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 Clark Harris, Survivor
Clark Harris
Posted: Apr 12 2012, 06:00 PM


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Name: Clark Harris
Nickname(s): Bing
Age: 30
Birth Date: September 9th
Occupation: Retired Captain US Army, Expedition Shootist/Entertainer
Hometown: Fort Drum, New York
Orientation: Heterosexual
Group: Survivor



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Height: 6’1”
Weight: 208lbs
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Face Claim: Jeremy Brett
General: Even before the dead rose Bing was almost always in a suit and hat if he was out of his house, and not just when he was performing for an audience. He generally believes that a man should always put their best foot forward when it comes to appearances, the closest he ever got to “casual” was polo shirts and slacks which he would wear well golfing, or enjoying a picnic. He would wear “work clothes” (usually jeans, a white t-shirt, and work boots) when doing outdoor work, but as soon as that was done he would dress in something more “suitable”.

Clark Harris looks almost exactly like Jeremy Brett. His shoulder are a bit wider then the legendary actor, but his face looks exactly the same. Bing also sings well, not surprisingly he sounds very much like Bing Crosby which is how he got his nickname. He also has a loud roaring laugh when he finds something to be actually humorous.

He carries himself with great confidence. It’s the pride that comes from not only surviving a war, but being damn good at fighting one. Bing is good with firearms, and he knows it. His hands are fast, his mind is sharp, and danger gets him off. There is a swag in his step, that he created largely for his show.

When in a battle Bing becomes cold. His eyes lose their warmth, his body becomes almost mechanical in it’s movement and precision, and his voice becomes deeper and harsh.



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Skills: Shootist: Clark Harris made a living by showing off his gun skills after his time in the war. Whether it’s shooting competitions, circuses, corporate sponsored events, rodeos, or expedition shooting, Bing became a minor celebrity because of his skills with a gun, and his knowledge of the Old West. Before the rise of the dead he was sponsored by the Browning Arms Company, under their Winchester line. He’s also a amateur gunsmith and ammunition reloader. There isn’t much he doesn’t know about firearms in general, although he knows more about guns from the time of the old west then any other firearm.

You won’t find a faster quick draw anywhere else, besides his fame as an expert of the Wild West, Bing was most known for his ability to draw his Schofield revolvers and hit what he is aiming for at alarming speeds. It was only a day before the panic of the rising dead, that Bing was making people cheer by shooting aspirin tablets out of the air, or splitting a bullet on the edge of a double bladed ax to pop two balloons. Or “beating the clock” by unloading his pistols in under six seconds.

Living History Teacher: Bing has a Bachelor degree in American History. His favorite fields of study ranged from the time period of 1850-1950, with his personal interest/taste resting at the time of the old west to the start of World War 1. After returning from the Second Iraq War, Bing used his knowledge of the old west during his shows in a “living history” manner much in the same way as the original Wild West shows of the turn of the last century. It’s from this that he has knowledge of tracking, forestry, scouting, and everyday life on the American frontier was demonstrated to the public, at state fairs, Civil War Reenactments, and general “history days“.

Before the rise of the dead he could be seen a few times a year on the History and Discovery Channel, demonstrating cavalry tactics, “Indian” tracking tactics, frontier cooking, fur trapping, hunting and general “everyday skills” that people in the mid to late 19th century had. If a cable station was having a week dedicated to the old west there’s a good chance that Bing would be one of the “experts” called upon and interviewed. He also had a history of working for movie and television studios as a historical advisor for period pieces. His last television series was an upcoming program called “Hell on Wheels” that sadly will now never air.

Ex-Army Officer: Bing was in the United States military until 2004, after an “event” that forced the US Army to prematurely retire him. He served in the 10th Mountain Division (who’s base was in his hometown of Fort Drum, NY). A hero during Operation Anaconda, where he won the Silver Star, and a Purple Heart. In the Spring of 2004 Bing was involved in an “event” that involved transporting suspected terrorist, the rape of one of his solders, and the death of one or the prisoners. This “event” having happened right after the revelation of the horrors of the Abu Ghrabi prision tortures, was covered up and Bing honorably discharged. The excuse given was the death of Bing’s father (who had died almost two years before), and the need for Bing to return to deal with family affairs.

