Good Night, Good Luck [OOC]

Mind if I joined in? Have an idea for a character who's completely full of himself and refers to himself in third-person.

Name: Maria Luiza Catalaya Diaz.

Gender: Female.

Birthplace: Goiânia, Brazil.

Age: 25.

Appearance:

Maria is your stereotypical Brazilian woman, that is to say she's not unattractive or unshapely. She was never one for beauty regimes, finding that her experiences in the wilderness and the navy left her without much a care for what other people thought of her appearence. Her skin is worn around her hand, years of use in her careers and months of grabbing concrete and hefting herself across rooftops have left her hands with a worked look. The rest of her skin is quite flawless, bar the odd scar (on her hip, several on her arms and back) and the dirty appearence.

It's been months since she bathed in anything but puddle water, but that's more than most people. At least she used soap last time.

She wears a khaki tank top as her first layer of clothing, over which often lies a tight fitting black jacket. If forced out in the rain, she would rather forgo waterproof clothing for the ability to run silently and with agility. Wet is better than bit. Her legs are covered by brown cargo pants, with runner's trainers on her feet.

And a pair of baby blue socks.

Equipment:

• SPOILER: Click to show
  {Khaki Tank Top - Click for Image}
• SPOILER: Click to show
  {Black Jacket - Click for Image}
• SPOILER: Click to show
  {Brown Cargo Pants - Click for Image}
• SPOILER: Click to show
  {Runner's Shoes - Click for Image}
• SPOILER: Click to show
  {Heckler & Kosh HK417 - Click for Image}
• SPOILER: Click to show
  {Jungle Machete - Click for Image}
• Metal watch - smashed face
• Backpack, largely empty except for some tin cans of food, energy bars and two bottles of water
• Can opener
• SPOILER: Click to show
  {Surefire Flashlight - Click for Image}
• Half-empty medical kit, bandages, disinfectant and some painkillers are all that remains
• 46x 7.62mm NATO rounds in 4x 10 magazines and 6 loaded in gun

Faction?: The Our Lady of Consolation Church Survivors. Favela Vidigal, Rio de Janeiro.

Personality: Maria was a hard working, once. She was intelligent, she was academic, she wanted nothing more than to halt the progress of Humanity and reverse the damage it had done to the world. But when that happened, it was more shocking than she could have imagined. She was caring, the only thing that she maintains after the world ended. But she's a broken woman, her care for her fellows at the Church is the only thing keeping her alive. They need her.

Background:

Maria was born to a lower middle class family in the well planned city of Goiânia. Her father a store manager and her mother a maintenance engineer at the local power plant.

The young girl grew up with high expectations upon her shoulders, her expensive education almost left her family homeless but they wanted the best for their only child - after all it was a miracle of she was born, her father was supposed to be sterile. As far as living up to their expectations, Maria performed admirably.

While her education was brilliant, the girl had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She loved maths and physics, so maybe she could become a teacher in one of those subjects. But then again, she felt like she owed something more back to the world. She always liked animals, having owned several in her lifetime, and her city was prized for its nature parks and green areas - the second highest proportion of green areas to human population.

So she followed her vested interest in nature conservation alongside her education - but first, she had to get the money for it. Her parents had already given everything they could for her, the course she had in mind would cost far too much for them too find. She was 18 now, she had to look after herself.

So it was a scholarship she looked for, and the only one available to her was being granted as a reward for three years service in the Marinha do Brasil, the Brazilian Navy. That or the Airforce - the only other Brazilian Armed Forces branch that had a Women's Reserve - but she hated heights, so why bother there.

One years worth of training saw her passed into active service, her first posting was in a place that was close to her dreams, the Brazilian part Amazon Rainforest. She was part of a unit charged with policing the waterways - prone to bands drug smugglers, illegal deforesters and animal traffickers. Here she learnt survival in the rainforest environments of her home country, something she immensely enjoyed living alongside the animals that she loved. She did see combat in her service of course, although it was primarily against small arms fire. She didn't particularly enjoy being on the receiving and giving ends of combat, but it was her job and clearing these gangs from the Amazon basin is something that could only really benefit it... That's what she told herself as she opened fire on men with sub machine guns with her H&K HK416.

