Lunatic
Fancy penguin
CHARACTER SHEETS
NAME
Niklas ‘Nick’ Johnson
AGE
27
GENDER
Male
APPEARANCE
At his core Niklas is actually a good looking fellow, to the point where his mother would often tell him that his “face was the only good thing about him” when he got caught in a mischief or two. But after years spent wading through mud, catching scars while traversing the ruins of the city and simple indifference to his appearance you could hardly tell anymore. His hair being a shade where you can’t tell if it’s supposed to look like that or if the dirt has just been completely ingrained to otherwise pearly blonde hair. His skin faces the same dilemma, though in that case it’s almost certainly the dirt. He can’t be bothered to shave and he has a few scars covering his face, from slight cuts made while adventuring, but has luckily avoided anything major. The only thing that really remains of what his mother called “good” are his green eyes, which in certain lights could be mistaken for bright enough to shine in the dark.
OVERVIEW
Niklas was born to a family struggling to put food on the table every day, with a father who liked to loudly proclaim the injustices of the world and a mother who never actually wanted to be a mother. It might be odd to say but for them the apocalypse came as some sort of blessing: A time where the world order was flipped and it would finally be time for them to show what they’re made of. Niklas was but a few years old then, when his father told him that none were survivors like them. It didn’t take more than four months for him to be dead, leaving Niklas and his mother to jump from straggler group to straggler group, relying on the unreliable humanity of strangers. They were tricked and used more than once, for example bandits had this scam where they’d put a mother and her child in dangerous positions to get nicer people to help them, at which point they would be robbed and on occasion murdered.
When Niklas no longer could pass for a young child at a distance their purpose changed and he was now a fully fledged bandit in training. They taught him to use a gun, how to travel relatively safely through the wasteland and how to make use of these abilities to take advantage of others. It was dirty work, everyone knew it but it was what it was. There were worse fates, Niklas thought. He had just settled into a life of grunt work when his mother, who had been earning her keep working as a glorified slave, had caused a stir in the camp: She had stolen a piece of food and was punished according to bandit law for it. By going on a scavenge run to replace it and more. Unfortunately she did not make it.
There was no way he could stay at camp after that, there was nothing for him there and he started to see his helpless, pathetic mother and father in every single one of his similarly helpless, pathetic victims. The bandits sent him away with smiles and waves as they silently took bets on when he’d come back, but he didn’t. He had heard about the so-called safe zones from a straggler he’d robbed a while back and he was determined to find one, maybe there he could finally make a better purpose for himself than whatever he’d been doing up til now. The road was long and hard, he travelled by the old interstate through lost cities and seemingly endless plains to find what he was looking for. It seemed like a fool's chase until he stumbled across an old fellow called Matthew, who introduced himself as a smuggler, mentioned that he was working out of a nearby safe zone and offered Niklas a job as a kind of trial to see if smuggling might be something for him. In return he promised to see about getting him a spot in the zone, as his underling.
Niklas ‘Nick’ Johnson
AGE
27
GENDER
Male
APPEARANCE
At his core Niklas is actually a good looking fellow, to the point where his mother would often tell him that his “face was the only good thing about him” when he got caught in a mischief or two. But after years spent wading through mud, catching scars while traversing the ruins of the city and simple indifference to his appearance you could hardly tell anymore. His hair being a shade where you can’t tell if it’s supposed to look like that or if the dirt has just been completely ingrained to otherwise pearly blonde hair. His skin faces the same dilemma, though in that case it’s almost certainly the dirt. He can’t be bothered to shave and he has a few scars covering his face, from slight cuts made while adventuring, but has luckily avoided anything major. The only thing that really remains of what his mother called “good” are his green eyes, which in certain lights could be mistaken for bright enough to shine in the dark.
