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Wrap Up Zombie Apocalypse "Chapter 1" RP - Sign Ups

K

kbambz

Mastermind of Pretty Things
Staff member
cute_zombie_apocalypse.
​
So this will be the first game to see how much interest there is for this kind of forum "RP" / "Storyline Games". There was interest for the Mafia forum game a bit ago and if this one goes well we will dedicate a part of the forum to games like this. So let's see whatcha got!


Guidelines: Out of character chat is defined by (( out of character )).
The story will begin once we have at least 5 characters.
How to talk: When it begins you will want to talk about yourself and what you say using a format similar to: "Fuck that is huge", I said in a gasp.
Posts: Keep your entries brief, no longer than a paragraph to keep the storyline going.
Interaction: DO NOT KILL OR WRITE STORY ACTIONS FOR OTHER PEOPLE IN THE AREA. You can of course reference them and interact but how they respond is up to them.
The Captain: This player will decide what your actions consequences are. So choose wisely. Think of it like D&D but if you cast magic misile into the darkness you will probably be swarmed by a billion zombies and die. If you die you can sign up on the sign up page again under a new name and begin in the next chapter.
Chapters: Each Zombie RP session will be broken up into chapters to let others join in later if they are so inclined and also give a sense of progression and accomplishment to those who have finished. As well bonuses, such as weapons, food, housing will be provided to those who make further into the chapters.
Start Date: Chapter 1 will kickoff on Feb 8th sometime in the evening.

And what better way to introduce forum games, than ZOMBIES!

Here goes nothing.
The explosion was heard for miles. All radio traffic stopped, cars disabled, buildings deserted. All this happened after the nuke was set off. Everyone went into the underground base now known as the First Resistance Base. The base contained at least 1000 people, including you. First Resistance Base Broadcast: Attention, everyone…..we will go back up to the surface in a few hours. Pack everything you own. Form up into small groups and head up to the surface. God bless you all…..and by the way…..watch out for the fucking zombies.


Sign-Ups
Name:
Gender:
Age:
Equipment brought to the surface:
Brief bio:
Appearance:

(reminder you can only bring what you can carry realistically. Obviously you could be creative and have a wagon or some sort, but it will slow you down as time goes on, so choose carefully!)
 
Name: Jack "Bolt" Bolamos
Gender: Male
Age: 26

Equipment brought to the surface: In a backpack: Filtered water bottle, couple of MREs, tactical pump shotgun with 2 boxes of shells, machete, combat knife, collapsible baton, basic first aid kit, 3 road flares and a broken CB radio from his patrol car(due to the EMP from the Nuke).

Brief bio: Jack Bolamos grew up in a car engine. From the start he was fixing, improving and rebuilding anything with a motor. Once he finished high school he joined the Marines and served as a Door Gunner on a Blackhawk helicopter.
After serving two tours overseas, he returned home to pursue a career in law enforcement and fulfilled his love for vehicles by rebuilding his father's old mustang. Jack was due to start his first tour of duty as a police officer the day the nuclear device went off. He managed to make it underground with a group of survivors....

Appearance: Fit, short but well built. He is a bit worn from the events that transpired after the nuke. His police uniform has seen better days but it still does its job.

((On a side note you might want to limit the space people have to carry stuff with, say like whatever you can fit in a large backpack and one shoulder bag or something. Also is there a specific location that this is taking place? More details would be sweet. Just my 2 cents))
 
Zakis said:
Name: Jack "Bolt" Bolamos


((On a side note you might want to limit the space people have to carry stuff with, say like whatever you can fit in a large backpack and one shoulder bag or something. Also is there a specific location that this is taking place? More details would be sweet. Just my 2 cents))
Click to expand...
Will build the story as the characters are developed. And don't want to limit quite yet. The zombies will help :)
 
Haven't done one of these in a looooong time. Hey why not.

Name: Cid Ohiem (ha.. haha. :p)
Gender: Male
Age: 28

Equipment brought to the surface: Backpack containing rations and water supplied by the base, his own medical kit containing numerous surgical tools along with general first aid items, an excessive number of sharp objects (knives, razors, picks, needles), and a pistol with a single box of ammo buried in the bottom, forgotten.