Showmanship: Bing is a natural showman. He can easily draw in a crowd, and knows how to use words to his advantage. He is very good at presenting situations to his audience in way that gets him the results he desires. Bing knows how to set a stage an manipulate an audience.

Horsemanship: Despite not having a horse at the moment, Bing is skilled with the beast, having learned how to handle the animals from men with greater skills then his. Bing can ride, and knows how to care for the animal, but he isn’t a horse whisper.

Singing: Years of singing songs from the Great American Song Book to himself have paid off for Bing somewhat. He can now sing like a crooner of old, although what good this does when a walker wants to eat your arm he still isn’t sure.

Fisticuffs: No this has nothing to do with the fact that Bing enjoys the era where bare knuckle boxing was king, it has everything to do with whiskey bars, and bar tramps. Having spent most of his life on the road Bing has been in plenty of fights, usually over some woman in a low cut shirt, and has become very proficient fighter. It was his tendency to get into these confrontations that drew him into the study of bare knuckle fighting techniques. He stays calm and knows how to correctly strike someone without breaking a knuckle, but he isn’t the second coming of John Sullivan. He hasn’t been in a bar fight since his marriage two years ago.

Language: Being born into a strict traditional Catholic family Bing can speak and read Latin.

Bookworm: Before the undead rose Bing enjoyed reading. Fiction and Nonfiction. He usually read articles and books that dealt with his area’s of professional interest. Ever a student if he has an interest in a subject he will attempt to find information on the subject.

He also is a big fan of murder mysteries and crime stories. The only genre that bored him was horror, which maybe ironic in an of itself.

General: Some people follow modern trends to the point where every aspect of their life is in a constant changing flow like the water in a river. New clothes (only the best of course), new opinions (that are fair and in style of course), new technologies (Apple anyone?), and new morals (maybe bestiality isn’t such a bad thing after all?). Bing isn’t one of those people. In a century where seemingly the majority of the world was looking to the future to what was new and “better”, Bing looked backwards to what was tested and “true“. He’s always been like that (Blame his father, his mother always did.), a lover of a romanticized past twisted for the problems of modern society, Bing was an old man by the time he turned 15. The world is really easy to understand in his mind, it’s just that no one has the balls anymore to admit the truth, and act accordingly.

Bing isn’t old fashion he’s archaic. He’s paternalistic, masculine, intelligent, and shockingly charming and entertaining despite some of his view points. He’s also dangerous and gets enjoyment out of dangerous situations. He can also be manipulative when he wants to be, although his personality dictates that manipulation only be used when in accordance to his own personal moral code.

Women? They should be honored and treated with respect. Kids? Should be seen and not heard. Men? They should act with honor, not like a bunch of pansy ass traitors. Civilization? Should be held up respected and protected. Savages? Should be shot or hung depending on what method is cheapest at any given time.

In Bing’s mind the only problem with John Wayne is that so few people wanted to be like him, Bing knew better. You stand up for your family, your friends, your country, and your moral code. Damn the consequences. A man who cheats on his wife? Scum. A friend who becomes a communist? Dump em. You don’t like the United States? Get the fuck out! A man who betrays his heart? He’s already dead.

For Bing the rise of the dead meant only one thing. Civilization would now exist in small pockets, and the majority of survivors would descended into gangs, and eventually tribes. The land was lawless again, and the old west that he has idolized since his childhood has come back with a vengeance. The land of the computer chip and silicon was once again the land of the revolver and cold steel.


