone that took my presence as cue to mock me or give me a hard time, especially this fucker named Russ. There's a reason I remember that name, he was a righteous bastard. It didn't happen all the time, Cal and the others had my back even when my own insecurities thought they'd the other way and my self-esteem at an all time low. Junior year was also the same year I admitted to myself that I was, well am, gay. Kinda hard to confide that to just anyone and only a couple of our group knew... I don't know if the rest knew - I simply wasn't around to find out.

That said, I believe I was the first one to leave and not by my own volition. My family moved west, heading to California on a promise of a new beginning for my dad. He faced a bit of tough times and his career seemed to hit a dead end. Cali was his big gamble and for the most part I guess it paid off. As difficult as it was on him and my mom to begin anew, it was equally (or more so) for me. A seventeen year old in a new state and neighborhood - and culture - meant my world had made a 180 and, like any sulking teenager, I withdrew... perhaps more so than usual given the amount of internal conflict warring within me. I maintained contact with my friends, of course, how could I not? But the distance meant was keenly felt; it was during my last few months in summer school of my junior year that I made a promise to make my way back to Charlotte. Who knew I'd never been able to keep it?

In the meantime I graduated high school, got accepted into Berkeley and found I had a taste for journalism. It went well in the beginning, the college life and prospects and approaches to journalism were taking off in new ways that defied the conventional manner. I can't say I graduated, at least not by the conventional means. Partly because of the War, partly due to mass media, and more so because I didn't agree with how much the truth was being clouded on a daily basis. Fighting the dead was not an honorable and just duty: it was bloody, thankless, and it likely meant going to your own undead-life if you're unfortunate not to actually die the first time. I should know, the Oakland Outbreak of '07 was a nightmare come to life. The infected driven by the need to consume and the living too shocked to respond quickly. When it hit Berkeley, it was the students that fought and used digital media to warn others which spread like wildfire and broke the internet. Walls of the missing soon spread and similar posts across cities and suburbs became an information center and memorial in one. Everything and anything could be found on these memorials: how to fight against the horde, directions from disconnected families and friends, claims of safe areas and which direction to head to, and tips on how to survive. I was 22 then. I lost my family that same year and I remember I just needed to leave, something had snapped within me, I think.

I had a van and it was my only way out though I didn't know if it was entirely possible. I threw whatever I could fit into a duffel and backpack and with three other tech geniuses (Eaton, Yvette, and Jesse) that I befriended during college and similarly nothing to lose, we took to the road. No one would miss us, and our mission was to report the truth as we saw it, unfiltered as best we could get it. We managed to scavenge two servers, a few backup batteries and some other tech I won't drone on about, set up a website, and began recording our travels. I didn't know if we'd survive, but I was no longer that sickly child. At 22 going on 23 at the time, I had grown and it looked like my immune system wasn't going to turn me into one of those flesheaters and it just felt as though I could tackle whatever came at us. I didn't have some invincibility syndrome, I think it was just tenacity to push forward despite the world going to shambles around us.

It's the journey that teaches you some of the most fundamental things to surviving the zombie outbreak. From rural areas were small town folk-turned-militias that taught us the use of weapons beyond a .9mm and the meaning of hard work. It was the urban defenders that showed (and laughed at our expense) how to reinforce our van, what programs to use to avoid being hacked and what it really meant between fact and truth. I know, subjective, but it is what it is. Anyway, we were fortunate enough to be known from our YouTube vids and personal website, but more so than that I believe the fight against the undead had created a bond among the living that extended itself to any able bodied willing to get their hands dirty. The common issues of ethnicity and backgrounds that separated us before were overshadowed by the looming threat of being eaten alive, and it was this common need for survival that branched my skills beyond the objective of reporting.

For instance, you learned to enjoy the simple things in life. But you also learn to live with loss.

Our journey had its ups and downs and it let me appreciate life, fleeting as it might be. I lost my parents, and - looking back - I was foolish to think I wouldn't lose anyone else on this journey. Jesse took me by surprise. To this day, I don't know the true extent of her involvement was with the CDB, and what it meant to our mobile journal troupe. She was a brilliant tech and every so often I'm surprised by some deep programming she did to our systems that crop up every so often. What I know are the facts: she left after a particularly heated debate of whether to footage the uprising. Her stance was to let the masses know, particularly in our age group - the new thinkers and the new mavericks. I found it took risky and the potential to get the facts from the other side of fence would equally shed some light and on safer terms. I haven't heard from her since and all attempts to reach out to her, or find some indicator that she might be alive have been fruitless. That was in o'10.

But the most particularly stinging loss was Eaton two years ago. My partner and later, I found out, Yvette's older brother. I can only imagine her loss, and it still surprises me to this day how they managed to keep that very important piece a secret among the four of us for as long as they did. Unless my observational skills are really that bad. Eaton would jokingly say it is, anyway. Unfortunately, he died during a particularly garish zombie incident, I won't go into details on what happened, some band aids don't need to be ripped open.