Brief bio: Before the apocalypse, Cid was a surgeon of some note; perhaps one of the best, had it not been for the numerous deaths under his watch. Deaths which he could have prevented. Cid never feels more alive than when the life of another is in his hands, and too often he has had the urge to take that life. More often he sates this urge outside the hospital, lest others get suspicious. Cid is extremely cautious, meticulous, and clean, almost to the point of obsession.

Due to his quiet and thoughtful nature (well, and the killing), Cid lacks social contacts. So when the apocalypse happened, he was not in any immediate danger, and merely watched the chaos unfold as he planned his next move. This led him to the First Resistance Base, where his medical ability was in great need. Here he treated the wounded, experimented in fighting zombification, and assisted in putting down those too far gone - much to his secret amusement. Soon he will be dispatched to the surface as a team's medic, which worries him as it would be difficult to take a life when travelling with a small group. Hopefully there will be plenty of zombies.

Appearance: 5'11" with light brown/blonde hair, a fair complexion and fierce blue eyes. He could be considered handsome if he bothered to take care of himself, but he is too preoccupied with his thoughts to try. He eats and sleeps not nearly enough, making him somewhat gaunt and spooky-looking, but always very neat and clean, a strange contrast with an unappealing result.

Name: Marty Rynn
Gender: Male
Age: 15 and a half

Equipment brought to the surface: The clothes on his back, a stolen pistol with only the ammo that was in it, and some miscellaneous items in his pockets including a small swiss army knife, paper clips, and an almost-empty lighter.

Brief bio: The bombs dropped while Marty was on his way home from school. He was only 14 then, and very confused. He heard people talk of something maybe happening, but this... absolute panic in the streets, everywhere, people running and screaming and killing each other. He ran home as fast as he could, or at least what used to be home. The windows were broken, the door open... then he heard gunshots from inside. 3 of them, followed by a man screaming in pain, or anger, or maybe both, he didn't know, he was too scared to look, too paralyzed with fear. He was relieved when his father came out, but that relief was crushed when he saw that his dad was wild-eyed and covered in blood with a baseball bat in his hand. He grabbed Marty and hauled him to the car, not answering any of his son's questions. Just threw him in and took off. As they left the driveway, though, one of his questions was answered. Through the broken glass, slumped against a wall, was his mother; dead.

He started crying then, flailing to get out of the car, beating his dad. He couldn't see anything through his tears. All he knew from then was that they started spinning, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Probably did. It would explain the smell. He was dizzy, hurt, lost, confused... bleeding. Someone took him then, someone wearing white, spotted in red. It's all he remembers before waking up in the base, alone. Around him were many people, some screaming, some crying, some utterly silent with horridly empty eyes. He was cared for, but knew none of these people. The doctor that helped his wounds seemed nice but creepy. He saw those with families, kids with their parents, and grew angry, frustrated. He wanted out.

These feelings only grew the more time he spent in the base, despite his generally positive and upbeat attitude. All those people, with their families... he hated seeing them, hated being around them, hated being locked up in the base. He wanted nothing more than to get away, and didn't care to where. Once he heard rumors of the doors going to open and about the potential hostilities outside, he stole a gun and started planning a way to get out; being so young with no guardian he figured they'd want to keep him locked up. Those adults, always thinking kids like him couldn't do anything for themselves. He'd show them.

Appearance: Just an average 15 (and a half) year old boy, who if anything looks younger than he is. Short and thin with medium brown hair and bright hazel eyes, wearing the only clothes he had - a t-shirt with an amusing zombie on it and cargo pants - very much tattered now.
 
Name: Unknown, but people call her Orphan behind her back and Captain in person.

Gender: Female

Age: Uknown but from the looks of her she could be 18 or 35 depending on what she has been through prior to this whole breakout.


Equipment brought to the surface: A boot strapped Knife, and a hidden tactical blade on her arm... only defined by the markings on the hilt that seem to have been scratched off, two pistols strapped to her sides and a full set of army fatigues. It isn't quite descriptive enough to show a country affiliation. She has a backpack filled with rations and a tac light, but that seems to be it.

Brief bio: When the attack began this girl was just finishing boot camp to become Mi6. It was at her graduation that she watched her parents eaten and it was months later that it is rumored she put a bullet in her sisters head to end her suffering as one of the 10 test subjects procured before they were overwhelmed and had to retreat to the haven everyone was in now. She was a very articulate girl before the outbreak, but now only speaks when she wants to be spoken to.