OVERVIEW
Niklas was born to a family struggling to put food on the table every day, with a father who liked to loudly proclaim the injustices of the world and a mother who never actually wanted to be a mother. It might be odd to say but for them the apocalypse came as some sort of blessing: A time where the world order was flipped and it would finally be time for them to show what they’re made of. Niklas was but a few years old then, when his father told him that none were survivors like them. It didn’t take more than four months for him to be dead, leaving Niklas and his mother to jump from straggler group to straggler group, relying on the unreliable humanity of strangers. They were tricked and used more than once, for example bandits had this scam where they’d put a mother and her child in dangerous positions to get nicer people to help them, at which point they would be robbed and on occasion murdered.
When Niklas no longer could pass for a young child at a distance their purpose changed and he was now a fully fledged bandit in training. They taught him to use a gun, how to travel relatively safely through the wasteland and how to make use of these abilities to take advantage of others. It was dirty work, everyone knew it but it was what it was. There were worse fates, Niklas thought. He had just settled into a life of grunt work when his mother, who had been earning her keep working as a glorified slave, had caused a stir in the camp: She had stolen a piece of food and was punished according to bandit law for it. By going on a scavenge run to replace it and more. Unfortunately she did not make it.
There was no way he could stay at camp after that, there was nothing for him there and he started to see his helpless, pathetic mother and father in every single one of his similarly helpless, pathetic victims. The bandits sent him away with smiles and waves as they silently took bets on when he’d come back, but he didn’t. He had heard about the so-called safe zones from a straggler he’d robbed a while back and he was determined to find one, maybe there he could finally make a better purpose for himself than whatever he’d been doing up til now. The road was long and hard, he travelled by the old interstate through lost cities and seemingly endless plains to find what he was looking for. It seemed like a fool's chase until he stumbled across an old fellow called Matthew, who introduced himself as a smuggler, mentioned that he was working out of a nearby safe zone and offered Niklas a job as a kind of trial to see if smuggling might be something for him. In return he promised to see about getting him a spot in the zone, as his underling.
NAME
Yuki Bloom
AGE
20
GENDER
Female
APPEARANCE
Standing at slightly above average height, Yuki is a woman of relatively slight figure. She shared this trait with many others around the safe zone, as there was rarely enough food to go around, but she’d cursed it nonetheless. It was a big reason why she failed her enlistment trial in the military, along with having rather weak nerves when it comes to holding guns. She has long dark hair, which she’d like to cut but her mother swears she’d feed her to the infected if she does, so for now it stays long. People actually often tell her that she looks like her mother, which Yuki finds to be strange as her mother is probably the blondest lady in the entirety of the zone, as well as maybe half her height. If anything she looks like her father as she’s inherited his dark hair and east asian features, but even that’s questionable as he’s somewhat of a giant in terms of muscles, as well as always carrying a stern expression.
OVERVIEW
Yuki’s family has since ages past consisted of war hero after war hero, on both her mother and fathers side. It’s a long lasting and cherished tradition that her mother and father, themselves being highly ranked, succeeded in passing down to two out of their three daughters. Yuki being the one exception, owing it to a lack of physical ability and weak nerves, was a massive wound to the pride. She might be imagining it but somehow she feels like her father has never looked at her the same way after finding out she failed, and while her mother is encouraging her to find different paths in life it was obviously a huge blow to her as well. Yuki herself was frightened for a moment, her family had always valued the freedom of being able to defend oneself extremely highly and that the only real way to receive that freedom is to train through the military. Was she always going to be weak? To rely on hiding back while her entire family holds the line against the undead? How could she live with herself?
And so she explored alternate paths, things she never even would have considered before. Working as a transporter was up there, but her mother was strictly against it due to her having to travel so much between zones. Any kind of deskwork was out of the question, she didn’t have the temperament for it. It might sound silly considering her desire to help people but studying to become a doctor was never really an option until it fell into her lap, so to speak. This was mostly bound to how her family viewed it: They, the soldiers and the military, were on the frontlines while the medic team was back home. People might be helped either way but there was an ideological difference in standing in front of the enemy and hiding behind the troops, as well as helping people during the threat and after it, she was looking to stand amongst or aide the ones standing in front of the enemy. Therefore in some kind of foolish and twisted way she had come to believe that medics and doctors were the counterpoint to what she wanted to be.