Her second year of service saw her handed over to the UN in a supportive roll in Haiti, a country crippled by a series of devastating earthquakes. The frigate she was stationed on was Brazilian, but the mission was one of peace and stabilisation - they were there to ensure Haitian pirates didn't target the supplies.

Once her second year of active service was up, she passed on the career offer handed to her and went back to Brazil. With scholarship in hand she applied for the her course of choice at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro. She was accepted, and for three years she spent her time browsing around the simply massive city - staying clear of the Favelas when possible - and taking placements in the largest man-planted urban forest in the world, Tijuca Forest. One of the last bastions of Brazil's Atlantic Forest.

Maria qualified with a brilliant diploma, and a job. She had been hired by the company she worked for on placements, a government environmental consultancy agency working in the Amazon Basin and the Atlantic Forest. It was Maria's job to assist the researcher parties in their research, provide them with suitable shelter and food supplies, and most importantly provide a 'strong arm'. She was hired mostly for her experience in the military, they have her firearms (a HK417, she noted with glee) and instructed her to guard the researchers where necessary - deep in the Amazon Basin's drug trafficking interior and in dangerous areas of Tijuca Forest, near the local Favela. But she was mostly there for bluff, as a show of arms rather than a mercenary.

It was while Maria was accompanying a group of researchers in the Tijuca Forest that the Infection struck Brazil. Maria had been out in the rainforest for three weeks - perhaps an entire month - and media coverage of the worldwide epidemic hadn't reached the isolated group before Brazil fell.

When the researchers drove back into Rio, heading for the university, they found a city in chaos. Roads were full with cars attempting to leave the city, looters ran riot while soldiers killed beasts in the street. The group took refuge in the hillside Favelas, sticking clear of the central city where everyone flocked towards. Two died that day, four more that night. Maria learned quickly.

The world she knew was gone, these beasts ate everything, everyone. She couldn't keep her group alive, she mourns her failure of duty to this day, but she could keep herself alive. She could run, she could hide, she could scavenge. With her gun, she could even kill them.

Survivor's Log:

Ooh - oh, hey. It's echoing my voice back, I got it working!

My name is Maria Luiza Diaz. I a-used to be in the Navy. I have found safety in the Favela Vidigal. Our Lady of Consolation Church is a safezone. They struggle up the stairs.

(The soft sounding woman laughs.)

365, or is it 367 steps. We've reinforced the hill with fences - barricades. We have a watchtower. We. Are. Alive. If you are hearing this, you are welcome here. Catholic or no, the Mother assures me all are welcome to our community.

We have runners, but we could use more. There is only so much we can bring back. And please, if anyone has experience with agriculture or electricals we could use your expertise in setting up our irrigated garden and solar powered generator.

Maria Luiza Diaz, Our Lady of Consolation Church, Favela Vidigal. Putting message on repeat.

[Message Repeats over the Radio]

I hope the helps Mother Sophie, setting up that radio is the least I can do for all the help you've given us. It's horrible out there, it's disgusting. Everywhere stinks of rot, of blood and flesh and decomposing bodies. I was in Haiti, the year after the quake struck. The smell of broken sewage seeping through roadworks is like wildflower compared to what's out there.

I'm not so sure about the message, though. I'm worried that the Drug Gangs or the Police Militias will pick up on it. What if they raid us? I can't fight them all back - even then I only have so many rounds left - 43? It's been weeks since we had a supply drop with ammunition...

Or food, medicine, water.

I'm not sure how long we can go on anymore.

Something mildly relevant

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_equipment_of_the_Brazilian_Army

This may be useful over the course of the RP it contains a list of all of the modern equipment of the Brazilian Military.