Appearance: Her eyes speak of experience much past her age. An endless gaze. Behind all the dirt and darkness one would assume she was but a child. She is fit and strong but covers it with her fatigues. torn and modified to her liking.
 
(( updated the original post so you can get a better feel for what will happen after sign ups ))
 
Totally in on this one.

Name: Velma-Renae Parker

Gender: Female

Age: 47

Equipment brought to the surface: A purse and a small backpack. In the purse: lipstick, mini fist aid kit, old car keys, pepper spray, a whistle, a wallet w/ pictures, sewing kit, alcohol, and a concealed revolver. In the small backpack: a sleeping bag, lots of tissues, rope, scissors, knife set, and extra set of clothes.

Brief Bio: Once a world famous Olympian for track and field, she paraded around as the biggest star her small rural town ever produced. She was raised to be a lady by her mother and a farmer by her father. She dropped out of school to pursue her dream as a professional athlete, but when she broke her ankle 2 years after her epic win the the Games, she lost her edge. She decided it was time for bigger and better things and later went to college in the city to study Engineering. She graduated top of her class and went on to invent new contraptions to improve the working conditions of farmers.

The day the nuke hit she ran as fast as she could to the First Resistance Base, expecting to find her brother and mother there waiting like they promised. She never found out what happened to them. Now that she has been chosen to return to the surface, she is desperate to find out what happened. She is ready to use her inventiveness, her charm, and her strength to uncover the mystery behind what happened to her family, no matter what she finds and no matter what it takes.

Appearance: Tall and muscular for her age. Long, auburn hair with a white streak across along her left side. Blue eyes, button nose, definitive bone structure. Never caught without her deep red lipstick on. Wearing low cut shirt and jeans with boots. Has abnormally muscular legs.
 
Name: Mawd Albert
Gender: M
Age: 31
Equipment(I'd like to be found at a later date already on the surface): Machete, Ruger Mini-14, Black Canvas Backpack

Contents of the bag:
Milk Jug with Water, 2 boxes instant rice[minute rice/riceroni], Metal Pot + wooden spoon [wrapped in blanket{small}], 2 bottles of Iodine Tablets, Whet Stone, Brown Heat resistant Gloves, Black Garbage Bag box
Bags Pockets contain:
(Matches, Lighter Fluid, Dried fruit)
Pants pockets contain:
Hand held CB Radio, Wallet(Various things in it, 20 dollars, old ID cards, American Half Dollar Coin), Spring Loaded Pocket Watch.
Brief bio:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mawd Albert was a practical man, He loved his family, he worked his 9-5, and he didn't mind doing it. Despite all of Mawds Practicality, he had a small bit of paranoia, and at the scorn of his neighbors, as well as public access television at the time, Mawd had a Safe house.

"You fool, nothing like that'll ever happen!"
"You think the world is going to end? Ha!"
"You're so stupid Mawd. Why don't you grow up?"

He didn't care what they thought, Mawd knew he was right, and when it happened, he wouldn't looks so stupid anymore, WOULD HE!? He'd seen people similar to himself, such as BoBo the Clown on the Howard Stern show duped, and made fun of, but he knew one day their day would come. So, he dedicated a fourth of his Steel Mill wage each year to this seemingly foolhardy venture, and perfected his Safe House. Mawd toiled until had a Safe House capable of surviving years after a nuclear war! His wife only tolerated it, because she figured that he could have worse hobbies than this, and at least this, "MIGHT be useful" she'd say, always making sure to emphasize "Might."

Mawd didn't know what the apocalypse might hold, but he knew he'd need a gun. Something practical, and easy to fit ammo for. He spent time reading the zombie survival guide, and other survival guides detailing from nuclear winter, to a meteor striking. All in all he decided that he'd become proficient in the Mini 14. Mawd spent hours upon hours at the shooting range every week perfecting his aim, and getting himself ready.

The day that the bomb dropped Mawd was unprepared. He hadn't gotten all the supplies he needed, he was still short on some items, and the water filtration system was far from complete in his bunker. More so than that, his Wife and only Son, were gone camping with relatives. In one fell swoop Mawds life was swept away.

Mawd is unsure of how long he spent in his Safe house with his head buried in his hands. He's unsure how long he spent drinking his bottled water. All he knows is that every day he'd check his Ham Radio, just begging for a voice, any voice, to come over it.

