((Sorry for the delay, I picked up this new game called Towns and got pretty addicted... It's like an isometric DF-clone. Worth checking out. Also, when I was trying to post, the Bay12 forums were down or something, so I couldn't connect to post.))
Chapter Two: Culling the Meek
lawastooshort
Name: Jacob Rodgersen
Job: Research assistant
Age: 33
Sex: Male
Ethnicity: White British
Negative Traits: Mild fear of doctors and needles. Bad hand and finger joints. Obsession with cleanliness and things being in their place. Professional apathy. Habitual tiredness.
Description: Jacob is five foot eleven. His hair is vaguely light brown; his eyes mostly grey. His build is unremarkable but he is generally fit.
Bio: Jacob isn't really from a scientific background, he just fell into research after another more high powered job became too much for him to deal with. He's lived and worked in various European countries and is fairly happily married with one small child. This has resulted in his having greatly disrupted sleep for three years. Really, he just goes to work to pay the bills, but a large research institute isn't the worst place to work at, it has to be said, and at least he can commute on his bike. The half hour ride there and back is the best part of an average working day; picking his daughter up from kindergarten is the best part of the rest of the day. Not really mechanically inclined, he nevertheless enjoys maintaining both his bicycles. He also enjoys cooking, reading to his daughter and practising, although not as often as he should, iaido. He's only ever been able to afford a bokken though and dreams of one day owning a live blade.
Elu
Name: Enrico Sfrigolini
Job: Cook
Age: 25
Sex: Male
Ethnicity: White Italian
Negative Traits: eggplantphobia, peanut allergy, favism. He don't give a damn for his own wounds and blood, but faints when seeing someone other's blood or nasty wounds. Or needles.
Description: He is 5.25 foot tall, with a somewhat slim body. Blue eyes, light brown hair.
Bio: Enrico is the son of a farmer and a seamstress. His parents managed to rise from farmhand and tailor helper to farmer and dressmaker with their own farm and dress shop and wanted to launch their only son into the shiny upper classes. So when Enrico turned 18 they shipped him to a prestigious university in order to study mathematics and become a venerable "doctor".
Enrico's parents struggled to give him an education, and somehow they managed to do a better work than most country schools.
However, the university proved to be more difficult than expected, and the expenses more harsh. So enrico had to find some economic aid and tried various little, unsatisfactory jobs until one random autumn day, when the idea of cooking for a living literally steamed out of a potato stew.
Since then he try to balance between two life, the academic one made of parties&panties, sleepless nights and furious study, and the talented cook's one, made of asshole clients, asshole chefs, delicious delicacies and sleepless nights(yep).
Greenstarfanatic
Name:Albert Wiggins
Job:Part Time Circus Clown, other Part, Science Teacher
Age:36
Sex:Male
Ethnicity: American, white
Negative Traits: Depression/Tired-ness from being overworked, Hates Children, and is EXTRA prone to Freudian Slips. As well as regular slips.
Description: Has Flat-ish brown hair, short legs, long arms, and an irregularly large nose. He's tried to get it reduced, but every plastic surgeon so far has turned him down. He wears a Candy-Cane Striped suit at one job, and while he's a Clown, he wears a wig with it.
Bio: When Albert was young, he kept telling himself he would run away to the circus when he got the chance, which he did, quite early on in life. He became their best clown, and later earned enough money to buy a house. Once that happened, he knew he would have to take on another job. Seeing as he was around kids at the circus so often, he thought being a teacher would be a great opportunity for him.
WRONG.
He hates the job, but can't quit because the kids love him, and if he does, he won't be able to support himself. Same with the Clown job, he loves it, and can't quit. Over time, the jobs have seeped into his unconscious mind, Giving him a hatred for children, as well as confusion over what to say sometimes. Clumsiness is also a factor, as he's supposed to be clumsy in his circus job, but he just can't turn it off now.
At this point he's depressed, lonely, and out of options. If only there was SOMETHING he could do...
VincValentine
Name: Sarah Führinger
Job: Student
Age: 20
Sex: Female
Ethnicity: Germanic, White
Negative Traits: Arachnophobia, Fear of Heights, Strong OCD, Far sighted
Description: Sarah is a little bit on the short side, standing at about 5'6", but she is above average looking with long brown hair and the glasses she always wears
Bio: Sarah was always a perfectionist, so when she came to college everything had to be right. The classes she picked, the things she did, they all had to fit a pattern, they had to make sense. So when things started going awry and she couldn't fix them, she started panicking. In order to get away from the stress, she decided to go on a vacation. But that may have not been the best of ideas.