All in all, the journey didn't take us as far as I thought it would and any lofty ideas of getting back to Charlotte were long forgotten. Instead and in a twist of irony, after two new hires, hundreds hundreds of videos, thousands of blogs entries and articles, Yvette and I found ourselves back in California. Contact with my old friends had been sporadic by then, and I actually didn't think any of them were alive. Some part of me stopped caring on a whole, if only to detach myself further for feeling so much loss. Yvette was my only real family left. I don't know if that made me selfish, but after such personal losses, I couldn't muster a sliver of optimism. Work has been my focus and I haven't found a reason to give personal happiness a consideration.

So lo' and behold, I get a message from Cal! I can't recall how I reacted, I might have just froze where I stood, blinking as though the printed words was an illusion. The letter brought a wave of nostalgia and equally a reminder of all scars I bore, physically and mentally. The offer was appreciated, but I established a life here, there simply wasn't a need to start anew somewhere else no matter the fond memories. Yvette, however, wouldn't take no as an answer, instead suggesting I go forward to see what opportunities could be in Charlotte. I invited her to come with me, but she gave me this look only mothers can manage and politely declined.

I took the next possible flight out, along with the same reluctance and trepidation of that same scrawny kid all those years ago.

Name: Devin Newburg
Age (28-32): 31
Gender: Male
Appearance: image
Birthplace: Charlotte, N.C.
Nationality: American
Education: High School Diploma, some college coursework completed.
Occupation: Owner and Chief Editor of These Shambling Times
Equipment on him: Two Browning .9mm, three extra clips; bush knife (resembling a wakizashi); military issue tactical knife. Extra clothes and first aid kid.
3 RP Samples: N/A

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Yes! Red Five, this is Gold Leader. Commencing attack run.

Name: Dr. Cesar Iglesia
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Appearance:

Likes: Tennis, wine, Renaissance art, skiing, a warm breeze on his face, a good book
Dislikes: Death, destruction, loud noises, discrimination, the Undead, the military government
Fears: Death, never seeing Melissa again, loud noises, weapons, failure
Hobbies: Tennis, reading, horse-riding
Traits: Has a PhD in biology with a master’s in human anatomy, with a few sides of chemistry. He is a terrible shot, although he’s quite sufficient at tennis. Officially, he is a lieutenant-colonel in the army, although that title is mainly honorary. He keeps his uniform handy for the discount and the respect that comes with it, and to balance out some of the racial discrimination he faces. Outside of that, he keeps it tucked away as deeply as possible.
Personality: Cesar used to be a very outgoing fellow. He liked to drink a lot, get pissed with his college buddies, make a lot of jokes and joyride his father’s car into the night. His former gang will remember him as a man who wasn’t afraid of anything, who wanted to get his voice heard, and chased women and money in equal measure. Now, little is left of that man. He has become reserved, quiet. He doesn’t talk much, and keeps away from most alcoholic beverages. He can often be seen sunken in thought, staring into the deep distance. Jokes will often solicit nothing more than a faint smile, not the roaring laugh he used to have. The last joke he made himself was something of vague remembrance.

Besides his normal persona, Cesar has a few medical problems that affect his mental state. Firstly, he is recovering from a crippling depression he suffered from during the War, which came to him in various degrees of severity over the last few years. Peaks were during the Reclamation, and in the aftermath, when his wife disappeared. Right now, he feels another low fast approaching, and he trying his best to avoid it. Secondly, he suffers from PTSD, which explains his aversion to loud noises. However, his panic attacks can also be triggered by the smell of rotting meat, and the sight of flesh. Cesar has been a vegetarian for years, which is quite hard to accomplish in the post-war economy.
Birthplace: Charlotte, North Carolina
Nationality: American (legally), with roots in Argentina and Turkey
Education: Harvard University, Leiden University college educations
Occupation: Researcher for the United States Centre for Reclamation Research and Development (USC-RRD)
3 RP Samples: Gimme a second
Basic Background:
Back when the Gang was still a thing, Cesar was a joker in the group. His knowledge of the Spanish language (and the fact that he owned a playstation) made him quite popular with other kids. In his security, he developed a healthy sense of humour and self-respect, which became dominant parts of his persona. He was brave, dapper, and quite the charmer, too. He was the guy who would get out under being sent to the principle because of his big, brown eyes.

After the Gang split up, Cesar went to university. He studied in Harvard for three years, before taking a year abroad in Leiden university. There, he learned the true values of tolerance and freedom, something he had missed quite a lot in American universities. He also slept with quite a few female students, one of them becoming his wife later in life. Melissa was something to calm him down, to put his energies in. After spending a few years in the Netherlands, Cesar moved back to Charlotte with Melissa, and the two founded a happy family together. They got a son, William, whom they tried to raise in an increasingly hostile environment. Cesar, being trained in biology and chemistry, found a job with the government to study the Undead. At first, it was nothing more than behavioural science, observing the Undead like one would animals on a safari. Then, they began taking excrement samples. Soon, they would haul killed undead back to laboratories to dissect them. Eventually, they would capture specimens alive for research and testing.