"Just let me not be the only one!" He'd scream futilely into the echo chamber that was his Bunker.

Depression and madness wracking his mind, Mawd decided, nearing the end of his supplies, that he'd open up his door and die in the heat and radiation. He couldn't live like that any longer. Upon opening his door, Mawd was surprised to find that it wasn't quite the wasteland he expected. There were no people, sure, but neither was the sun blotted out by by radioactive dust! With that revelation Mawd grabbed the few supplies he had left, and made out into the world, determined to do more than just survive. He wanted to live.

Sullenly as he stepped out his bunker, the dawns light cascading off of his back, Mawd looked up and whispered quietly, "I'm back world... I'm back."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Appearance:
6'3 White(Though tanned due to the sun), Skinny(image shows how I want his body to be), Dirty short Chestnut Brown hair + beard(Close to the skin), Baggy Eyes, Blue Eyes, Burn scars on right forearm,
Clothing:(All of this is dirty unless stated otherwise)

2 Black tshirts + Brown Long Sleeve Heat Resistant Jacket, Leather Gloves with the fingertips cut off(by Mawd), Wool fingertipless gloves underneath the leather gloves, Brown worn out scarf, Black Baklava, Dark Brown Flame Retardant pants, Cleanish Black sweat pants underneath Flame Retardant Pants,


Edit: There are bound to be a few grammar and Typo errors, as I only gave it the cursory look over. Just notify me of any and I'll fix them accordingly.
 
MoDSec said:
Brief bio:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mawd Albert was a practical man, He loved his family, he worked his 9-5, and he didn't mind doing it. Despite all of Mawds Practicality, he had a small bit of paranoia, and at the scorn of his neighbors, as well as public access television at the time, Mawd had a Safe house.

"You fool, nothing like that'll ever happen!"
"You think the world is going to end? Ha!"
"You're so stupid Mawd. Why don't you grow up?"

He didn't care what they thought, Mawd knew he was right, and when it happened, he wouldn't looks so stupid anymore, WOULD HE!? He'd seen people similar to himself, such as BoBo the Clown on the Howard Stern show duped, and made fun of, but he knew one day their day would come. So, he dedicated a fourth of his Steel Mill wage each year to this seemingly foolhardy venture, and perfected his Safe House. Mawd toiled until had a Safe House capable of surviving years after a nuclear war! His wife only tolerated it, because she figured that he could have worse hobbies than this, and at least this, "MIGHT be useful" she'd say, always making sure to emphasize "Might."

Mawd didn't know what the apocalypse might hold, but he knew he'd need a gun. Something practical, and easy to fit ammo for. He spent time reading the zombie survival guide, and other survival guides detailing from nuclear winter, to a meteor striking. All in all he decided that he'd become proficient in the Mini 14. Mawd spent hours upon hours at the shooting range every week perfecting his aim, and getting himself ready.

The day that the bomb dropped Mawd was unprepared. He hadn't gotten all the supplies he needed, he was still short on some items, and the water filtration system was far from complete in his bunker. More so than that, his Wife and only Son, were gone camping with relatives. In one fell swoop Mawds life was swept away.

Mawd is unsure of how long he spent in his Safe house with his head buried in his hands. He's unsure how long he spent drinking his bottled water. All he knows is that every day he'd check his Ham Radio, just begging for a voice, any voice, to come over it.

"Just let me not be the only one!" He'd scream futilely into the echo chamber that was his Bunker.

Depression and madness wracking his mind, Mawd decided, nearing the end of his supplies, that he'd open up his door and die in the heat and radiation. He couldn't live like that any longer. Upon opening his door, Mawd was surprised to find that it wasn't quite the wasteland he expected. There were no people, sure, but neither was the sun blotted out by by radioactive dust! With that revelation Mawd grabbed the few supplies he had left, and made out into the world, determined to do more than just survive. He wanted to live.

Sullenly as he stepped out his bunker, the dawns light cascading off of his back, Mawd looked up and whispered quietly, "I'm back world... I'm back."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Click to expand...


((Mod I need you to "mod"ify your Bio. The survivors for chapter one were all grouped up in a safe house bunker. No one else survived that we know if yet. :) So basically you would sit our chapter one in this situation.))
 