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Family: Colonel (ret.) Frank Harris: Father. 1930-2002 Cause of Death: House fire.
Mrs. Sarah Harris (maiden Kirk): Mother. 1946-1998 Cause of Death: Car accident
Mrs. Linda Harris (maiden Schiweikart): Wife 1979-? Possibly dead. Possibly a walker. Maybe she is alive. She was last known to be on a business trip in Hong Kong. Their marriage was going down hill because of their separate lives, although Bing didn’t want to admit it.
Mr. Todd Haris: Brother. 1978-? Status unknown.
Mr. Frank Harris: Brother. 1982-2007 Cause of Death: Suicide.
Miss. Sarah Conner: Stage Assistant/ Cousin 1990-2010 Cause of Death: Zombie bite. She turned two hours later and was shot in the head by Bing.
General: Clark Harris was born on September 9th 1980 to his father Colonel Frank Harris, and his wife Sarah Harris. Frank Harris was a Army Office and veteran of the Korean and Vietnam war. Clark young life was lived under the teachings of his militant, but loving father. The middle son of three boys, Bing was his father’s favorite because he attempted to emulate him in everything he did.

Bing grew up in a Traditionalist Catholic household. They went to a church where the mass was done in the Tridentine Mass tradition. Because of this Clark can speak, read, and understand Latin.

Besides passing on his conservative views to his son, Frank also taught Bing how to shoot. Putting his first pistol (a Colt .22 cal Revolver) into his hand on his fifth birthday. Under his father’s tutelage Clark developed into an expert shootist. After a successful night at the range, Bing was often rewarded by being allowed to watch one of Frank’s western movies, or VHS tapes of an old western series for the night.

Clark’s childhood and teen years were somewhat normal. He did well in school, was a school athlete, and feel in and out of love as often as any other teen does. A short year after graduation, he was with his family when they had to bury his beloved mother who died in a car crash.

After graduation his father got him enrolled into the Army’s ROTC program well he received a Bachelor’s in American History. Well in college Bing would make extra money at the county’s shooting range, putting on small shows, and betting people money that he could make difficult shots with an array of different weapons.

In 2001, after being commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant, the 9/11 attacks happened. Bing was transferred to the 10th Mountain Division, and soon was deplored to Afghanistan. Serving there from 2001 until his “retirement” in 2004 after a certain “event”. A decorated campaigner, Bing came home to Fort Drum as a local hero, no one knowing a thing about the event that forced the end of his military career, all believing he was home because he had to finally take care of his family matters.

In the winter of 2004 Clark began his career as a exhibition shootist, putting on shows and competing in competitions around the country, and later the world. It was during this time that he meet the woman he fell in love with Linda Harris. The two were married in 2008. Unfortunately the marriage was going down hill fast because of the two’s hectic schedules, that kept them apart for months at a time.

In 2010 Clark was appearing at a Wild West festival in Lake Charlotte Georgia, for the Browning Arms Company, when the dead rose. At first Clark believed that it was come kind of practical joke, until his younger cousin was bitten by a walker, and transformed herself, and Clark deposed of her walking corpse by placing a .45 Schofield between the corpses eyes.

After this Clark dressed himself properly, placing his revolvers on his hips and his rifle on his back. He then hid some of the other supplies from his show, grabbed a few boxes of ammo, and pair of binoculars, and began searching for other civilized survivors in the wasteland.



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Instead of simply doing one large “roleplay” I am going to do two “partial” roleplays. The first is a scene from Clark’s childhood. The second is a group of journal entries that shows what Clark has been doing between the time that he had to kill his walker turned cousin, and this time period of the rpg. I can change dates once things become more established.

September 9th, 1985. 1:08 PM. Fort Drum, NY at the personal backyard of Colonel Frank Harris.

BANG! The little .22 revolver’s hammer drove forward and fired off, although in the hands of it’s young shooter the revolver appeared much larger. The boy was wearing a pair of jeans and simple blue t-shirt along with a multi colored paper party hat on his head. He was also wearing a gunbelt around his waist and was holding a .22 Colt Revolver in his right hand.

“Good boy. Good.” The man behind him stated calmly. “You see how you squeezed the trigger that time? You didn’t jerk it, you squeezed it like a lemon.”

The boy slowly placed the pistol back into it’s holster, his eyes almost as wide as the smile on his face. “That’s cause I’ve been practicing Dad! I’ve been squeezing lemons a lot lately, just like you asked me to!”