It was all so slow. The science devolving into unethical research on deceased humans was lost on Cesar, because it was both for the ‘common good’ and because the change had occurred so slowly. When they were finally experimenting on the living who were slowly turning, Cesar didn’t even flinch. Melissa, however, objected staunchly. She couldn’t watch her husband do such heinous crimes, even in the name of their survival. While her work remained concentrated on finding a cure, Cesar shifted more and more towards weapons development. During the Reclamation War, he was always on the front line, hurdling towards new subjects for his experiments. However, the more the army advanced, the more Cesar met the destruction which was caused. In the South, he witnessed the mass graves of the minorities that had fallen before racial prejudice. He saw the giant pyres of the undead being lit up, and he saw the heavy toll the war was taking. His developed chemical weapons, which he had produced for pin-pint attacks, were now used to gas entire urban areas, killing undead and living alike. Finally, Melissa disappeared, taking their son with her and vanishing into the Rocky Mountains. She only left a note, saying she was going to work on a cure far away from human madness and hubris. Cesar could look for her, she told him, when he had realised his mistake.

This had two broad effects: it made clear that the nightmares and panic attacks of Cesar were there to stay. A visit to an army psychiatrist yielded him two diagnoses. While the PTSD from the War was soon discovered (the psychiatrist had achieved proficiency in that), they also discovered a clinical depression that had been slumbering in Cesar for quite a while. Cesar had always assumed the empty feeling was natural, but when the other symptoms were explained to him, he finally got the message. That made the depression kick in even harder, and for a few moments, he actually considered giving up on it all. It was only the memory of his wife and son that kept him from going through, combined with the enormous effort that was obviously needed to rebuild the country. As the war ground to a victory, Cesar reflected on the events of the last few years.

It was at that moment that Cesar realised his faults. However, it was too late. There was nothing more he could do. The Black Zone had been declared, and a wall was being erected to keep the undead from escaping. The army had their weapons, they had their chemicals and their research. Cesar was no longer needed. They offered him two positions: he could either teach a new generation of students in the scientific method, or he could go abroad to do more research on other continents. Cesar, having failed in his own eyes, and seeing the count of the destruction he caused, took up neither option. He didn’t deem himself worthy enough to teach a new generation, and he wouldn’t experiment on one more undead in his life. That was over. He would now set himself on rebuilding what was lost. He became an ardent supporter of democratisation, and toured the country as a public speaker. As an official officer, and as someone who witnessed the death and destruction up close, he was seen as a veteran of the war. Besides, his work on chemical weapons and specialised anti-undead weapons was well-known, and he was one of many sung heroes. Little did the public know that the ‘heroic deeds’ for which they applauded him kept him awake at night. Using his status, however much it haunted him, he spoke out for democratisation. Partially because he believed in it, partially because he wanted Melissa to get in touch with him. Cesar was just planning a holiday when the letter from Willie arrived.

[Cylarn]

-snip-

All good, but Willie won't exist in this incarnation of the RP.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

-snip-

All good, but Willie won't exist in this incarnation of the RP.

Ow, right. I'll get him out asap.

[Lunas Legion]

Reporting in.

[Camicon]

I'll get Mairi up and running when I'm back from class.

[Rudaslavia]

Alright, fellas. Should I bring back my fascistic Southern sociopath, or throw a new guy into the ring?

[Rupudska]

I'm definitely bringing back my previous character for this, no questions asked.

[Aidannadia]

Oh, I missed the original incarnation of this roleplay by literally one post after the cut-off.

[Cylarn]

-snip-

You missed the cutoff last time by three minutes. Go ahead and craft something.

[Rupudska]

Alright, fellas. Should I bring back my fascistic Southern sociopath, or throw a new guy into the ring?

Definitely bring back Scarlett Roy, we could use some villainous characters.

This report is compiled from an interrogation of one Angela Velasquez, top sniper for the CDB, during her five months of captivity at Pelican Bay. It is some years old, and up-to-date information has been included.

Name: "My name is Angela Velasquez." DNA test confirmed this to be Angela Velasquez, nicknamed 'Templar' by CDB forces and 'Reaper' by Army/USMC forces
Age (28-32): "I am thirty-one years old."
Gender: "I am female, as you can plainly tell."
Appearance: Enemy combatant is five feet eleven inches tall and one hundred forty one pounds, most of that muscle. EC is of Hispanic descent with dark brown eyes, olive-tan skin, and black hair of hip length - she states that it is usually kept in a tight bun, and once given freedom to do so put it back up in the aforementioned hairstyle. Despite her curvaceous appearance hinting otherwise, EC is surprisingly strong, managing to break the wrist of a guard until she was handcuffed, and 'crushed [a guard's] ****ing cup like a tin can' with a single kick until sedated. After her safety was assured, however, she became significantly more cooperative. EC has a large back tattoo featuring a rattlesnake crushing/biting a stone Roman emperor, with the words 'Sic Semper Tyrannis' above it and 'Don't Tread On Me' below. It is in the form of a large shield, which is supported on the left by a Texian soldier bearing the Gonzales flag, and on the right by an American Revolutionary soldier bearing the thirteen-star American flag. Her left arm bears a full-arm tattoo that makes it resemble medieval plate (shoulder and upper arm, hand, outer elbow) and chain-link armor (inner elbow and lower arm) with the shoulder conspicuously bearing an eagle. Her right forearm bears a tattoo that 'exposes' bone, sinew, and muscle, along with what appears to be a cannon embedded in her arm, complete with ammunition.