Name: Thiago Luciano Ramos Nogueira

Gender: Male

Birthplace: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Age: Twenty-two years

Appearance: Thiago is a fairly dark-complected young man with darker hair and similarly colored eyes. His face is long and angular, with rather sad eyes framed by a strong jaw, well-defined cheekbones, and expressive if rather thick eyebrows. He's a pretty lanky guy, standing a hair over six foot four and--last he checked, though he's surely lost weight since then--only weighed a hundred eighty-five pounds. He usually wore his hair a little on the long side, and it's grown long enough over the last eight months to be pulled into a short ponytail. Shaving is much easier to do on your own even with only a razor, however, so Thiago maintains a clean-shaven countenance more often than not.

He still wears clothing roughly similar to what he wore eight months ago: running shoes, jeans, and a T-shirt at the bare minimum. A track jacket and pair of tight driving gloves are common additions, sleeves pulled up more often than not on warmer days. Thiago also often wears a medical mask or shemagh over his lower face; he still isn't sure how the virus is transmitted, and covering his mouth provides him some level of comfort. A wristwatch and a necklace with a small cross top it all off, though Thiago probably wears the latter more at this point as a memento or out of habit than out of any religious ties.

Equipment: Thiago stores most of the gear he takes out with him in a one-strap backpack or else in his pockets. He usually carries some basic medical supplies--gauze, Ace bandages, clotting powder, and the like--in his backpack. There's also enough room for the backpack to comfortably hold enough food to get him through a day or two, mostly granola bars, and a water bottle or two. A scavenged Maglite, heavy enough to hit things without worrying about the flashlight's durability and bright enough to illuminate the area when he can find the necessary D batteries, is also a mainstay in one of the side pockets.

He generally prefers to travel light in order to run faster, so weapons aren't really a major concern. It doesn't make much sense to run around unarmed, though, and so Thiago's two favorites are a one-piece framing hammer with a rubber grip and a Taurus PT 24/7. The hammer, purchased for his day job once upon a time, is an improvised, yet effective weapon he often keeps close at hand or shoved through his belt. The handgun, stolen from a dead police officer whose corpse miraculously hadn't yet been ransacked or reanimated, is an item generally used only when necessary and kept in a thigh holster, this also conveniently stolen from the same officer. Lastly, even if he may use them more to play around with in his downtime than stab things, Thiago almost always keeps two balisongs--his girlfriend's, once--in one of his jeans pockets as weapons of last resort.

His apartment-turned-fortress, however, is generally a bit more well-stocked. He currently owns four scavenged water bottles, all leftovers from the same case and generally only used when he can't find any out in Rio; two boxes of cereal and six various cans of soup and beans; a can opener; a Gillette safety razor with four spare blades; some beef jerky; and even a few sticks of gum and packages of some American candy. Skittles or something. Six D batteries compatible both with his flashlight and a small battery-powered lantern round out his nonlethal supplies.

Given that he doesn't frequently use a gun when he can help it, Thiago has a halfway decent munitions stockpile. In addition to his borrowed handgun, he keeps a Mossberg 590 the same corpse also supplied, an Imbel IA2 he lifted from a dead survivor, and a fair amount of ammunition. At last catalog, he possessed forty-six assorted pistol rounds, of which thirty-two were 9x19mm rounds; three fifteen-round magazines for the Taurus, of which Thiago only ever carries two; thirteen shotgun shells of assorted size; and forty-seven scavenged rifle-caliber rounds of which only nineteen (and four magazines, three empty) are compatible with the IA2. He hasn't since touched either of the larger weapons, but there's nothing quite like a bit of insurance.[/spoiler]


Faction?: Thiago's been living mostly on his own since a pair of Hunters took his girlfriend, but he's been known to encounter and help out other groups of humans occasionally.

Personality: While he doesn't bear any ill will towards other humans, Thiago has been forced to realize something recently: self-preservation is all that he can concern himself with, if he wants to come out of this with his life intact. He's willing to do whatever he must to survive, even if he takes no pleasure in or feels plenty of remorse stemming from his actions. Of course, he's also a social creature, and some eight months spent primarily in solitude have taken their toll on his psyche. Thiago often struggles to reconcile this need to interact with others and to be a good person, like he always tried to be before, with his selfish need to survive. Guns still scare him more than a little, but he's come to accept carrying one as necessary - even if that doesn't always mean he has to use it, or be an exceptionally skilled shot.