The man kneeled down at eye level with the young boy, and patted him on his back gently.

“I know! I’ve been drinking the lemonade steady for a few weeks now!” The older man laughed, his teeth showing brightly. “Remember this day boy, it’s a first lesson! Let’s go see where you hit boy.”
The old man eased himself up, slower then he would like to admit, and he walked towards the post that had a small “bullseye” style target on it. The man then pointed out to a small hole on the right hand side of the target, that barely grazed the edge of the largest outside ring.

“You see here boy? You just barely hit the target, well off where I told you to aim.” The man said a bit gruffly.

“Is that good Dad?” The boy asked excitedly.

“No.” Colonel Harris stated as a matter-of-factly. “At best it means you winged your target. He would have likely fired back and killed you before you could of gotten off another round shooting like that.”

The boy looked down at his black sneakers, frowning slightly. “But, I’ll get better Dad.”

“Of course you will son, you’re my boy. But that doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t hit where I told you too. A miss means your dead in combat. Do you understand that boy?”

The young child shook his head yes slowly, his face covered in shame.

“Now none of that. Are you some spoiled little brat or something? What are we?”

“Harris men!” The boy proclaimed with pride. He instantly stopped slouching, his shoulders leaning back.

“And what do Harris men do to the enemies of the United States?”

“We kill them sir!”

“Now, are you going to start crying like a little girl because you failed at a task?”

“No, sir!”

“Good boy.” The boy’s father said with a smile as he placed his hand on top of his sons head taking the boys party hat and placing it on top of the post. “Now lets go back fifteen paces like we were before.”

The boy followed his father, at what felt like a few minutes, but to his Dad it was only the fifteen steps he had mentioned before.

“Now son turn around, and knock that hat off that post. I want it on the ground, and I want it NOW!” His voice rose at the end, but his son stayed mellow. “Think of that hat as Soviet Officer who is leading a force of men into this area and is preparing to kill your Mother, well I am fighting in the field. You have one shot. Either you kill him, or your Mother dies. Do you want your Mother to die Clark?”

“No, sir!” The boy said as he separated his feet shoulder lengths apart and slightly bent his knees like his father had showed him.

“Good boy. Now breath slowly, stay calm prepare your shot. When your ready draw your pistol, aim and send that commie atheist bastard to the hell that he doesn’t believe in!” The old man smiled lightly and crossed his arms, watching his son preparing to shoot.

The boy’s eyes calmed down, the hyperness suddenly struck out of him. His breathing began to slow, and his hand lightly touched the cold iron on his side. He struggled slightly to pull the gun away from it’s holster remembering what his father had taught him, “NEVER GRAB THE TRIGGER UNTIL YOU ARE READY.” As he raised his gun he saw in his minds eyes the man.

He was a Russian, a commie no doubt about it, and he looked just like the man on the poster in his Dad’s den. His eyes were blue and his skin was as white as a sheet of paper. On his head he wore one of those strange fur hats, and in his mouth there was a large dagger. He could hear his Mother screaming in the background, he could feel the heat of distant fires burning. The man started laughing at him maniacally, he knew Clark was nervous, that’s why he was laughing! What did he father say? “Commie Bastard!!!”

BANG! The hammer feel forward and in an instant the party hat had fallen slowly to the ground, with one hole in it. Behind him his father smiled, and after Clark placed the gun back into it’s small holster, his father patted him slowly on his back.

“Well done boy! That’s what you do to a savage who is trying to destroy your family!”

Clark smile grew large, He had never seen his Father so proud of him before.

________________________________________

These entries are currently stored in a computer resting on the third floor office of a distribution center fifteen miles away from Atlanta Georgia.

Day 6 of The Change:

The old man was right about this place, there is tons of food here. It would take me almost a year to categorizes everything correctly. First good sign since all of this happened. There is also fresh water, and the entire building is easy to defend. Will write more later after I get some sleep. Door is locked and I moved a few things in front of the door, should hold off anything that happens well I sleep. Hope I don’t snore to loud, I don’t need to wake up to 80 corpses outside the door scratching at the cement walls.

