Malphaestus
Touched by the Apocalypse
John W. George
Male
27
Strengths:
- Skillful Engineer - During his service in the Marine Corps John spent the entirety of his time building basic fortifications, blowing things up, and repairing things that were blown up (sometimes by him). It ended up with him getting rather good at it too.
- Good Shot - As per Marine customs, anyone amongst its midsts must learn how to use, handle, and maintain a rifle. Whilst John was more interested in the last part, he did also end up being a good shooter.
- Well Built - John hasn't had much to do during the last couple of years after his service thanks to him skipping from job to job for a couple of years now, so he went to the gym instead.
Weaknesses:
- Screw Loose - Thanks to his experiences in Afghanistan during his service period, and the actual apocalypse, John isn't really right in the head.
- Antisocial - John is antisocial by necessity, coping with minor PTSD, he sees everyone as possible threats and therefore distances himself. Large crowds can overpower him and force a mental breakdown.
- Easily Distracted - George can easily lose track of things and just blabber on about irrelevant bollocks instead of paying heed to the actual thing at hand.
- Shaky Hands - As much as he'll tell you that you're delusional for thinking it, he does actually have some rather shaky hands.
Personality:
John W. George used to be a rather reserved, calm, but socially active individual who seemed to be at just about every party that you'd know of. If not for amusement then just for the sake of his pal who needed some wing manning of which he was happy to provide. He was the person that maintained any relationship and made every group of friends shine just the extra bit brighter. This would endure all the way through college and when he finished with his major in engineering he decided that 'for now I've had enough' and went and joined up with the military. Thanks to his spontaneous persona, something which never really went away, he didn't think twice about it, and a month later was already partaking in basic training. He'd decided to join up with the Marines and so he did. He assimilated impressively into the ideal Marine persona and the culture, gaining a rather grim and dark humorous view of the world which would only come to be enforced even further after his last tour.
When he returned to the US he was a transformed man with pockets under his eyes and a cigarette always close by to his hands. His friends tried to re-establish the contact they had before, but only realized that he now had turned into a rather egocentric antisocial with a couple problems going on in his membrane, as such they gave up on him, and left him to his own demise. John would spend these tense, difficult, and calm years switching from workplace to workplace due to incompatability issues with staffers and managers. In the end no one could really deal with his excessive, obsessive, distant, agressive, and slightly fucked personality of which he'd accrued over the years in Afghanistan. Plus, no one really wants to have an office worker who talks to himself doing editing, right?
When he returned to the US he was a transformed man with pockets under his eyes and a cigarette always close by to his hands. His friends tried to re-establish the contact they had before, but only realized that he now had turned into a rather egocentric antisocial with a couple problems going on in his membrane, as such they gave up on him, and left him to his own demise. John would spend these tense, difficult, and calm years switching from workplace to workplace due to incompatability issues with staffers and managers. In the end no one could really deal with his excessive, obsessive, distant, agressive, and slightly fucked personality of which he'd accrued over the years in Afghanistan. Plus, no one really wants to have an office worker who talks to himself doing editing, right?
History:
John W. George was born on the 2nd of October, 1989, and was already at birth thought to be quite the kid. He had something in his eyes, his parents always said, a sort of gaze that could just take hold of anything in its path. Initially this held true, all the way up to College, as he gained impressive marks and far-reaching social connections. He was the party's man, or so some would call him, and was always there for people when they needed advice or a helping hand.
Although benefiting everyone in his company, from family to friends, he never really did spend much time on himself, neglecting his personal wishes for the sake of the greater wellbeing. This put a lot of stress on him which lead to many sleepless nights and innumerable tears. He'd eventually find help in his endless persuit of personal self-enlightenment, by his first girlfriend named Hannah. She and him'd meet just before him entering college, and it was apparent by everyone of their compatability.
Hannah went from a distant individual into the limelight in an instant and would be invited to every event of which John would otherwise've gone to alone with his friends. Her presence was of great worth and very helpful in keeping the stress and burden off of his shoulders, John was also happy that Hannah seemed to enjoy herself as well.
Although, John did never really question the fact that she may be enjoying herself too much. During his second year in college he'd found out that Hannah had been actively cheating on him since his first year, and had been actively partaking in the innumerable sins of clublife. He never did knew how to confront this, and sort of let it rest, tricking himself that everything was fine when she was smiling at him, and that every kiss they shared was a validification of their love and not of the tobacco he could just so barely taste from her lips when they hung out after his classes.
His friends wanted to end John's silent suffering, and thereby confronted Hannah. The confrontation went sour and ended with John being called to disarm the situation, something which nearly caused this otherwise peaceful and civil young adult to lash out and kill a man of his same age.
With no other lie he could tell himself, he told Hannah to "fuck off" and "never get back in my sight", something of which she obliged, and even switched colleges. Whilst not apparent or obvious, John think that might've been because of various classmates badmouthing and ridiculing her. For once in his life, though, he didn't really care.