Likes: EC shrugs upon being asked this. "A hot meal, a warm bed, a cool night, a cold beer. My likes are fairly simplistic and common; I'm sorry to say they aren't very interesting. I like to keep myself in shape. I like a good story. I like to hunt, when I get the opportunity - we get a lot of that out in the wilds. I like classic rock. I like America, what it once stood for, the idea of it - though my interpretation is clearly different from yours. I like fast cars. I like good suits, well-tailored suits." EC prefers North Carolina style barbecue and Tex-Mex cuisine, but frequently complains that the quality of it here is 'subpar, even for a political prison'. EC drinks coffee with a splash of cream, no sugar. Combatant seems to enjoy singing, and is skilled at it - mostly patriotic hymns of America, England, Scotland and Ireland, along with a select few Christian hymns. Odd choices, as Angela is listed as an atheist - she did however request a copy of the Jefferson Bible, and was pleased to learn it was already in the prison library. EC surprisingly holds no animosity to (most) individual members of the United States Armed Forces; her disdain is (as she claims and has demonstrated) the commanders and generals who 'wrongfully seized what power the people had left from them.' Prior to her joining the CDB, she was a registered Libertarian Party member. EC has a fascination with American history, evidenced by her degree.
Dislikes: "I share many dislikes with [Logan Armstrong], though not all. I can tolerate power, so long as it is used justly. However, arbitrary power rarely leads to the just use of power, so I suppose I dislike arbitrary power."

"Liars annoy me. So does hypocrisy - that's lying to yourself. Obscurantism, censorship, anti-intellectualism - that's forcing people to believe a lie, and that's worse still in my opinion. Freedom of speech is crucial to a free people, or at the very least the freedom to criticize."

"I dislike how complacent we as Americans were with the world before the zombies came. Tyranny, in all its forms, must be rooted out and destroyed - this may be an eternal battle, but by god is it a just one."
Fears: "I do not fear capture. I fear torture, yes, because it is an unavoidable instinct to do so, but it is not my greatest fear. A sad truth of this world I have observed is that violence is an excellent motivator. I fear that someday I may be tempted to abuse it, to dive back into my reptile brain and use the one language all species understand, instead of man's gift of reason. As a soldier, though, violence is a frequent tool of mine, and though I try to do no more than necessary, sometimes I may go a little too far - though I have not committed any war crimes, no matter what propaganda says."

"A Marine I captured back in... ohhh... 2009 I think, referred to me as 'the Reaper' upon seeing me. At first I was proud of such a moniker. Now, though... a Grim Reaper is little more than a force of nature made manifest. Unthinking. Unfeeling. Just the end of the road, uncaring how you get there, just that you do."

"I suppose, simply put, my greatest fear is that one day the abyss I gaze into will gaze back, and I will find myself unable to look away."

"Oh, and spiders. Irrational, I know - spiders are genuinely helpful animals, but I can't bring myself to recoil at the sight of them."
Goals: "My goal is the goal of all true Americans, and of the CDB - the return of American rule to the American people by the American people for the American people. I will accept nothing else than American democracy as it should have been."
Hobbies: "Like I said, I like a good story. Be it in the form of a book, a comic, a movie, a video game, a television show, if it's good, I'll enjoy it.

"I enjoy cooking, even with the slop you you provide us in lieu of ingredients. I enjoy hunting and fishing - humanity is an apex predator after all, and while I also believe we should hunt to keep the population of prey species from getting too high, I also enjoy it. Fine alcohol is... well I wouldn't call it a hobby since only alcoholics consider even the finest booze a hobby. That, and alcohol is best in moderation - I don't like to have so much that it clouds my judgement."

"I enjoy exercise. Lifting weights, cardio, martial arts - I'm no expert by any means, but I'd say I'm fairly good at Jeet Kune Do, which is the martial art I'm most familiar with. Though I don't rely on it - relying on a specific system of fighting leads to you getting wrecked by someone who knows how to counter it, or is better than you at it."

"Mh? Do I enjoy off-road driving? Why do you ask? My... 'teasing' nature when behind the wheel of off-road vehicles while being pursued... is it that obvious? Yes. If the zombies hadn't arrived, I probably would've either been a rally driver. Or a mercenary. 'I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the minds of man,' and such."
Personality: Enemy combatant is rather boyish in personality that shows signs of having been through the rigors of war. There is a certain 'weariness' about her. EC has a sense of humor that seems to consist mostly of black humor, political humor, and groan-inducing puns.

