Realistic or Modern OVERCAST: Shaun Simply

[Lorsh]

OVERCAST

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• Inventory
• Survivor Info
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  Apparel
  -Jacket
  -Shirt
  -Trousers
  -Shoes
  
  Weapons
  -Snubby .22 revolver [6/6, 6/6, 6/6]
  -Pocket knife
  
  
  
  
  Other
  -Acoustic guitar + sling
  -Flip lighter
  -Bag of Wildwood
  
  Money, keys, papers
  -200 scrip ($)
  -Clean Zone passport
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  N/A
  
  
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  NAME: Shaun Simply
  
  AGE: 19
  
  SEX: Male
  
  HEIGHT: 5'7
  
  PHYSIQUE: Almost overweight
  
  EYE COLOUR: Green
  
  HAIR COLOUR: Dark brown
  
  HAIR LENGTH: Shoulder length
  
  PERSONALITY/HISTORY: Shaun was a boy that wanted to see the world get along. As a child of two street urchins, he saw them give even though he knew that they didn't have much to offer. This had inspired him at great lengths, making him very fond of the tales of pre-infection folk music, ones that sung of oneness with others, self, and the world around you. His dad would play a guitar and sing for him, and Shaun even learned to play and sing pretty well for himself. Shaun was absolutely attuned to that mantra.. until his parents had tried to offer food to a geeked out bum that ended up shanking both of them several times. Real heavy stuff, man. Shaun stuck to his parents' lifestyle of living on the streets (without much other options) but when it came to helping others, he often decided to keep it to himself to ensure survival. Whether it be peddling for cash with his guitar and singing or pickpocketing someone none the wiser, he decided he had to make ends meet while also giving him a little extra to have some fun at the dirty bars and buy some illicits. Now, about those illicits. Shaun was pretty attuned to them. Some might would say addicted to the green, but he had kind of strayed away from psychedelics. Thing is, all it took was a pretty girl to urge him on and he tripped. Balls. In the zombie apocalypse. And that trip would change him forever. In the psychedelic experience Shaun believed he saw God and could not believe his eyes. He hadn't believed in a higher power, but this cloud of intense emotion spoke to him and what it said was nothing but pure beauty. It gave him instructions to free the enslaved and lead them onto a new and reformed life, one of purity that could wipe out the scrouge of tyranny and the undead. God had said that Shaun was special and Shaun knew that, but now he had confirmation. He had orders from God himself to found a new lifestyle for the people around him and by god, he'd do it.
  
  

 

[Lorsh]

The chaos of the initial outbreak has since become hazy to you, as it all occurred many years ago, back when you were merely a toddler. You do, however, know the details from what people of told you while growing up. Martial law was declared, and evacuation points were set up. However, due to an attempted invasion of the Central Republic's northeastern border by an opportunistic Kazacia, the military's resources were split between two fronts. All the evac zones had ceased operations after a few weeks, and the remaining cops and Civil Guards were pulled back to the clean zones. The power grid shut down, and the rest of the world went dark once the military set up equipment to jam communications. The war with Kazacia ended without a winner, as both nations' militaries were ultimately overrun by the undead after being weakened by extreme supply shortages, lack of morale, and extended combat.


You reside in one of the clean zones, one of the areas where the authorities were able to establish and maintain control while the rest of the country crumbled. This is the Central Clean Sector, a particularly large cluster of clean zones protected by several rivers, in addition to the military's buffer zone of barbed wire, machine guns nests, and minefields. That buffer zone has fallen slightly, with undead invading the northern and western parts of the sector through the bridges, although the army probably bombed them by now.

The Army High Command (or "National Provisional Authority" as they have now taken to calling themselves) have ruled over this part of the Sector with an iron grip. Around five months ago, there were large demonstrations in Broxbane and Parliament that eventually escalated into full-scale uprisings that led to urban warfare between rebels and the army. It has also spilled out into the countryside, with many small towns being taken over by different rebel groups, as well as Dirty Zoners that have snuck in. Although the government prohibits any talk of "defeatism", you've heard the Broxbane is being taken by the rebels, slowly but surely. On the other hand, the rebs are getting beaten hard in the sector capital of Parliament City- which the NPA tends to focus on more than the situation in Broxbane.

You don't live in either of those cities, though. You live in Granger, which is basically fully-controlled by the government, similar to Denmont and Drewville. Although the local General has a large number of soldiers and cops are on standby for any potential uprisings, nothing of the sort has happened yet, though rebels occasionally launch terrorist attacks and get into small shootouts with the authorities.

----
Music

You're currently in a seedy bar called Jarid's Place in the lower-end district of Granger that contains most of the really slummy areas. The cops don't really come around here too often, but sometimes they make sweeps for undesirables and miscreants to send off to those labor camps controlled by Homeland Security. You've managed to avoid all of those so far, thankfully enough.

You have your guitar, some weed, a small pistol, and some other miscellaneous items on your person. You have two hundred scrip, which is the currency that the government switched to using after the Central Republic dollar became obsolete. It's mainly rewarded for completing shitty work shifts, or by working for some government-approved company. Scrip is required to receive decent rations at terminals, but you can also use it to barter with more reasonable people that operate in the streets.

You're sitting against the wall, coming off of a weird psychdelic trip from earlier. The barman is busy cleaning old bottles- he must have been the one to make sure nobody stole your shit while you were messed up. Not very many people are around. A scantily-clad girl, a guy in a trench coat, and some tough-looking construction types. A guy is playing his guitar on the small stage. Wait, that's your guitar.

 

[lemonsnout]

I rub my eyes, awakening to the strange, off feeling of the day after a trip. Or so I've been told my a couple of my buds. It had been the first time I tried it, and it was.. life changing. Miraculous. Everyone in the general vicinity, and then some, needed to get their hands on it.. hell, maybe even the infected too. Still, the strangeness of a clear vision somehow mocked by the feeling of.. off putness..? Off key? Off key guitar?
Hey, that's, like, totally not cool. I go to temporarily interrupt the barkeep, rising to a stand and feeling the stiffness in my bones. I wince, cracking my head before walking over to him, "Hey, man.. can I like.. get some water or something?" I pull the required scrips from my pocket, unfolding the folded bills in a way that won't get the entire attention of the bar to where I'd likely meet some unfriendly goons looking for cash once I exit the premises. If the transaction gets completed, I take a sip of my water and nod off to the fellow on the stage, "Who's this guy that's abusing my guitar by playing anything other than the Caterpillars? It makes the guitar cry to do that, you know."