But that came to change upon visiting her sister in the medical tent after her squad had baited away a particularly vicious horde from the safe zone. Her sister was mostly unharmed with some minor bruising, but the rest of the squad was hit hard. People were screaming in that little tent, which was apart from the main building as they didn’t have enough beds to support the entire squad, and stoic faced doctors jumped from bed to bed, helping and healing to the best of their abilities. Within an hour or two the tent was completely silent, almost peaceful. Every horrible looking wound was dressed up in pristine bandages, every soldier screaming in pain had been soothed and every life that could possibly be saved had been. She decided right then and there how she could help people and how she could stand with pride next to her family of heroes.
Yuki Bloom
AGE
20
GENDER
Female
APPEARANCE
Standing at slightly above average height, Yuki is a woman of relatively slight figure. She shared this trait with many others around the safe zone, as there was rarely enough food to go around, but she’d cursed it nonetheless. It was a big reason why she failed her enlistment trial in the military, along with having rather weak nerves when it comes to holding guns. She has long dark hair, which she’d like to cut but her mother swears she’d feed her to the infected if she does, so for now it stays long. People actually often tell her that she looks like her mother, which Yuki finds to be strange as her mother is probably the blondest lady in the entirety of the zone, as well as maybe half her height. If anything she looks like her father as she’s inherited his dark hair and east asian features, but even that’s questionable as he’s somewhat of a giant in terms of muscles, as well as always carrying a stern expression.
OVERVIEW
Yuki’s family has since ages past consisted of war hero after war hero, on both her mother and fathers side. It’s a long lasting and cherished tradition that her mother and father, themselves being highly ranked, succeeded in passing down to two out of their three daughters. Yuki being the one exception, owing it to a lack of physical ability and weak nerves, was a massive wound to the pride. She might be imagining it but somehow she feels like her father has never looked at her the same way after finding out she failed, and while her mother is encouraging her to find different paths in life it was obviously a huge blow to her as well. Yuki herself was frightened for a moment, her family had always valued the freedom of being able to defend oneself extremely highly and that the only real way to receive that freedom is to train through the military. Was she always going to be weak? To rely on hiding back while her entire family holds the line against the undead? How could she live with herself?
And so she explored alternate paths, things she never even would have considered before. Working as a transporter was up there, but her mother was strictly against it due to her having to travel so much between zones. Any kind of deskwork was out of the question, she didn’t have the temperament for it. It might sound silly considering her desire to help people but studying to become a doctor was never really an option until it fell into her lap, so to speak. This was mostly bound to how her family viewed it: They, the soldiers and the military, were on the frontlines while the medic team was back home. People might be helped either way but there was an ideological difference in standing in front of the enemy and hiding behind the troops, as well as helping people during the threat and after it, she was looking to stand amongst or aide the ones standing in front of the enemy. Therefore in some kind of foolish and twisted way she had come to believe that medics and doctors were the counterpoint to what she wanted to be.
But that came to change upon visiting her sister in the medical tent after her squad had baited away a particularly vicious horde from the safe zone. Her sister was mostly unharmed with some minor bruising, but the rest of the squad was hit hard. People were screaming in that little tent, which was apart from the main building as they didn’t have enough beds to support the entire squad, and stoic faced doctors jumped from bed to bed, helping and healing to the best of their abilities. Within an hour or two the tent was completely silent, almost peaceful. Every horrible looking wound was dressed up in pristine bandages, every soldier screaming in pain had been soothed and every life that could possibly be saved had been. She decided right then and there how she could help people and how she could stand with pride next to her family of heroes.
Niklas
“It’s only Monday”, Niklas said with a slight smile, trying to sound as if he was looking forward to the rest of the week but the mental and physical exhaustion made his voice weak and the humor of it all wasn’t properly conveyed.