Name: Max Dillon

Gender: Male

Age: 15

Equipment brought to the surface: School backpack containing a bottle of water, Sony PSP (batteries dead), earbud headphones, iPod Touch (batteries also dead), beef jerky obtained from refugee camp,some pens and pencils, a baseball jersey and windbreaker, cleats, and glove, a couple of school notebooks with mostly scribble drawings inside, and picture of a cute girl a couple years older than him. He carries a baseball bat that is stained with blood in a couple places. The camp medical team tried to take the bat from him saying it was contaminated, but he refused, saying the bat had saved his life twice already. They settled for sterilizing it.

Brief bio: Max grew up in a typical middle-class suburban home. Mom, dad, sisters, dog, typical Americana. When the zombie plague reached him, he was at baseball practice after school. He had to fight his way past a couple infected teammates and a few cheerleaders that had thrown themselves slobberingly at him (which ironically was also a fantasy of his). When he got to his home, the neighborhood was being rounded up and evacuated to the First Resistance Base. Upon arriving, his fellow teammates that traveled to the camp with him located their families, but be saw no sign of his. They all offered to let him stay with them, but he refused. He has resolved to look for his family on the surface.

Appearance: 5'8", 150lbs. Physically fit, but has spent more time playing video games than running around outside. Long brown hair that he hasn't bothered cutting since the attack peeks out from under a red South High Armadillos baseball cap. He also hasn't bothered to shave, not that anyone could tell. He wears a t-shirt, sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers that were given to him by his friends' families. He wears a red and black fingerless batting glove on his right hand.

"That bat has saved my life twice!"

Max sat huddled next to a flaming trash can with several other refugees and he mulled over his outburst to the FRB medical staff. Why had he said that? The bat had certainly saved his life when he had to fight his way off the high school baseball field, but when was the other time? Max laid back and watched the firelight play on the roof of the bunker. Slowly, he closed his eyes and remembered...

Max was 13 years old and tired of being the one left out of everything. Left out of the parties, left out at the lunch table, left out during teams selection at PE. It's not that he was bad at sports; he was fine. His grades were fine, too. In fact, that was the whole problem- Max was fine at everything, but not good and certainly not great. All that was supposed to change today.

Today was football tryouts for the junior high team. All the coolest guys in school were on the football team. Even the bench warmers were considered better than average on the popularity scale. Max knew if he could get onto the team his life was guaranteed to change for the better. Unfortunately for Max, he just wasn't cut out for football. He was fast enough on short sprints, but he was hopeless at tackling. And holding onto the ball. It seemed like anytime someone touched him, the ball just jumped out of his grip and bounced unpredictably around him, much to the amusement of the others players. Not to mention the coach.

When the final cuts were posted in the hallway, Max wasn't surprised to find that he wasn't on the list, but that didn't make it hurt any less. That night, he refused to come to dinner. He laid face down on his bed, listening to the happy sounds of his parents and sisters seeping up the stairs and under his door. How could life be so great for them when it was so terrible for him?

Later that evening, his dad came in to talk with him.

"I'm sorry you didn't make the football team, son," his dad began, as if reminding him of his failure would help make things better. "You know, I wasn't much cut out for football myself. I was too light and my hands were too small. I guess you get some of that from me." He sat on the edge of Max's bed and looked at his hands as he spoke, "But you know, football isn't the only sport out there. When I was in high school, I was on the varsity baseball team. My smaller frame and smaller hands made me quick on the bases and more precise in my throwing. Your school will be having tryouts in the spring. If you like, we can practice together until then. Who knows? You may decide you like it." Max's dad paused for a response, but it was pretty clear that Max wouldn't be talking. "Well, alright," his dad concluded as he stood and walked out of the room, "Just think about it."

Max listened to his father walk down the hall and then turned his face towards his room. His father had left a bat leaning against his dresser. Max sat up and wiped his eyes. He picked up the bat and felt the cool wood in his hands. It felt good.
---
Max opened his eyes. The firelight still flickered against the roof of the bunker, but it was now obscured from the tears that had formed in his eyes. He quickly wiped them away before anyone else saw. He supposed the bat had saved his life twice after all, just in different ways. He reached down next to him and felt the cool wood on his hand. It still felt good.