Background: Thiago was born and raised in Rio's north zone, in the district of Tijuca. He lived a fairly normal childhood and youth - grew up a fan of football (especially a local team), went to school, got a job at sixteen working construction. He initially skipped out on the whole collegiate experience, though; his family wasn't quite well-off enough to send him through university with no assistance, and he was rather unwilling to sign away a good portion of his soul for a collegiate education.

He moved away from home at twenty to go live on his own, in an apartment not especially far from home. Upon discovering that construction work wasn't quite enough to pay for living expenses, he shifted to a job as a bicycle courier; while not necessarily better-paying, work was at least more consistent and not as seasonal. Thiago actually ended up dating one of the first people he delivered a package, in an odd enough twist of fate; a girl by the name of Marisa, maybe a year or two older than him.

They moved in together before he turned twenty-one,

Survivor's Log:

I had to kill another human today.

[A long pause ensues. Thiago sighs deeply before speaking.]

I don't know why I feel so bad about it. This guy, he started walking towards me and mumbling in some language I didn't understand as soon as he saw me. I thought he was just one of them until he started shooting, too. Thank God he missed his first couple of shots, enough time for me to dive behind something.

I tried to reason with him before I started shooting back, too. I don't know if he didn't listen or if he just didn't speak Portuguese, but... crazy people like him worry me a lot more than the dead do. So I killed him. I killed him before he could kill me, just shot him right then and there when he ran out of bullets.

[Thiago is audibly having difficulty speaking; it sounds like he's getting choked up. He takes a moment, presumably to compose himself.]

You know, ever since dead people started trying to eat the living, it's been rough. I've been mostly alone for a long time now, ever since they got Marisa, and I don't even remember how long it's been since she died. I don't even remember her face anymore. But I've toughed through it. I'm not gonna let a bunch of walking freaks get me. At least I can trust them to try and kill me. But people? I just don't know anymore. We're supposed to be better than those dead bastards, but now... I don't know what to think.

[Another pause, this one shorter.]

Maybe I'm better off alone.

Name: Jackson "Chains" Briggs

Gender: Male

Birthplace: Los Angeles, USA.

Age: 28



Appearance: Chains is a rather athletic, muscular man. He has flat black hair, and has a rather dark brown skin-tone, being of African American descent. He has a rather thick stubble. 

Equipment:

- Large duffle-bag
- Kevlar Vest
- Suit and tie, under vest
- 6 cans of beans
- Two bottles of water, filled
- Combat knife
- Flashlight, no spare batteries. About an hour of battery life left
- Pair of knuckle dusters
- Mossberg 500
- Nine 12 gauge shells, enough to fill the Mossberg once
- Taurus PT92
- Two 9x19 clips, filled
- Clown mask
- Smart phone, with various games on it
- Smart phone charger
- Two packets of cigarettes, one half finished. Each pack has 25 cigarettes, making the half-finished one have 12, and the total being 37.
- Pair of blue surgical gloves

Faction: Himself

Personality:

Chains is completely full of himself, even referring to himself in third person at times. He’s completely sane, however thinks himself basically be a god. He thinks himself invincible, as false as that may be. This leads him to be rather reckless, however he does have the skills and equipment to usually come out of combat situations healthy. That said, if he didn’t have the ridiculously big ego he did, he’d be much better off.

Background:

Chains was born in Los Angeles, USA. He was born in the bad side of town, in the ghetto, and was involved in a large amount of criminal activity. He became a runner for the Bloods, a rather large gang in LA. He would take things such as drugs and weapon through the run-down parts of LA, over the rooftops and anywhere people wouldn’t think to look.