Day 7 of The Change. Early Morning.

Just heard off of the radio that the National Guard has been called out. Something seems to be happening deeper into the city. I went up to the rooftop this morning before dawn, but saw little sign of anything. Saw four of those walking corpses, but decided not to fire, it would be a waste of ammo and I don’t want to attract more. I don’t have that much information on them, but they all seem to be attracted by noises. Besides that I listened to the birds sing as the sun rose, strange to think that for them nothing has really happened.

Crows seems to be pleased with the recent developments, can’t help but seeing a few of them circling over the entire city. I only heard a few gunshots this morning. Strangely quite. I never ran across any Georgia Guardsmen during the war, but I hope the brass has informed the boys that these things only die by a bullet to the head.

I find it strange that there has been no sign of anyone in the area. I’d assume that people are starting to get hungry, a distribution center is almost a clichéd placed to go, and yet here I am alone. Not even people who must have worked here have shown up. I’m going to go down to the warehouse floor and take another quick look around. I’ll print out some notes this afternoon.

Day 7 of The Change. Afternoon.

I enjoyed a pot of coffee, and some beef stew for lunch. Lucky for me this place is big enough that the break room has a small stove, microwave, and coffee pot. The stove is gas powered, so even if the electricity goes out I should have some easy cooking without having to start a fire.

At around 11 o’clock I locked down every door and entrance I could find. Still can’t shake the feeling that it’s odd that no one has been around the building at all, especially since it’s only about fifteen miles outside of the city lines. There had to of been workers here, yet none have come back? Even if I consider that the first rule of survival for a family man is to ensure his families safety, that doesn’t excuse the fact that there should be at least someone who would try to come here. Haven’t even seen any gangs around as I first thought. No rioters. No looters. No survivalist. Maybe I was wrong about the idea that people would band together quickly, but I can’t be wrong. Saw it happen to many times during the war. People will join together and they will come to places like here. I must just be way ahead of the curve. One of the “lucky” aspects of being alone I guess.

Day 7 of the Change Evening.

Listened to the news tonight on the break room TV. Secretary of Health and Human Resources Sebelius is assuring Kattie Couric that a cure is on the way. Defense Secretary Bobby Gates promising that “our men and women” can handle this. Bullshit.

The President we are assured is in a safe location. Raven Rock most likely. Perhaps other bases, but I have no doubt that the big wigs are beginning to be held up in there safe little enclaves. Strange, my old man always figured it would be a bunch of screaming Commie Russians and Chinamen, or maybe a nuclear war. Who would of guessed the dead returning?

Day 7 of the Change Late Evening.

Went outside for an hour combing the local area. There just aren’t any people around. Probably a good thing, but still very odd. I killed one deadhead, it was about 500 yards away one bullet threw the head. It dropped. Fucker stopped sleep walking dead. Not bad for a gun that is a hundred and twelve years older then I am.

Heard growling coming from all around but I circled back until finally returning to home base. After locking up and cooking meal (New England Clam Chowder. One of my favs) I came back here, and blocked and locked door of the office again. I’ve spent the rest of the night searching the web, printing off what information I can.

The lights have flickered a few times, but the power is still on. Seems I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve been keeping my phone plugged in and charging. Tried using it a few times to call Linda, but it doesn’t even call out. Only thing it’s good for now is playing music which is a blessing. Nothing clams the nerves more like listening to one of the legends play.

According to what I’ve been reading on news sources and internet forums, this “change” is world wide. Everyone is saying the same thing about how to kill them, there head is their only weakness. Watched a video of some scientist probably casting at the CDC, he used about 1400 words to say that they didn’t know what the fuck was going on really, or how to reverse it.

Watched a video of a group of Royal Marines fighting, somewhere (I presume in England) they took out a few of them. Started getting cocky and were then surrounded. Last thing filmed before the feed died was the camera guy screaming. Sound of crunching bones and screams in the background, couldn’t see it exactly but the camera fell down to record a few dead head’s feet well the man kept screaming and screaming. Poor bastards got scared and just started firing. Not normal for a group of RM’s those boys have balls in general.