He sat on a rooftop not far from the so-called “safe zone”, it was bathed in the dark orange light of a sun setting in a far off horizon, marking the end of another less successful day. Success was measured not only in survival but also how hard that survival came, and honestly it was a slight miracle that he and his partner Jeff were sitting there after the absolute garbage can of a week they’ve had, even though they were both worse for wear. Jeff seems to have lost half his weight and doubled his age since last Monday, though came off easy with only minor bruises here and there. Niklas however had managed to gather a small army of soon-to-be new scars, amongst them a cut running the entire length of his forearm. Other notable injuries being his swollen, but almost certainly not broken, ankle as well as a bruised rib who seemed to have a massive problem with him breathing.
“You really should have the sick cabin look at that, Nick,” Jeff said, seemingly noticing his partner wallowing in self pity. “You remember old Timmy? He had the smallest cut you’d ever seen, couldn’t even see it unless he was holding it under the light, and a week later he was dead.” He continued, seemingly missing a crucial detail. “If I recall correctly poor old Timmy was taken by his own stupidity and an infected just minding his own business, Jeff.” Niklas responded, silently paying his respects to the dead. “But alas I hear you, I’ll stop by before I go home. Now would you please, ever so kindly, finish making your damn inventory so we can leave this fucking roof?”
Being called out for his tardiness seemed to put a fire under the ass of his ever aloof assistant as he started picking up the speed. Jeff had only been with him for about a year and a half, when he had suddenly decided that he needed a new career if he wanted to properly support his wife and two kids who at that point were living from food stamp to food stamp. Unfortunately it seemed like somehow the middle aged man who hadn’t moved at a speed higher than brisk walk since he was prepubescent wasn’t quite up to the challenges of making a living as a smuggler. He did however have excellent abilities when it came to making deals, friends and whatever other intellectual pursuits a scavenger such as Niklas have ignored throughout his life. So Jeff had become a manager of sorts, as he gathered up a whole bunch of work from the residents within the safe zone as well as outside. As a matter of fact Niklas would take him to a place called “The village”, which was just an underground black market and not nearly as nice as the name would imply, about once every other month. And it was always a massive struggle, to the point where it has become tradition for them both to swear that they’re never doing it again. But of course they do, because you have to make a living somehow.
As both got done with doing inventory, which was nothing major just counting bullets and rations to see what they need to fill up on until next time, they stacked their backpacks behind an old air ventilator and headed down the stairs to take the underground way back inside the zone. It wasn’t illegal per se to traverse in and out of the zone, but the red tape and paperwork that needs to be done every single time was such a pain that he’d never get any job done if he had to go through it every time. Normally he would climb from rooftop to rooftop as most of the buildings are taller than the makeshift wall and it’s fairly easy finding a good place to climb over and then go down the stairs of a building inside the zone. But as mentioned Jeff wasn’t exactly an athletic marvel so when he was around they’d go the considerably slower route through the sewers. It was a pretty well travelled route, so it was safe. But still, it’s sewers.
Upon arriving in the safe zone they said quick goodbyes, which mostly came out as huffs and groans of relief, then went off in separate directions. They both lived in the same neighbourhood but Niklas had made a promise to go and see about getting some treatment at the sick cabin, a promise he was tempted to break when an image of his well-worn but soft mattress popped up in his head. But, though he didn’t like to admit it, he was a bit of a hypochondriac and the long nap he was about to take just wouldn’t feel the same unless he was assured he wasn’t dying first. So with heavy steps he made off for the hospital.
Almost immediately he could feel that something wasn’t right in the normally comfortable zone, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Was it the people? Were there too few on the street? Too many? Were their faces too grim? He wasn’t the most perceptive fellow out there, especially when it came to people or the “mood” of his surroundings, but to him it seemed like people were going about their days like usual. He really couldn’t pinpoint anything but that the “air seemed weird”. His feet stopped in front of the overcrowded sick cabin, which actually used to be a medium sized hospital back in the day with four levels and a basement, and which the safe zone had centered around when it was built. It had its own generator which was a complete lifesaver back when people first started getting infected as the city lost its electricity within the first few days. Nowadays the hospital is a shadow of its former glory, with the generator managing to be up maybe an hour or two every other day. Between lack of fuel and the damn thing breaking at every turn it’s a miracle they manage even that.
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