Birthplace: "I was born in Charlotte, North Carolina. My great-grandparents on my mother's side were Spanish immigrants and former members of the Spanish Republican Army. My father is Mexican and moved here in the 1970s, and his grandparents fought in the Mexican Revolution." Background checks confirmed this.
Nationality: "I am a citizen of the United States of America as it once was, must again be, and could have been. You would define my nationality as 'Constitutionalist rebel', I believe." Enemy Combatant has a North Carolina birth certificate and both a CDB and a United States passport.
Education: "I received a public high school education and was well on my way to a Master's in US History from the University of North Carolina when the zombies arrived. I had to put it on hold for a while - you understand. While the CDB still held it, I managed to find just enough time to finish a bachelor's in it from the University of Colorado."
Occupation: "Before the military junta placed its boots upon the Constitution and tore it in half? I was a bartender, working part-time as a shooting instructor at a local shooting gallery as well as occasionally writing editorials for the college newspaper. I happen to be a fan of something called the 'Bill of Rights', especially the first ten amendments, perhaps you've heard of them? When the zombies first arrived, I briefly worked as a for-hire zombie killer, though even then I saw the signs of what was to come. What you people did, or would do then.

In the CDB, I was a soldier most of the time, then a platoon leader, then a company leader. I also occasionally wrote - I prefer to call it the Truth, but I know you'll just call it 'propaganda', so do it now in front of me instead of later behind my back. I think I made quite a few of your superiors very angry in the process. In combat I was primarily a sniper, though against the zombies I was just a particularly accurate gunner." After being broken out, she resumed her position as a sniper for the CDB. When it collapsed, she continued hunting down the more particularly openly anti-CDB members of the United States Government, along with ex-members of the Freedom Front and similar organizations.
3 RP Samples: lol
Basic Background (2 or more paragraphs):

[Cylarn]

-snip-

I'd like to keep the Scarlett Company to a minimum, at best. For the most part, we're all poor and destitute in a variety of ways, so right-wing paramilitarios living out in the DZ would have to be a no for me. That being said, Charlotte is complete and rife with its own motley crew of assholes. I have one antagonist developed, but feel free to devise more.

• Bitchboy Russ - Preferably called "Russell Smith," his nickname was applied by Cal. High school bully-turned-local “legitimate” businessman. As the gang developed and grew up together over the years from youth to adolescence, their paths often crossed with the rude, hostile Russell. He was the de-facto leader of the “Jocks” and the “Preps” at the school, and he directed his influence largely in the way of slandering and foiling his rivals. Feel free to invent specific events involving this character; just post them. As for the present, Russell has discovered a niche as the owner and operator of a corpse/gore cleaning service, with a number of large trucks collecting the plethora of cadavers and remains that still litter the city. It is alleged that his employees are also snatching certain pre-war deeds, contracts, and other important manuscripts in order to generate additional revenue. Another rumor floating about concerns his involvement with the local drug trade, but the details on this are murky at best. Would he ever sell to the Gang? No.

[Cylarn]

Name: "Walter Hondo Calhoun. My friends call me 'Cal.' My middle name is the result of my parents' love for John Wayne."
Age: "Thirty-one, last I checked."
Gender: "Look at me."
Appearance: "I'm an American, through and through. I'm big, tanned, well-built and trimmed from working in my line of work for well over 20 years. Last time I took a physical, my height was measured to 6'1, I believe. You shrink as you get older, so I might just be a solid six. I weigh in the 190 range, and I've worked hard to maintain a peak level of fitness, which shows in my body. I've been an athlete all my life, and thus my body is toned and visibly muscular from strength and endurance work. When I was younger, I was a distance-freestyler in competitive swimming, and thus I was much more thin. Now, with how large I've gotten, I'm probably more of a sprinter. Not a beefcake, because I have a neck."

"My face is...normal, I guess. People have called my face "chiseled," whatever that means. Ears aren't too big, cheeks aren't too big; that kind of stuff. Lots of wrinkles and crow's feet for a thirty-two-year-old, which tends to happen when stress constantly hangs over you like a dark cloud. I've got deep brown eyes, the kind that will scare the shit out of you if you look into them for too long. Really adds to the intimidation factor. Hair's dark brown, like my eyes. I've got a short beard; enough to cover my face but not enough to project far outwards. The hair on my head is cut short in a high-and-tight. It's a bit more heavy the higher you go, and I've got enough to establish a left-flowing flow. "

"As for fun stuff like scars, I've got a bunch around my body but I'll only talk about the ones you can see. I've got a very noticeable bullet wound scar on my left hand, where a CDB sniper - the one that killed MG Dobbs - shot me through the hand when I was shoving Dobbs into an HMMWV. That bullet went through my hand and into her head, killing her instantly. I've got pain in that hand when I'm gripping things with a tight grip, which makes me bless the Creator that I was born a righty. Had a nail shoved through that hand, courtesy of the CDB when Logan wasn't around to keep them from torturing me for intel. The other one is the remnant of a long laceration that extends from just below my right ear and vertically down the side of my neck, coupled with a cluster of smaller, darker scars encompassing the right side of my neck. That was courtesy of shrapnel and a big fucking piece of glass that all got kicked up by a grenade during the Bloody Blizzard. I should also mention that I am missing my right nipple."