The Queen is still alive. She’s broadcasting somewhere there, refuses to “abandon her people”. Not a monarchist by any stretch but I got to admire the old girl, she has more guts then our “exalted” leader. She talks mostly about her time as a girl in WWII, and her father. Trying to remind the British People of what they are. Bless her heart.

Seems the few survivors on the Euro Continent who are alive and posting online are in those old castles. A fortified position with food and water supply. Although they are running low on ammunition they have hopes. Talks of the French of all fucking countries promising a cure in a few weeks. We are all fucked if we are counting on the French to save us.

Day 10 of the Change. Late Evening.

Been to busy to write, but I have to keep up this journal as a record. I mean it’s not like I have much else to do at night. Not much has happened until 19:00. Security camera’s picked up a few gang bangers pounding on the large cargo door in the back. Different races, but the majority of the males are dressed like wannabe rappers. They had some women with them and were screaming. “Nigger this. Nigger that.” The women had dog collars around there neck, and one was leashed directly to the belt of one of the bigger guy’s. Witnessed one slap one of the girls for “talking out of order bitch”. Seemed to be lead by a white guy in a white business suit. Looks like one of those old tvangelist types to me. Strange bedfellows indeed.

Final count of bangers= Eight men, ten women. Leader dressed in white wool suit and red dress shirt, is about mid 50s. Very strange man. Watched him with security camera, he lead everyone in a strange prayer and then raped one of the women, well the others watched and cheered. Had to shut it off at that point. The “woman” was maybe 17? All the men chanted “fuck that cunt” . Savages.

Thought about going to the rooftop and picking them off, but night time is the worst. I still have power here but I’m only using the office here on the third floor. No windows, no light getting out. Haven’t seen many deadhead around lately, they all seem to be heading towards the city. No sign of the National Guard, and gun shoots are few and far between.

The Queen is still alive and broadcasting. Listened to her this evening on the net. I love her spirit. A sign that there are actual human beings still alive, at least in Britain.

Watched the news tonight. Kattie Couric is dead. Add her among the “famous list” along side that bitch Hilary Clinton, Peyton Manning, and Hulk Hogan. Even in this day and age celebrities still seem to matter. Tom Brokaw of all fucking people is anchoring now. I guess FOXNEWS is the only studio still operating, but idk from where, and Brokaw is just calling it “the news”.

No updates. He’s trying to be as positive as he can be when the world is turning into a wasteland I suppose.

New website has come up about “our times” (as the site calls it). It’s kinda like a wiki site. People dumping out information. Says those fucking things are in the sewer system, people are being warned from drinking tap water unless they are on a private system. I’ve been using bottle water to cook and drink with. Used the industrial shower in the locker room, but I haven’t had any noticeable negative affects.

Day 14 of the Change.

Both the internet and TV is dead now officially. Radio is still broadcasting, but rarely live stuff. Rush Limbaugh of all people is broadcasting out news information now. Strange times indeed, I guess you use whoever is still alive. The news runs from 600-900 1200-15001900-2000, rest of the day patriotic music plays.

I tracked the gang bangers to a section of the suburbs called “Peachtree Corners”. Circled my way back here so they wouldn’t follow me. Fuckers, felt like shooting them up and freeing the women, but the dead heads are thick there. Still don’t know why they have settled there? Took me a few days to get back. I’m exhausted, reminds me of the war. It felt good to get some warm food inside me, instead of these granola bars I’ve been eating.

Cleaned my clothes up finally. No one else has been here. No over visitors to report. Been spending most of my time reading the articles I printed off before the net crashed. Listening to my mp3’s on my phone.

What dead passes by here is all headed North into the city still. Why are they collecting there I wonder? Information I download claims they mostly follow sounds and some smells, and what they “see”. How the fuck can they see? Or smell or hear for that fucking matter. These things are more insect like then they are human now.