When he turned 16, he was “promoted” in the Bloods. Rather than just taking things back and forth, he started getting the dirtier jobs. Drive-by shootings, murder, theft, were all things he had to do several times. He wasn’t too proud of it, but it payed the bills, and as his parents could never afford to send him to school he couldn’t get a proper job.

Two years later, when Chains was 18, he was involved in a rather large shootout between Bloods and police. He was hit twice in the shoulder, once in the leg, and once in the arm. He was certain he wouldn’t make it, however was taken into custody and hospitalised. After a few months he was good as new, as if he’d never been wounded in the first place. Chains was greatly surprised by this, however was glad regardless.

Chains was put into jail for three years, as he didn’t actually kill any of the officers in the shootout, and could only be charged with resisting arrest, assault, and being an accomplice. He got off slightly easy due to his age, the judge taking small pity with Chains. He served his jail sentence without any major events, the days turning into weeks, the weeks turning into months, and the months turning into years. Before he knew it he was released, back into the outside world.

Chains had lost all connection with his gang, being thought dead. When he returned to his house, he found it ransacked, everything of value missing. A couple of Blood members were in his living room, smoking crack, almost falling of their seats when they saw Chains enter. Chains was still fit, still strong, still able, not having much else to but workout in his spare time whilse in prison. Out of rage, convinced it was his fellow Bloods that had taken his possessions, he brutally murdered one of the Blood members, took his pistol, and shot the other member. With this, he left his house and fled the area, at risk of being hunted by his former gang.

Chains didn’t have much more money in his pocket, so he turned back to the only thing he was good at - crime. He became independent, not having a gang or any such thing to go too. It started with mugging, petty theft, small things. Before he knew it, however, he was making friends. It only took a year, Chains now being 22, before Chains was robbing banks and taking names. He had three friends whom he would do various theft jobs with, everything from robbing small jewellery stores to larger banks. This was where he earned his nickname, Chains, after his three friends learnt he had recently been to prison. Everybody needed a codename, as yelling each others names in a robbery wasn’t the smartest thing to do. They didn’t even know each others real names.

Chains kept this up for 5 years, before he was finally in danger of being caught. The crime scenes were messy, but they would always wear masks, guns, destroy security cameras, etc. There was always evidence of a crime, however evidence of who it actually committed by was rare. Chains finally left enough tidbits of evidence for the police to have a lead on him, forcing him to flee the country, lest he want life in prison. Over the five years of robbing, he suffered enough wounds to kill twenty men, however somehow always survived. This led him to have a ridiculously big ego, thinking himself invincible. He even referred to himself in third-person at times.

Chains fled to Rio, Brazil, taking the riches he had earned from theft with him. He was certainly wealthy, however after getting comfortable in Brazil, at best, lower-middle-class. Although he risked being caught again, he had to turn back to crime to make ends meet. His money went to a nice house, a car, food, and lessons in Portugues. Once he turned back to crime, he purchased various weapons under the table, namely a Mossberg 500 and a Taurus PT92. He didn’t want to attract too much attention, however did things the same way. He wore the clown mask he would always use in his other robberies, gloves, and a suit and tie. That said, he stuck to robbing things such as gas stations.

Chains was in the middle of a gas station robbery when the apocalypse reached him. He had everything he needed, his Mossberg, his Taurus, his mask. What he thought was a madman busted through the door and attacked him, but not before tackling and biting the cashier. He shot and killed the thing once it attacked him, but before he knew it so was the cashier. He killed him as well, and fled the store in a mixture of fear and confusion. He returned to his home, however on the way had several more encounters with these things. He called them “Zeds”, copying from a video game he had played once or twice. He wasn’t a paranoid man, however once returning to his home he did board up his windows and doors, as he didn’t want those weird fucking things coming into his house. He turned on the news to find out what the fuck was going on, however he couldn’t even get a signal. He sat in his house and hoped it would just blow over, keeping his weapons handy just incase. Chains was 27 at this point.