Likes:
Dislikes:
Fears:
Goals: "I want to rebuild my life, the best I can, with the people I used to care about. That involves finding my dad's remains, getting a job, and fixing up the house. This might also sound crazy, but I keep having dreams about Chancy - Chandra - and getting back together with her. Will she take me back, if she is even still alive? Probably not. It's a pipe dream, at best. She's probably already screwing Logan, anyways. I get the feeling I got cucked early on."
Hobbies: "Drinking, smoking, screwing. D-S-S. Also, I like to rest, to have room to breathe without having to shoot anything or anyone."
Personality: "All in all, I'd call myself a straight shooter. I listen to what people have to say and I keep my mouth shut, and while you might not think anything about something like that, it's a sign of respect, whether or not you acknowledge that. I listen objectively, and I don't like to make assumptions without the facts in-hand. If I'm wrong, then I'll admit it when I know it for a fact."

"I'm not afraid to draw blood, I'm not afraid to hit back or hit first, and I am definitely not afraid to take a life. I've always had an interesting mix of bravado and courage in my veins. It's the most horrible thing you can do; you're extinguishing a life from existence. A premature end to one's story. Men like me understand that. I've learned to cope, and to not dwell on what I've done. I've seen things that would break lesser men, and am I immune to what I see? I'll be the first to tell you that I am not right in the head. I've been in the shit for so long that I find myself joking about the dead during the day, but I see them again at night, when I'm asleep. It's not all corny jokes and laughs when you see dead faces in your dreams."

"If you know me well, though, then you know to look past my exterior. I can be gentle and empathetic; I'm great with babies, if you can believe that. I like to laugh and have a good time with enjoyable company. For all of the violence in my like, I like to be a normal person sometimes. I try to be; I used to be happy-go-lucky, getting into all sorts of shenanigans as a kid and whatnot. I crossed the line a lot though, I pushed boundaries, but what is 'normal?' I wasn't the worst kid, but when I was nineteen, I got exposed to some shit. The walking dead was something I didn't expect; I knew I was in Iraq to kill terrorists, but shambling women and children with their mouths agape? I used to think I wasn't innocent as a kid. Now, I realize that I did not truly lose my innocence until Iraq, until the Rec War.

Birthplace: "Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. My dad was an expat who had served with the Rhodesian Light Infantry and later, the Zimbabwe National Army. My mom's Rhodesian by birth."
Nationality: "Naturalized American Citizen. Although Dad was American by birth, Mom was a foreign national. Part of joining the Army was so that I could streamline my naturalization."
Education: "I took some classes at Fayetteville State when I was stationed at Bragg. Iraq - and the Rec War - put a stop to that."
Occupation: "For the past ten or so years, I was shacked up with the Army. I went from being a boot to commanding a Special Forces unit. Right now, I am without work."
3 RP Samples:
Basic Background: "I was born when Zimbabwe was still transitioning from the white-minority government of Rhodesia. The whites were all emigrating and taking with them everything that Zimbabwe needed to be self-sufficient. Can you blame them, after what Robert Mugabe did to that country, did to the white farmers? My dad was a Vietnam Vet who joined the Rhodesian Security Forces during the Bush War, but they let him commission into the ZNA when they integrated the Rhodesian Army, ZIPRA, and ZANLA. Mom worked at a bank in Bulawayo, but I don't remember much from Zimbabwe. I was maybe one or two when we left Zimbabwe, but I remember growing up in Durban until I was five, at which point Dad moved us to his hometown in the States."

"I got picked on a lot for having an accent. Sometimes, I'd sound British, and other times I'd sound like an Afrikaner. Naturally, I shacked up with the other 'misfits,' like Logan and Chancy and Cesar and the others. We all stood out in different ways, and we empowered each other. Eventually, I started standing up to the bullies, and it got to the point where the tables got flipped - especially when we got Angela in the group. Must've been like seven or eight of us, maybe more or less, and we'd find adventure in Charlotte. We started with imagination; 'expeditions' in the woods when we were seven or eight, and then we moved onto shenanigans."

"While I look fondly on our shenanigans, it created ire with my parents. Mom was pissed that I was hanging out with 'coloreds,' but she got over herself eventually. Dad didn't care as much about race, but being a cop he couldn't tolerate his kid getting into trouble. No less than sixteen times was I handcuffed by the police, bailed out by Dad, and then beaten by Dad. I got shot at by a security guard for shoplifting once, too. Fun times."

"I found love in the Gang, too. I scored during a family trip to Durban when I was fourteen, and if I'm not mistaken, I messed around with all the ladies I hung out with. However, there was one that stuck out: Chancy. Beautiful, outspoken, and so many other things. I became a stud when I was a teen and I had little trouble scoring, but Chancy - or Chandra, as I later started calling her - was a different beast. She played hard-to-get and she made me work for my reward. We were 'official' throughout high school, but let me cover the rest of high school first."

