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Server time (UTC): 2019-12-12, 18:01 WE ARE RECRUITING
Jackson Higgins
Character information
  1. Alias
    'Skulls'
  2. Mental
    Sane
  3. Morale
    Motivated
  4. Date of birth
    1990-07-10 (29 years old)
  5. Place of birth
    United States of America
  6. Nationality
    American
  7. Ethnicity
    Caucasian
  8. Languages
    English, Arabic
  9. Relationship
    N/A
  10. Family
    N/A
  11. Religion
    Christian

Description

  1. Height
    180 cm
  2. Weight
    93 kg
  3. Build
    Stocky
  4. Hair
    High and tight, brown.
  5. Eyes
    Brown.
  6. Alignment
    Chaotic Good
  7. Features
    Nothing notable except for a scar across the bridge of his nose, often covered by a balaclava.
  8. Equipment
    BDU's as well as other various equipment, a rifle, and a tacbag.
  9. Occupation
    Soldier
  10. Affiliation
    N/A
  11. Role
    N/A

Background

Jackson pulled the stock of his rifle to aim-level, swiveling around the side of a broken down tankard truck. He furrowed his brow, lowering his gun momentarily. “I know I saw someone earlier…” He thought to himself. A gunshot rang out from above, hitting the ground right next to him. He yelped, jumping backwards and taking aim above him, he pulled the trigger down for a single second, making his suppressed rifle tit-tat a baseball sized hole in his foe. Jackson let out a sigh of relief, not something you get much of. Checking his surroundings in a 360 rotation, he slung his rifle around his shoulder and stood up. Then beginning to walk towards the front of the tankard, he actually saw the person he had eliminated. It was a frail woman; she was in her late twenties but looked forty from all of her stress-lines and wrinkles. She had a bandana wrapped around her mouth and nose, to keep any illnesses out. There were a lot around here, especially in the air. Jackson climbed the hood of the truck, bringing his fingers down on the eyes of the girl and closing them. “Rest in peace.” He spoke very quietly. And then he searched the girl front to back, every pocket and every pouch. A picture of her family, a granola bar, and the handgun she had used to shoot at him; with no ammunition. It could come of use if he found any, so he tucked it into the back of his waistband and took a quick observation of his depressing surroundings. He was on the right side of an artillery shell, this specific one leaving a massive chasm to separate the once busy main street. To his left was the gas station Jackson was scouting from afar before seeing the woman. To his right was an apartment building taken hostage by overgrowth and vegetation. The building had a large hole in the roof, debris suspended in the air. Survivors didn’t trust the military anymore, after what happened to the world. When the epidemic occurred and spread, everyone panicked. Jackson was sure they transported all important figures to a large bunker somewhere hidden - safe and out of touch. The US Army had taught him some - but not enough, not enough to deal with his surroundings.

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