Damien Waters
Aug 14, 2013 11:43:32 GMT -5
Post by Killz4food on Aug 14, 2013 11:43:32 GMT -5
Character name and age: Damien Waters Age 22
Gender: Male
Character colony: Manatee Island (Unapproved)
Character Appearance:
Damien is what many people would call average. There was nothing spectacular about him, and there really isn't anything note worthy about him now either. With his moderately short cut brown hair and slightly tanned skin, he doesn't stand out much. If there was anything that did stick out about him though, it was his sea foam green eyes. Always a crowd stopper. His face was blemished by a single scar that stretched from his upper cheek to his lower chin. It happened during the Great Panic, when he was cut by a looter who had then been captured by the Z. His jawbone wasn't very prominent, though his smile was full of teeth unlike many people now adays.
His build was very lean. He wasn't skinny, but scrawny. He had always been that way, since he was a child, though he boasted a height of 6'1 with long legs. He had tried massing on protein in order to get some build, but it had gotten him no where. He had no muscle, but he packed a punch and what he lacked in strength he could easily cover for in firearm knowledge and survival skill.
Character Personality:
When he was younger he was a doormat, someone who decided that the only way to make himself happy was to make everyone else happy. It had gotten the extent that he had become clinically depressed and often thought of suicide and resorted to self harm in order to make himself feel better. He had been treated like a family slave, unappreciated and abused. A little bit of that people pleaser carried over with him, making it easier for him to allow people into his colony.
HE was always fairly decent as a judge of character. Based on what you said to him via a series of conversation prompts and questions he could tell if you where a good character or not and whether or not he wanted to keep you around. It was an important trait to him now that he was the leader of a colony and people in this world always seemed to have some sort of secret motive behind their actions.
He was very sympathetic and empathetic. When the world was full of people it hurt him to see how people treated others and on occasion how HE treated others. He had never really believed in a Higher Power and was hardly ever religious, but he knew that if there was one, they wouldn't have appreciated how people were treated. The constant fighting in his house aided his depression and often gave him headaches. The people at the bus terminal or school always fighting with each other gave him pains in his chest. He didn't know why he was born this way, all he knew is that he was, and it would most likely be the death of him.
Character History:
I'm not quite sure what the date is anymore. I tried to keep track of it as best I could. I'm sure someone else knows though. I don't. But I can remember when I left. I remember the buzz of the Great Panic. I remember when I decided to leave, though I didn't go very far.
About two weeks before I left I had been to a park called Manatee Island. I had gone there by mistake really, but I couldn't help but notice that the entrance was heavily fenced in. With my young mind I had thought about how well this place would do as a zombie apocalypse hold out. There was a two story house in the front of the park before you got to the bridge that took you TO the park. That bridge had a big black gate in front of it. That bridge stretched for about 15 feet and the water was probably just as deep. The white house was surrounded by fence as well, an old historical site they called it. The whole thing was pretty holed in.
I had read about the incidents with Zeke online. Rumours. Urban Myths. That's what they had been labeled by Governments. Our own Government even. Some police officers had Tweeted and Facebooked about some of the incidents but then were asked to cover it up simply as a Bathsalts incident. The drug that makes you go all cannibalistic ape shit. I remember hearing about some of those incidents. One was very local, in Tampa Bay, Florida. I'm not entirely sure if it was actually bath salts then, or if that was patient Zero. I'm not really sure about anything anymore.
When I had decided to flee was the day I had come home from work. I had employment at the local Dairy Queen, a hot spot for a lot of Floridians. Nothing like some DQ on a hot summer day. I had gotten home and my brother was running a terrible fever. My mother was frantically running around the house, looking for some Tylenol or Aspirin, something to bring the fever down. She asked me to run to the store, to grab some. So I did.
But when I got back I couldn't believe my eyes.
Mom was dead. It was as simple as that. At least, at the time she was dead. My brother was crouched over her, chewing at her body. I called out to him. A few times, calling his name. It seemed pointless though, like he couldn't hear me. I didn't know how to react so I walked up to him. As I approached him he began to run at me, hissing violently. I kicked out at him, hitting him in the chest instinctively. I don't know where the sudden urge to kick him in the chest came from, or how it was so perfect. But it was. He hit the wall, fell, and came back up at me. I ran to the kitchen grabbing a knife. I didn't even think about it. As he came in I stabbed and stabbed. When he hit the floor with that ugly thud I didn't look down at him. I just packed my stuff and I left. I grabbed the pistol from moms safe, packed all the food I could fit into my duffel bag, took as many clothes as I could fit into a suitcase, and I got into my car. I stopped at the store and bought a whole bunch of water. Well, four 38 packs. I knew what was happening.
I headed back to Manatee Island. I parked my car next to the News Journal center there. On my way there I had stopped and picked up a whole bunch of chain length, super thick stuff, at least two inches, and made my way into the house. I made frequent trips to the stores and stuff, stocking up food while no one knew what was happening. I saw my house on the news even. I went back to our house in the dead of night to get our generator and used it to power up the white house. After a few weeks people began to realize what was happening. By then, I had already stocked up on a decent sized stockpile of weapons. Not enough for a militia, but a hunting rifle and a hand gun. The one I took from mom. I had the rounds too.
Not only was that the birth of me, the new me, but it was the birth of Manatee Island. I placed two head stones in front of my house, the White House as the civilians call it. One for mom and one for my brother.