Coming soon
 
(( Excellent so far. I will be starting the first chapter very soon. Debating before or after my Mexico trip till the 8th. Probably after so I can be here to keep the story flowing. So don't lose the momentum if I disappear for that period of time. very excited for this. ))
 
tr1age said:
(( Excellent so far. I will be starting the first chapter very soon. Debating before or after my Mexico trip till the 8th. Probably after so I can be here to keep the story flowing. So don't lose the momentum if I disappear for that period of time. very excited for this. ))
Click to expand...
((Alright, but if the story lags too much I WILL bring in a troop of disco zombies.))
images
 
tr1age said:
((Mod I need you to "mod"ify your Bio. The survivors for chapter one were all grouped up in a safe house bunker. No one else survived that we know if yet. :) So basically you would sit our chapter one in this situation.))
Click to expand...

((I actually said I'd like to do that. It's in pink. You know, wait til later and then pop up in the story somewhere.))

Kismet said:
((I would love to join this RP, but I'm afraid of zombies! Looking forward to reading along however.))
Click to expand...
((You should stop doing that. Have to face your fear!))
 
MoDSec said:
((I actually said I'd like to do that. It's in pink. You know, wait til later and then pop up in the story somewhere.))


((You should stop doing that. Have to face your fear!))
Click to expand...

(( Oh I totally missed that haha in pink too I am ashamed. Consider it done :)


CHAPTER 1 START DATE POSTED IN THE FIRST POST
))
 
I wrote some extended bio stuff. I just had to get ideas out of my head and written somewhere. I didn't move the plot or anything and I'm willing to retcon anything that doesn't fit later.
 
((Sorry its late but I've been busy, if its too late to get into the first chapter I'll be happy to wait till the next.))

Name: Kurt Seery
Gender: Male
Age: 26



Equipment brought to the surface:
Backpack containing: canteen with water, 2 water bottles, 3 LifeStraws, 2 sticks of Firesteel, 4 MREs, LED flashlight with crank, small radio with crank, wire saw, emergency hammer, set of paint markers, first aid kit, 2 pistol clips and a towel. Strapped to outside: entrenching tooland hatchet. Strapped to legs: a pistol and a machete, hidden in small of back: combat knife.

Brief bio:
Kurt was a good guy who mostly kept to himself, his little social interaction coming mostly from his activities through various charities. He doesn't like talking about his life before the disaster; no matter how much he did there were always too many people left in need of help, and the fact that most of them are now dead doesn't really make him feel any better. Still, he never gave up when his efforts seemed futile, and he's certainly not going to now that he's personally acquainted with everyone he's aware of that needs his help.

Before the disaster he took care of his grandfather; a cantankerous old veteran who insisted he was always wasting his time. Near the end his grandfather put together a backpack that he gave to Kurt as a gift, telling him that in the end the most important thing is that you be able to take care of yourself first. Kurt thanked him and puzzled over the contents of the bag, which seemed to him to be a chaotic assemblage of tools and kits, recognizing only a few survival items from his work overseas. Perhaps mercifully his grandfather passed away just before things started heading south; the backpack and its contents being the only thing Kurt has left of him.

As useful as having the backpack has turned out to be though, Kurt still thinks his grandfather was wrong about people not needing anyone's help but their own. After all, every time he reaches into the old backpack, his grandfather is still helping him.

Appearance:
Tall and well-built, but not in an underwear-model fashion; the result of hours spent building shelters in developing countries rather than hanging out in gyms. Short-cut brown hair and brown eyes, and otherwise largely nondescript, he'd fade into the crowd back when the crowd wasn't mostly zombies. His clothes are a workman's clothes; close-fitting and sensible, durable work boots, his only eccentricity being an old brown leather jacket.
 
Sign-Up!

Name: Zeffi (name created by the people from the underground base)
Gender: male
Age: 10
Equipment brought to the surface: Silver whistle
Brief bio: Everyone knew him. A happy boy with big eyes, enjoying himself every single day. He was probably too young to understand how bad and corrupted the world was. Despite this happiness, most of the time, he was playing alone, exploring the inner of the base. But none knew about his past, he never talked to anyone, if he could even talk. Eating was probably his favorite activity. Even though the food supply was limmited, a lot of people was kind enough to share a part with him. Everyone was happy to see him so energetic and happy, but they also feared how long he can survive. After all he was an orphan.
Appearance: A common looking boy, with dark brown hair and big black eyes. No wounds, no scars. The only way to tell him appart from the other kids was the big silver wishle around his neck. He never cried or feared. The only two emotions of his was his happy smile, and his curious eyes.
 
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