"Were we necessarily 'bad' during high school? No. Logan and Cesar were at the top of our graduating class, and I was one of the top competitive swimmers in the state. Everyone had something to be proud of at that time. I did okay in academics, but I was never as studious - or interested - as Logan or Cesar were in academics. I liked history; hell, I shut our history teacher up when he started talking shit about Rhodesia. That guy knew absolutely nothing of what actually happened over there, but hey, that's not important. We had to contend with principals, cops, and - especially - Bitchboy Russ, the leader of the Jocks. He and I despised each other; I almost got charged with Assault with a Deadly Weapon when I was eighteen, but shit happens when Russ tried starting a fight with a man who was clearly carrying an axe handle. That man was me."

"I graduated from high school, and I chose to join the Army like Dad had done. He told me that I needed to redirect my shit elsewhere. That was '03, two years after 9/11. You bet your ass 9/11 pissed me off when it happened; I cried as we watched the carnage on the brand-new flatscreen at my house. I went through Basic and Infantry School, and got shipped off to Iraq with the 1st Cav, just in time for the Second Battle of Fallujah. I'm sure you remember Fallujah, right? However before I got shipped off, I made up my mind to propose to Chandra. Maybe I was making a mistake, getting down on one knee at the Bank of America Stadium in my Class As, in front of tons of people, looking up at Chandra as her face turned bright-red. She said yes, by the way."

"That battle was the first time that American troops battled the undead, but it wasn't until the first battle ended with a temporary cease-fire. The military is still studying how the virus got into Fallujah, but my guess is that it came from the foreign fighters who entered the city to back the Jihadists. My first encounter with them was during sentry duty; orders were to contain all attempts to leave the city, and this was because we feared that enemy combatants were blending in with the civilians to escape."

"I saw a family walking up to my position - more like shambling. Mother, two young kids. I yelled in Arabic for them to stop, and I leveled my M16 at them. Our 'terp tried approaching them, shouting at them to head on back home. He went to grab a kid, and the kid bit his hand. He tried recoiling it back, but the kid had his hand tight in its jaws. The other two moved in on him, and they started biting and rending his flesh. I'm never gonna get his screams out of my head. I shot one of the kids in the shoulder; kid fell back, got back up, and started on Fahd again. Flipped to 'pew-pew-pew,' and expended my mag on the group of them. I didn't know that we were fighting zombies at that moment, so I was flabbergasted when Mama and one of the kids got back up. I reloaded just as a Scout Sniper popped them both. Fahd reanimated sometime later, and I heard he got popped in the head by General Mattis."

"Shit got real after that. We went from fighting the Jihadists to rescuing the ones that didn't shoot back at us, but not everyone had the stomach to shoot the zombies. Some guys brought the 'Laz' - that's our word for it - back to camp, and pretty soon, we started losing ground. We were all terrified; I kept telling Chandra that I was fine, that things were going fine, and that I would be coming home. I didn't have the guts to tell her that I shot kids, that I shot my friends because they started moaning and trying to bite me. Before long, Mattis had the entire city demolished and burnt to the ground. I will never forget pulling out of that hell as it got pounded by artillery and rockets and JSOWs, my eyes fixated on the dark, shambling figures that grew smaller and smaller as our gun trucks took off into the desert. I came back home shortly after that with my first Silver Star, and an invite to join the 75th Ranger Regiment."

"Things weren't too shitty - at first. I wanted to leave the Army and head west, to find Chandra and tie the knot and lay low. The Army had me at Benning, and then abruptly moved me to Cali when shit started hitting the fan. I went from E-3 to E-5 in two days during LA, and I still don't know how we kept that town. Parts of it - like Skid Row and South-Central - were lost to us, but you know what got me? The politicians. Some of them did the right thing; the Mayor paid out of his own pocket to evacuate kids from South-Central, and I fought alongside the LA County Sheriff before he got chewed up, but those guys were exceptions to the majority. I saw Senators - guys who ran on promises of fairness and equality and shit - shoving black families into hordes just so they could get into helicopters. One guy's security detail was shooting civilians even, but I couldn't really judge them."

"I don't remember every single place I fought at, but I know for sure I was at Fort Collins. That was a shit-show, let me tell you. Civvies holding the line as our regulars retreated to form safe zones, the Air Force dropping Daisy Cutters on friend and foe alike, and the...the VX, too. Yeah, we gassed our people, and I will be honest about that. It was bullshit. The Rangers always get a bad wrap with Fort Collins and the CDB and such, but my guys and I didn't abandon them if we could help it. Catherine Dobbs herself had to radio me and order me to leave the militias behind. They gave me my butter-bars after that."

"The CDB really got into full-swing in '08, but until then, I was running strikes on zombie hotspots and ensuring that the SZ stayed safe. Logan likes to paint us as shooting civilians so that we could save supplies, but I never shot anyone unless they shot first, and that's the truth. We ran dry on ammo a lot, and had to fight with bayonets on our rifles at time. It got really bloody, but let me get to another change in my life. You've heard about the Ranger platoon that pursued a CDB squad, only to find an entire mounted company? I was the PL for that platoon, and I got captured. I surrendered after most of our survivors got out; the ones they captured were me and the badly-wounded. They marched us on foot back to Aspen; two guys didn't make it."