Eight months later, Chains having turned 28, Chains had left his home in search of food and water. He found that the rooftops were the safest place, reminding him of his days of running for the Bloods. It wasn’t quite as easy to maneuver while lugging around supplies as he did, but still doable, to an extent. He found that movement was key to survival. Some of the Zeds would just get more pissed off if you shot at them. He kept his suit, tie and clown mask, also scavenging a kevlar vest from dead police officers to fit over it. This protected him from Zeds to an extent.

Chains had also realised that a bite from a Zed turned you into one of the fuckers. A strange occurrence seemed to happen to him, however. A few days after being forced to leave his home, Chains was attacked by a Zed and took a bite to the arm. At this point, he wasn’t sure what was happening, so didn’t think much of it other than a nasty wound. It eventually healed over, and nothing happened. Once he realised the nature of the bites, it only added to his ego, even the apocalypse couldn’t touch him.

These days, Chains usually scavenges what he can find, and is willing to mug anyone for their supplies, providing they give him a reason too. For example, if he witnessed them kill someone in cold blood, or perhaps even rob someone themselves. He still wears his clown mask unless talking to someone friendly, to have anonymity in-case he needs to rob or kill someone.


Survivor's Log:

This shit work? Cool. So I found this dusty ass tape recorder, figured I’d try it out. Don’t know how many fuckers around here speak English, most of the time I gotta speak Portuguese. But anyway, guess I’ll talk about myself for a bit. Names Chains, come from the US. Lately I’ve been running around, taking shit I need from wherever I can get it. Way I see it , someone gives me shit, I take THEIR shit. Chains hates tricky.

[The man laughs in his deep voice, before continuing]

I’m not new to taking names. Been doing this shit all my life. Fuck, maybe I don’t know what the fuck 12 times 12 is, but that shit ain’t gonna help me now.

[The man continued, expressing his lack of proper education]

Had to kill a couple fuckers so far. They tried to get a jump on me, their mistake. Chains fucked ‘em up. Wouldn’t go lookin’ for a fight, but if some kid who thinks he’s hotshit is gonna make a move on me, I’ll blow his motherfucking brains out.

To any motherfucker out there listenin’ to this shit, movement is survival. Don’t nail down, that shit will get you killed. You’ll run out of food if you’ve got a good enough barricade, and shit, if you can get out then the Zeds will get in. Oh, fuck!

[The recorder falls to the ground, making a loud thud. A gunshot is heard, before “Don’t sneak up on Chains, motherfucker!” is yelled. Strange noises are heard as the recorder is picked back up]

Well, fuck. Zed snuck up on me. Fuckers dead now. Guess that’s the end of my clip.

[Quiet counting is heard]

Still got two, should be cool. I gotta get the fuck out of here before more of them come. To any of you fuckers listenin’, good luck, and good-fucking-night.

[The recorder is switched off]

I actually quite like that idea. There's quite a few characters that Gabe would rather shoot on sight and let God sort them out than trust to have his back. Like anyone from the Favela gang. It allows cutthroat, pragmatic survivors to band together (after possibly killing off some NPC survivors that met up with them that doesn't agree with how the group acts) and more "normal", or at the very least not completely degraded survivors to band in another group.

How will the two groups interact with each other? Will they converge at any point? And if they do, will you allow PvP battles? I know there's rules outlining how that goes but I'll probably have to brush up on them.

Looking forward to the thread!

TLT

Motion to a point of information:

It is entirely Dawgs position, but I suggest you stick Eustache, and his band with someone rather serious who will have the ever-loving-shit annoyed out of them by the bands antics, and constant playing of instruments even when it will endanger the groups life. This may allow for some tension to build within the thread between the group, and incoming survivors.

Secondary suggestion: It may be most interesting if you put the major groups together; the favela gang; Stashes of Eustache; The Our Lady of Consolation Church Survivors; and the Guardiões da Cidade. While leaving the singular members into the other thread where they can create their own "Team/faction." If this sort of thing doesn't work out, than it is completely possible for somebody to get "lost" and end up in the other thread, this way we could to trade offs.


- The Boots