Nothing much happened until he decided to join up with the military after he finished his major in engineering. Everything went smooth, his recruiter was friendly, his training was as harsh as one'd suspect, Marine bootcamp was as hardcore as anyone'd ever tell you, and only after flying all the way over to Afghanistan did the unexpected occure.
John'd partake in four different tours, all of them in Afghanistan, as a combat engineer.
As a combat engineer it was his duty to supply the frontline forces with ample defenses and fortifications, explosives and detonations for vehicle or structural demolishions, and frontline vehicular repairs. Countless hours did he spend out in the line of fire of his enemies setting up c4 and disabling IEDs. Honestly, there probably wasn't much he didn't do beyond flying aircraft and driving tanks.
His entire Marine life would culminate during an engagement in a remote Afghani wasteland against enemy forces where he'd been called in to disarm an enemy IED obstructing friendly forces during live fire. Needless to say it was a rather slow, terrifying process that involved a lot of snaking yourself forwards just hoping you didn't happen to drag your stomach against a live detonator.
After this debaucle he was later honourably discharged after suffering a severe gun wound to his left and right hands, leaving him inoperable on the battlefield. He was shipped over to the US where he would later come to spend the rest of his days as an honourably discharged vet who just couldn't seem to land any jobs and just wanted to get back out there into the battlefield with his distant brothers still fighting out there in the desert wasteland.
And then, rather suddenly, the apocalypse hit.
Although benefiting everyone in his company, from family to friends, he never really did spend much time on himself, neglecting his personal wishes for the sake of the greater wellbeing. This put a lot of stress on him which lead to many sleepless nights and innumerable tears. He'd eventually find help in his endless persuit of personal self-enlightenment, by his first girlfriend named Hannah. She and him'd meet just before him entering college, and it was apparent by everyone of their compatability.
Hannah went from a distant individual into the limelight in an instant and would be invited to every event of which John would otherwise've gone to alone with his friends. Her presence was of great worth and very helpful in keeping the stress and burden off of his shoulders, John was also happy that Hannah seemed to enjoy herself as well.
Although, John did never really question the fact that she may be enjoying herself too much. During his second year in college he'd found out that Hannah had been actively cheating on him since his first year, and had been actively partaking in the innumerable sins of clublife. He never did knew how to confront this, and sort of let it rest, tricking himself that everything was fine when she was smiling at him, and that every kiss they shared was a validification of their love and not of the tobacco he could just so barely taste from her lips when they hung out after his classes.
His friends wanted to end John's silent suffering, and thereby confronted Hannah. The confrontation went sour and ended with John being called to disarm the situation, something which nearly caused this otherwise peaceful and civil young adult to lash out and kill a man of his same age.
With no other lie he could tell himself, he told Hannah to "fuck off" and "never get back in my sight", something of which she obliged, and even switched colleges. Whilst not apparent or obvious, John think that might've been because of various classmates badmouthing and ridiculing her. For once in his life, though, he didn't really care.
Nothing much happened until he decided to join up with the military after he finished his major in engineering. Everything went smooth, his recruiter was friendly, his training was as harsh as one'd suspect, Marine bootcamp was as hardcore as anyone'd ever tell you, and only after flying all the way over to Afghanistan did the unexpected occure.
John'd partake in four different tours, all of them in Afghanistan, as a combat engineer.
As a combat engineer it was his duty to supply the frontline forces with ample defenses and fortifications, explosives and detonations for vehicle or structural demolishions, and frontline vehicular repairs. Countless hours did he spend out in the line of fire of his enemies setting up c4 and disabling IEDs. Honestly, there probably wasn't much he didn't do beyond flying aircraft and driving tanks.
His entire Marine life would culminate during an engagement in a remote Afghani wasteland against enemy forces where he'd been called in to disarm an enemy IED obstructing friendly forces during live fire. Needless to say it was a rather slow, terrifying process that involved a lot of snaking yourself forwards just hoping you didn't happen to drag your stomach against a live detonator.
After this debaucle he was later honourably discharged after suffering a severe gun wound to his left and right hands, leaving him inoperable on the battlefield. He was shipped over to the US where he would later come to spend the rest of his days as an honourably discharged vet who just couldn't seem to land any jobs and just wanted to get back out there into the battlefield with his distant brothers still fighting out there in the desert wasteland.
And then, rather suddenly, the apocalypse hit.
Writing Sample:
The darkness had already enveloped the entire neighborhood, the otherwise perfectly operable electricity had given way and now an eerie stillness and silence dominanted the entire suburban block. Not being fond of being ill prepared, John quickly opened a nearby drawer right next to the large window overlooking the driveway from his livingroom, just behind the large sofa of which he'd spent the last few nights sleeping on.
As he opened the drawer he could feel his m1911, although it felt a lot lighter than he'd remembered, but didn't take too long pondering it, and instead spent most of that energy trying to navigate towards the door leading down into the basement. Knowing something like this might've happened sooner rather than later, he'd just spent his latest paycheck investing in a generator.