Either way, all bypassers have ignore base and instead keep moving towards the city. At last count 345 have passed since I‘ve been here to count them.

Day 16 of the Change. Night

A new group has arrived. This one much different then the gang bangers. They seem to be speaking Spanish? Lead by a Catholic Priest in his late 50’s early 60’s. He speaks Latin! Or at least that’s how he gave his services This could be the chance I’ve been waiting for. Maybe I can now join up with people and begin the long process of rebuilding. Gang level first of course, then tribal, maybe even eventually moving onto a town like level. Our shared knowledge of Latin should help bridge the language barrier.

I’ll keep watching them. They are about 3 miles south of here living in tents. 13 men, 15 women, and maybe 12 kids. The kids seem to be mostly school children since they are all dressed in “school” clothing. I wonder where they come from? Local farms perhaps? They seem pretty well off for immigrant works though, although I suppose they could of simply “borrowed” what they have and what they are wearing.

Anyways they seem to be gathering food supplies and water. Lightly armed. If I can be certain that they aren’t bastards I’ll bring them here.

Day 17 of the Change. Night.

Almost was caught this morning. One of their “gaurds” was no more then 50 feet in front of me when he decided to tack a piss. Had he actually been paying attention he could of saw me. Later I saw a man dragging a woman by the hand into the woods. Followed behind slowly thinking that it was trouble, but it was soon obvious that they were a married couple so I quietly left and gave them there space.

This afternoon I left a few boxes of chocolate bars on a rock a few hundred yards from their little tent town. Saw the children excitedly eating them. The priest got on his knees and the adults followed as he gave a prayer of thanksgiving, thanking God for such a positive sign. If things keep going well I’ll bring them here in three days.

I wonder how the Queen is doing? I miss hearing her speeches, but Limbaugh is doing well. He had the President with him today and they both gave speeches and talked about how much they admired each other, and gave advice on how to survive. Who would of thought it huh?

Day 19 of the Change. Early Morning.

Have to type quickly. Those fucking gang bangers hit the tent people. Killed most of the men and women, most of the children. The damn kids too. Must of been about 24 hours ago by now. I’m re supplying now. Food. Taking my revolvers and rifle with me. I have more then enough ammo to deal with these savage fucks. They have four women and three kids with them. Those fucking dog collars and leashes around there necks. Taking my “special sight” with me. Karma’s a bitch.

They

Day 19 of the Change. Morning.

They stopped just outside base again pounding on the back doors like last time. This time the man in white started talking in some strange tongue, it wasn‘t any language I understood. It’s as if he is trying to speak Latin, but is just using made up words? Don’t know what the fuck he is saying but he looks directly into the security camera when he does it. The tent people are behind him, but he had just given them each a bag of Doritos. He then patted all the kids on the head and had one of the gang bangers give them a toy. Setting up final “surprise present” for the fucks. They want to come in here? I’ll make them right at home.

Day 19 of Change. Noon.

They ate them.

Day 20 of Change. Early Morning.

Been preparing. Before I do it I have one place to go. That sports equipment place about five miles away. I’m going to finish this shit. Savages are going to pay. They slit their throats in front of the camera let the blood drain slowly, on all of the tent people but one woman. Watched every second of it. They cut off pieces of meat from the children and made the last tent woman eat it raw blood dripping from his mouth. She kept vomiting and crying and they just kept beating hear and pushing pieces of the kids in her mouth laughing at her. Then they gang raped her and bashed her head in with a rock when the last fucker was done with her. Watched every second, saw there faces. Going to make them relive it too. Reacted to slowly before. Father always said it’s what destroyed men. I’m ending this now. The man in white wants to be some satanic little fucker? I’ll show him what hell is.



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Your Name: Call me Tiller. You can call my Tyler is you want to be fancy about it.
Your Age: 26
Other Characters: None
Years Role-Playing: Ummm I’m going to guess 10 on and off. I started off roleplaying in DBZ RPGS, and I’ve mostly stayed in the “anime” realm, although I've also roleplayed in some Star Wars forums. I haven’t been in a steady rpg in about two years though.
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