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Owen.

Owen 'Kilroy' Bacon

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Owen.    0

Name- Owen Bacon

Nickname- Kilroy

Age- 32

DoB- 3/10/1982

Background Story: Growing up in Georgia helped me perfect my skills as a hunter. These skills are what lead me down the path I lead. At the age of 19, I joined the Army under a newly created Special Forces contract as I went to college ROTC to achieve the rank and age requirement. After I finished, I spent the next two years in Sniper School, SFAS and SFQ, during which I met my wife. We had 2 kids together, and modest home. When I was 24, trouble in Iran broke out. My team was sent to ensure that Iranian WMD's would be rendered useless in the event that America launched a full-scale invasion. Me and my team accomplished our mission, in a way. The Iranian MILITARY had no active WMD's. However, the Iranian militias did, and those ended up all over the world. They were used anyway when America invaded, and the death toll was unimaginable. When the militias detonated one in Tehran, me and my team were in a firefight in the city. Me and my fireteam made it to the Humvee and radioed our Captain on the comms. He ordered us to leave, that he and the rest of the squad would hold out until the Blackhawk got there. It never did... About 7 miles out from Tehran on our way to FOB Liberty, it happened. Tehran no longer existed, and neither did 3/4ths of my team. It was just me, Oakley and Jackal. We spent the rest of the war, 3 years, using hit and run tactics. Only our team commander, Colonel Howard, knew we were alive. And that's what kept us alive. After the war, I became a heavy drinker. I left the war with 107 confirmed kills, and many more unconfirmed. My family nearly left me, but I returned to my old Church in my hometown, where I became an active member once more. This saved my marriage, and maybe even my life. A few years later, Oakley called me. He was taking a trip to Russia, and wanted me and Jackal to go with him on a memory trip. That was when the infection hit. We became what we were in Iran, survivors. We were heroes, we were bandits. We were friends and we were enemies. We were whatever we needed to be to survive. Up until they were both captured by UN soldiers who were withdrawing. I can only hope that they are still alive. I found a HAM radio, and managed to make contact with a military outpost back Stateside. And with a one in a million chance, it was 3 miles from my old home. My family was okay. Now all I had to do was make it back to them. I am not a bandit, I hate them. They remind me of the militiamen. I am not a hero, except for when Im called upon. I am just a survivor, trying to get back home.

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