After falling over once or twice on the various pillows and blankets thrown all across the 1st floor, he finally found his way to the basement. At least so he thought, and was rather dumb founded when he had instead managed to navigate himself into the garage by accident after disorientating himself on the pillow in the kitchen. At least all's well that ends well, and ecstatic was he when he realized that the generator was not actually in the basement, but instead inside the garage.
What seemed like hours, years, weeks, days, months, whatever you could think of would finally pass when he'd managed to start up the generator and the entire house lit up. With his trustworthy m1911 in hand he continued to secure his house, checking every room, and making sure that none of the terrorists or rebels from Afghanistan had somehow found out his address from that one bomb he set off just outside that remote hideout in the desert mountains. Who knows, maybe they were in contact with the president or the FBI, and had organized all this just to kill this one 'umble public servant.
Nevertheless John was adamant on maintaining his status quo and not suffocating horrendously in a dark cellar with a wet towel over his face, at least that was what he intended. But alas, no one was inside his house, and the entire building appeared cleared and void of hostiles. Finally relieved and less tensed up, John decided to go downstairs to check up on his broken TV, maybe today was the day when it had finally decided to work.
Or maybe he was going to make something good for lunch, not that it was time for that, after all it was rather dark outside. Whatever he'd decide to do was put on hold however, by a rather sudden an violent knocking on his door, something of which he responded with "What the fuck is it you want, asshole? Can't a veteran just rest in peace for FUCK SAKE!" He lashed out in the door's direction, gripping even tighter around his m1911, the one he'd gotten from that yard sale a couple of years back.
But even after unleashing such a vicious storm upon the undeserving door the knocking seemed to actually intensify, soon even the backdoor into the garden would turn violent and vicious, knocking and banking with increasing ferociousness.
John was already on his way towards the front door however, trying to welcome this hooligan viciously murdering his beautiful pinewood door.
"Alright calm the fuck down you asshole, I'm coming, I'm coming..."
With undetermined steps he forced himself to the door, and in the mistake of the moment, opened it and let the guests in. A vicious odour seemed to eminate from outside and had now penetrated into his own holy sanctum. Looking up and about to pop the most smart-ass line of his life, he couldn't help but notice that half the face of his new guests were missing and went into a bit of a panic.
"Oh, hooly shit!" As the walking corpse in front of him began to lash out in his direction, reaching out at him with her rotten, corroding arms, John just blitzed in the opposite direction, ignoring the door and mistakingly letting even more of whatever they were enter the building. They'd soon flood the downstairs whereas John had made himself a make-shift barricade in the staircase by throwing down desks, chairs, and whatever else down the stairs into the kitchen, blocking off the access way. Still, whatever they were, continued to try and walk through it, just walking forwards as if the blockade wasn't even there.
Pointing his trusty weapon towards the newfound enemy hostiles, he made sure to put the gun off safety and readied his arm for the recoil. He repositioned himself rapidly, so as to better handle the recoil and the aim, zooming in on their heads, as it was the only thing left in the open now that the blockade was in place. Finally fully prepared he pulled the trigger.
The mechanisms of the m1911 took to life as the hammer ignited the bullet, letting it roar out of the chamber as the slide barreled backwards, only pulled back by the magnificence of the recoil spring negating the vicious stopping power of the gun. He could feel the magazine spring pushing the follower further and further up, letting more and more bullets enter into the firing chamber, where they'd soon find themselves ignited and reinstalled into the skulls of whatever creature was wrecking his kitchen downstairs.
He just couldn't stop pulling the trigger, and he couldn't stop seeing bullet after bullet being ejected from ejection port. Five shots would pass - no, twelve shots. No! Not even that, twenty shots would pass before John would realize that the gun he'd thought he'd been firing was in fact actually a toy pistol. A toy pistol he recall that he'd bought off of the kid's neighbour because he was sad that their little shitty "disney adventure" had been cancelled thanks to their parents' divorce.
Never in his life did he hate that kid as much as he did in that instant, the instant that he could hear ben and jerry playing in the living room, the instant when he realized that the one time that that TV wasn't broke was the time that his house was being assaulted by alien slaves, or whatever they were.
With a devout roar he threw the plastic pistol with all his awesome might down the stairs, planting it comfortably in the gaping cranium of one of the kitchen assailants. John would have to think up a plan B, and fast, because his barricade was breaking down surprisingly fast. With little else left he entered the room that should be his bedroom, but was instead substituted by the sofa, and looked out one of the windows to get a more complete awareness of the situation. It'd seem that the sound he'd made had attracted the entire neighbourhood, and an entire pack of other weirdoes had begun racing towards his house with all the haste of a mighty snail.
It'd be no hard feat to jump down onto the porch and then run off towards the city, so he decided to do that, but only after being a sensible adult and packing for the journey. Everything he'd need like food, water, and toiletries were abandoned in favour of pack upon pack upon pack of cigarettes strown all over the second floor.
Finally fully prepared, John raced out into the wilderness with a pack of moaning teenagers on his tail, thankfully they were slow and dense enough to get lost in the woods in pursuit.
Would you like to start as one of the first five of the safe haven?:
Nah, brudha.
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