"Being in CDB custody was...okay, at first. I thought Logan had died, because I hadn't heard anything about him since he did a semester abroad in Turkey. I lived with a family - the Mosses - and they took good care of me. I think Logan thought he could convert me over to his side, to show me the 'error of my ways.' He talked about how illegitimate the military government was; I told him that the generals stood firm while the politicians and elected leaders tucked their tails and ran for safety, forgetting their constituents. He even brought Chandra in there to try and make me see his reasoning; he only succeeded in destroying whatever was left of our love. She threw the ring at my face, and said that I broke the oath I made to her. She got on that radio of her's, and tarnished my name. Logan stopped visiting me afterwards, and that's when shit got real."

"Some of the CDB guys didn't like the treatment I was getting, so a group of them dragged me off to another basement and started torturing me. I am short a nipple, and I have the scars of a hole in my left hand; the first one was from a nail that one of those bastards drove through my hand. Seven days later, with what energy I had left, I killed my guard with that nail and snuck out in the middle of the night. 'Snuck' isn't the proper term, because I got chased for a good several miles by grunts and dogs. Spent a week trying to get to our base in Phoenix, just in time to be there when Dobbs got popped. Angela, I think, shot us both that day."

"You know, it's uncommon to get recruited into two SF units on the same day. In the morning, some Captain with 1st SFOD-Delta offered me a spot, and then a Delta Colonel named Spitzer recruited me for Cohort. You know them, right? Task Force Cohort; bane of the CDB leadership, proliferator of lies. We focused entirely on taking apart the CDB, attacking their leadership and their credibility. We started with hunter-killer ops, getting rid of those column leaders. I had Logan in my sights once, had an AWM ready to put one through his head. Wind condition was good; everything was lined up for the kill but me. I missed him, because I was still too weak to kill him. I flinched and jerked when I should've exhaled and firmly pulled the trigger, like I was taught. Learned he tried saying that he was 'Serb,' but I was the one that broke the news on who he was, his background."

"I called in the strikes at Pueblo, the ones that turned men into ash as they tried galloping away. I told the Rangers to hunker down and let the survivors leave through our lines, but not all of them chose to do so. I said, 'let them go back to Aspen and tell fucking Krauss what'll happen to the rest of them.' The officer that resisted and attempted to stop them...they decapped him and killed most of the men that retaliated. What really did a number on the CDB towards the end was amnesty. These guys knew it was lose-lose, and we gave them a way out. The majority of guys who took amnesty weren't 're-educated,' but were put back into society or put into penal units. By '11, our safezones were doing much better; some places had surpluses."

"I smoked a joint while Aspen burned, too, and led one of the assaults high as balls. I have mixed feelings on the Bloody Blizzard; most of the folks that died were emaciated kids and old folks who froze to death, or died from shrapnel. I took Krauss into custody, and General Harkin - our current national leader - awarded me the Medal of Honor for 'going above and beyond the call of duty in a national crisis.' Really, I'm just a survivor. I thought about chucking the medal, y'know, but I still have it. I was given a choice of duty assignments, and for the next two or so years, I was dropped into z-territory, assisting isolated strongholds and such. It wasn't that glamorous; when I wasn't spending days up in a tree stand or training irregulars, I was self-medicating with booze, pot, and any piece of ass that would put up with me for twenty minutes or more. The latter pissed a lot of guys off."

"I've been out for a month now. Honorable discharge as a Captain, with a big celebration and commemoration for sticking it out this long. Out of the thousand or so guys I served with in Fallujah in my brigade, I'm pretty sure I am the only survivor. Survivor is a relative term; I heard Hoskins and Morreira are in a nut house somewhere. A lot of guys are in the nut house now, y'know? I tracked down my parents; Mom died in Asheville, and I was able to get her ashes. Dad, on the other hand, died with his cops in Charlotte, and I have yet to find his remains."

"I'm heading back home. I sent out letters to my friends, or at least the ones who aren't fugitives, and asked them to come live with me. Is it a necessarily smart idea? Hell no, but I need familiar faces right now."

[Swith Witherward]

Nice to see this has returned.

[Tiltjuice]

(thumbsup)

Watch this space for further applicationaments. My Internet is spotty so I might get something up tonight, or Monday.

[Cylarn]

We are open to new applications.

[Rupudska]

We are open to new applications.

Now if only we could get some.

[Cylarn]

We are open to new applications.

Now if only we could get some.

Norv and Min should be joining. They already agreed to assist as Co-OPs.

[Mincaldenteans]

Now if only we could get some.

Norv and Min should be joining. They already agreed to assist as Co-OPs.

*nods* I've been mulling over my previous char and can't decide to keep it or make changes.

[Rupudska]

Norv and Min should be joining. They already agreed to assist as Co-OPs.

*nods* I've been mulling over my previous char and can't decide to keep it or make changes.

That's up to you. I'm sticking with my character though, because I really liked the incarnation of her I used from the last thread.

Except this time she won't have surrendered herself.

[Tiltjuice]

Actually, seeing all the mentions of recycled chars, can I get links to their original apps so I know what not to make?

[Rudaslavia]

If this is Cy's last run, I'm going all-out. I'll start an app for a new character tomorrow. I have a good idea in mind.