The Hydro of Hydrovia
Name:Vladimir "The Hydro" Hydrov
Job:Barista
Age:23
Sex:M
Ethnicity:Murrica (USA)
Negative Traits: Overweight, insane, low tolerance for heat
Description:Tall and fat. Scraggly-ass beard and sideburns. Wears brown, '80s style shorts with a white button-up shirt, a peaked cap and aviator goggles. On his feet are usually slippers and today is no exception.
Bio:Hydro is a cafe barista from Louisiana who is trying to acquire sufficient funds to launch a new country. He was born in Van Nuys, California to a middle class family. He spent most of his school career slacking off and dicking around, and somehow managed to bust his ass during his senior year to graduate at a charter high school in Nevada. He then moved to Louisiana to avoid going back to California. He is minorly experienced with bolt action rifles and machetes from using them during shooting trips with his father and massacring a closet door with his own hand-made blade.
Caellath
Name: Rodrigo Hernández
Job: Ex-Soldier, Unemployed.
Age: 23
Sex: Male
Ethnicity: USA Latino
Negative Traits: Suffers from PTSD, has a low self-esteem and constantly has to carry meds with him.
Description: 5'10", brown-skinned and with brown eyes and black hair, he seems twitchy, anxious and sometimes, afraid of everything.
Bio: Rodrigo was among the masses of young men who were drawn to the army with sweet promises of scholarship and a better future. Having a naive image of the conflict and believing the words of the recruiters about a "short and easy war", he joined and trained with enthusiasm with rifle, sidearm and knife, even hoping he could make it to the green berets!
When he was sent to the frontlines, he discovered war was not as romantic as he thought; training with a combat knife didn't help when the enemies attacked from afar and even his rifle was useless when buried charges shredded into pieces parts of the convoy he was supposed to guard...Blood and corpses strewn everywhere; fellow soldiers as well as innocent men, women and children. He hadn't been prepared for that.
He was finally hit by shrapnel to the torso and sent back home with a Purple Heart, without having accomplished any "heroic" feats but taking traumas with him that would last for life.
Hydro shrugs and picks up his music. He puts an earbud in and gets up.
[9] Planes crash. C'est la vie. Well, such is YOUR life. A bunch of other people weren't so lucky... Oh well. Thinking purely objectively, you figure there won't be any rescue for a few more days. That means you'll need food and shelter. Hell, if the island isn't populated, it might be the perfect place to start that micro-nation... [2]
You put in your earbuds and frown. I didn't even put this song on there... Oh well, might as well get up. [7] You stand and brush the sand off of you. As you do, you realize you don't have any feeling in your left arm. You can move it fine, you just can't
feel it... Upon closer inspection, you notice a small piece of metal lodged just under your left tricep. A small trickle of blood drips from the wound. You freeze and stare at the metal bit intently... No knowing what damage you could do to yourself trying to move if you can't feel it! It looks like a small rod, about a millimeter in diameter. You think you could grab the end, as there's about an inch sticking out of your arm, but you have no idea how long the rod is... Or what it could be... It seems made of a rigid metal, like steel.
Well, fuck... You can either search for someone who knows what they're doing... Or you can fix it yourself...
Sarah checks herself for any injuries. If she is uninjured, she gets up and attempts to help people in her immediate vicinity, staying away from the wreckage. If she is injured, she will attempt to do some first aid, using her clothes as a makeshift bandage and making absolutely sure that it is neatly and evenly fastened around the wound.
[6] There's a tender bump on your head, but aside from that, you're quite alright. You look around at the people nearest to you. [4] About five feet away, a man lays face down in the sand, arms splayed out. He's not breathing... You make out a number of additional bodies... Probably five just near you... You shudder and keep looking. [6] Listening intently, you focus on a scream. There's a man laying near where that last explosion was... He's got a two foot long piece of metal sticking out of his stomach. Nobody else is moving to help him... He looks over at you and puts arm out. "HELP ME, PLEASE HELP ME!" Behind him, you see a hatch door and a cloud of smoke come rushing out. In the thick of the smoke, you think you can see a man pulling himself out. He drops over the side, coughing and weezing...
