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Server time (UTC): 2019-07-18, 10:07
Henry Ruben
Character information
  1. Alias
  2. Mental
    Quietly desperate survivor.
  3. Morale
    Extremely low.
  4. Date of birth
    1992-09-02 (26 years old)
  5. Place of birth
  6. Nationality
  7. Ethnicity
  8. Languages
  9. Relationship
  10. Family
    None known.
  11. Religion


  1. Height
    183 cm
  2. Weight
    86 kg
  3. Build
  4. Hair
    Dark brown
  5. Eyes
  6. Alignment
    True Neutral
  7. Features
    Slim, not necessarily athletic build but one with the marks of light physical labor.
  8. Equipment
    Scavenged weapons and a stash of consumables.
  9. Occupation
    Warehouse assistant
  10. Affiliation
  11. Role


Henry was trapped in the Chenarus area after arriving here on behalf of his employer, an American shipping and logistics support company. After fortune showed him a unique opportunity to escape his circumstances, he abandoned his former colleagues in an attempt to increase his chances of survival. The fate of his former compatriots is unknown.

HENRY a.k.a HANK a.k.a BUCK
It had quickly become clear that the situation in the warehouse deteriorating beyond all hope of repair. For a week the two teams had shuttered themselves within the confines of storage space owned (formerly?-- hard to tell now) by the company which employed both groups. The Chernarus branch had accepted their American counterpart without hesitation, at first. The first pass of what the emergency broadcasts had identified as "unknown armed entities" had swiftly brought both groups to the realization that, inevitably, there would be a confrontation with the marauders. The patrol of bandits that had first encountered the logistics teams' hasty fortifications was unable to break into the warehouse unassisted. It was only a matter of time before they returned reinforced and found there way into the main, vaulted structure. By then, the two loosely affiliated groups had fallen back to a smaller, less conspicuous building which formerly housed the payroll and HR functions of the branch. The harried workers had forfeited most their collected foodstuffs and water in the original hideout-- undoubtedly the marauders had discovered it and begin searching for the attached survivors.

Once the groups had reconvened at the new office, it didn't take long for the Chernarans to blame the Americans for the sloppy retreat and lost supplies. Breaking from a hushed meeting with his own staff, the Chernaran spokesperson beckoned to his American counterpart and for a moment they spoke calmly-- from time to time the Chernaran gestured and the American nodded in return. The American, Duncan, returned to his group with his face as gray as ash and spoke.

"The Chernos have come up with a new deal," he explained simply, without looking up.

"There was a handgun in the office-- Andrej has it now and he's gonna keep having it," he mused, almost to himself, then looking up at no particular member of his former logistics support team. Hank now glanced around the semi-circle and felt like he couldn't recognize any of them. The men gathered here weren't yet affected by the contagion, or whatever was making the zeds that flooded the area-- but nonetheless had been changed. Their sunken faces nodded in understanding as Duncan repeated Andrej's new conditions, but Hank didn't hear a word. His mind raced, envisioning the near future in which he toiled in his servitude under the new arrangement, whatever it may be. With a handgun keeping order in an already unstable environment, it didn't take Hank long to decide it was time to get out of here, alone, and find some way to keep out of sight until this all blew over.

Hank returned to the present and Duncan continued his message, "...needless to say, I'm not going alone. I'll need two of you to accompany me to the warehouse to see if there's any scraps for us to pick at. We'll lock what we find in the office once we get back."

The office with the handgun, and Andrej, Hank thought, knowing he didn't want to risk being part of the further fractured minority, even only for a few hours. He raised his hand and Duncan's face revealed his surprise, creases between his eyebrows cracking through the grime for the first time in days.

* * *

Despite his full cover, the sound of a gunshot cracking out and reverberating through the area jarred Hank. He only partly commanded his body to drop belly down on the street, fear dropping him like a dead man to the pavement. For an eternity he pressed himself to the ground awaiting the next shot. Taylor, a towering, squared man on his first trip with the company lay crumpled in the street, felled by the unseen assailant. Duncan, from the complimentary alley to Hank's, watched Taylor's body momentarily before signaling for Hank to stay put. Duncan dipped his head slightly to peer around the aperture of the alley and the sniper responded with a miss close enough to encourage Duncan to retreat a few feet into the alley.

Hank's heart raced, his body feeling impossibly heavy. Duncan signaled simply and broadly with his arms for Hank to go around the building as Duncan prepared to do the same. They might not know I'm here, Hank thought, still belly down. He raised himself to a knee. Duncan disappeared around the corner, presumably beginning his ambush of the sniper. Assuming there's only one in there, Hank argued to no one. Briefly the idea of going back to warn the others played in his mind. Hank backtracked a few hundred yards to a spot where he, Duncan and Taylor had forded a shallow stream and, as carefully as possible, deposited himself into the thick underbrush. It would be dark soon-- Hank hoped any counter strike from the bandits would pass him blindly in the dark. About two hours later, his hopes were realized. Under the cover of night, Hank zig-zagged inland, only counting his own steps and listening for others-- nothing else.


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