May they rest in peace.
Misc. Details:
N/A
Gender: Male
Character colony: Manatee Island (Unapproved)
Character Appearance:
Damien is what many people would call average. There was nothing spectacular about him, and there really isn't anything note worthy about him now either. With his moderately short cut brown hair and slightly tanned skin, he doesn't stand out much. If there was anything that did stick out about him though, it was his sea foam green eyes. Always a crowd stopper. His face was blemished by a single scar that stretched from his upper cheek to his lower chin. It happened during the Great Panic, when he was cut by a looter who had then been captured by the Z. His jawbone wasn't very prominent, though his smile was full of teeth unlike many people now adays.
His build was very lean. He wasn't skinny, but scrawny. He had always been that way, since he was a child, though he boasted a height of 6'1 with long legs. He had tried massing on protein in order to get some build, but it had gotten him no where. He had no muscle, but he packed a punch and what he lacked in strength he could easily cover for in firearm knowledge and survival skill.
Character Personality:
When he was younger he was a doormat, someone who decided that the only way to make himself happy was to make everyone else happy. It had gotten the extent that he had become clinically depressed and often thought of suicide and resorted to self harm in order to make himself feel better. He had been treated like a family slave, unappreciated and abused. A little bit of that people pleaser carried over with him, making it easier for him to allow people into his colony.
HE was always fairly decent as a judge of character. Based on what you said to him via a series of conversation prompts and questions he could tell if you where a good character or not and whether or not he wanted to keep you around. It was an important trait to him now that he was the leader of a colony and people in this world always seemed to have some sort of secret motive behind their actions.
He was very sympathetic and empathetic. When the world was full of people it hurt him to see how people treated others and on occasion how HE treated others. He had never really believed in a Higher Power and was hardly ever religious, but he knew that if there was one, they wouldn't have appreciated how people were treated. The constant fighting in his house aided his depression and often gave him headaches. The people at the bus terminal or school always fighting with each other gave him pains in his chest. He didn't know why he was born this way, all he knew is that he was, and it would most likely be the death of him.
Character History:
I'm not quite sure what the date is anymore. I tried to keep track of it as best I could. I'm sure someone else knows though. I don't. But I can remember when I left. I remember the buzz of the Great Panic. I remember when I decided to leave, though I didn't go very far.
About two weeks before I left I had been to a park called Manatee Island. I had gone there by mistake really, but I couldn't help but notice that the entrance was heavily fenced in. With my young mind I had thought about how well this place would do as a zombie apocalypse hold out. There was a two story house in the front of the park before you got to the bridge that took you TO the park. That bridge had a big black gate in front of it. That bridge stretched for about 15 feet and the water was probably just as deep. The white house was surrounded by fence as well, an old historical site they called it. The whole thing was pretty holed in.
I had read about the incidents with Zeke online. Rumours. Urban Myths. That's what they had been labeled by Governments. Our own Government even. Some police officers had Tweeted and Facebooked about some of the incidents but then were asked to cover it up simply as a Bathsalts incident. The drug that makes you go all cannibalistic ape shit. I remember hearing about some of those incidents. One was very local, in Tampa Bay, Florida. I'm not entirely sure if it was actually bath salts then, or if that was patient Zero. I'm not really sure about anything anymore.
When I had decided to flee was the day I had come home from work. I had employment at the local Dairy Queen, a hot spot for a lot of Floridians. Nothing like some DQ on a hot summer day. I had gotten home and my brother was running a terrible fever. My mother was frantically running around the house, looking for some Tylenol or Aspirin, something to bring the fever down. She asked me to run to the store, to grab some. So I did.
But when I got back I couldn't believe my eyes.
Mom was dead. It was as simple as that. At least, at the time she was dead. My brother was crouched over her, chewing at her body. I called out to him. A few times, calling his name. It seemed pointless though, like he couldn't hear me. I didn't know how to react so I walked up to him. As I approached him he began to run at me, hissing violently. I kicked out at him, hitting him in the chest instinctively. I don't know where the sudden urge to kick him in the chest came from, or how it was so perfect. But it was. He hit the wall, fell, and came back up at me. I ran to the kitchen grabbing a knife. I didn't even think about it. As he came in I stabbed and stabbed. When he hit the floor with that ugly thud I didn't look down at him. I just packed my stuff and I left. I grabbed the pistol from moms safe, packed all the food I could fit into my duffel bag, took as many clothes as I could fit into a suitcase, and I got into my car. I stopped at the store and bought a whole bunch of water. Well, four 38 packs. I knew what was happening.
I headed back to Manatee Island. I parked my car next to the News Journal center there. On my way there I had stopped and picked up a whole bunch of chain length, super thick stuff, at least two inches, and made my way into the house. I made frequent trips to the stores and stuff, stocking up food while no one knew what was happening. I saw my house on the news even. I went back to our house in the dead of night to get our generator and used it to power up the white house. After a few weeks people began to realize what was happening. By then, I had already stocked up on a decent sized stockpile of weapons. Not enough for a militia, but a hunting rifle and a hand gun. The one I took from mom. I had the rounds too.
Not only was that the birth of me, the new me, but it was the birth of Manatee Island. I placed two head stones in front of my house, the White House as the civilians call it. One for mom and one for my brother.
May they rest in peace.
Misc. Details:
N/A