Rodrigo clutches his head and stays on the sand, sobbing like a child who was recovering from the shock of losing both parents. His training wasn't worth anything and both their rifles and body armor were just useless illusions for safety. People had died then, and more people were dying now, and he was unable to do anything. The first-aid course wouldn't help anyone...there were splattered heads and pieces of people strewn around him, and his commanding officer kept screaming for half a minute before finally dying of blood loss.
Tears still staining his face, he started to slowly crawl away from the battlefield and search for someone still alive, still shoving his face into the sand from time to time and trying to avoid the crossfire between the sand rats and what had remained of his platoon. He still had a chance of getting out of war achieving something...he had to help someone...
Crawl pathetically on the sand until nearest person still alive is found.
[10] You snap right out of it, mostly... You remember being on a plane... in your seat when it hit turbulence...
Oh god, it must have crashed... You look around and see a number of dead people around you. Shuddering as you draw the comparisons to past experiences, you crawl along the sand looking for other survivors. [5] When you try to move, your left foot doesn't seem to respond. Looking down, it seems to be pointing the wrong way... The pain hits you in waves as you try not to scream out.
Oh god... [4] You hear someone screaming for help and your thoughts drift back to the past... People you knew and cared about, screaming for help as their lives were ended...
Albert searches frantically for a lever, and pulls it. If it doesn't work, he tries to kick open the door with his superior leg strength.
[8] Thank god there's a raging seat fire behind you! The door is very well illuminated and [5] you grab the handle, which burns the fuck out of your hand. Coughing, you grab a shirt from a conveniently placed luggage case and wrap your hand. Grabbing the door again you give it a firm push. [10] The handle twists easily and the door pops. [5] The door comes loose from its position and lands on top of you. [8] You rub your head and curse it briefly before grabbing at the door frame and pulling yourself right up. Smoke billows from the newly opened door, obscuring your vision and making it impossible to breathe. [4] You clutch at your face and fall over the side of your ex-prison. Gasping for air on the ground, you notice a man next to you with a large metal protrusion on his stomach. He is screaming incoherently.
Jacob searches himself for injury and then searches the beach for any debris that might have escaped total destruction, hoping to find something useful such as first aid material.
[3] Your head pounds. You feel the back of your head and feel blood trickling from a gash. [10] Holding the back of your head, you try to stand. You're a lot less woozy than you thought you'd be. Nauseated, you begin looking for something to wrap your head with. On the ground next to a dead guy with no legs, there is a stewardess's cart. You start looking through it. [6] Little bottles of alcohol, napkins, washcloths, plastic silverware, packages of peanuts, cups, and a thermos full of cold water. Not a bad find, you think to yourself. [7] You figure cleaning the wound with alcohol couldn't hurt. Grabbing a washcloth, you unscrew a bottle of vodka and drench the cloth in it. You pat the back of your head softly, trying to get the most out of it. You can hear screams from the beach... [6] You finish wrapping your head with a makeshift bandage. It'll have to do...
"whoawhoawhoa..." Enrico thinks "the plane was hit by TWO lightnings. crashed. and i'm still alive. for the inverse Murphy theorem, i should be the winner of a couple lotteries by now... sweet! also, why they don't fill the entire cabin with oxygen? feels good". Then the sight of the bright sand and the crying of peoples finally make their way in Enrico's mind. He keep the mask on and check himself for wounds, wondering if that's the real life or just a cracker&bananas juice induced fantasy. As he see the blood running from the krautman's head he become lighter and little flashing flies start dancing in his eyes. "if this is a dream, it's a damn realistic one, if this isn't: DAMN". He try to resist and not faint, breathing all the oxygen he can from the mask.
[5] You take another deep breath from the oxygen mask and notice it isn't connected to anything. You frown,
that oxygen could really be useful right now... [7] You're pretty convinced this is real life... You remember being on the plane... and the turbulence... and the explosion... There's a lot of dead people on the ground too, which is something you rarely (if ever) dream about... [5] After another quick pat-down, you're sure you're not hurt. You take off the now-useless oxygen mask and look around. Somewhere behind you, you hear someone screaming for help. Then you hear a loud thunk and someone coughing. [4] You try to turn and see, but you're still buckled into your seat...
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Of the hundred-or-so people that crash landed on the beach, only about 12 now survive. Most of them are still in critical condition. The wreckage of the plane is almost entirely aflame. A small section of the fuselage still remains with a few seats in it. Many of them are still occupied. Many of the occupants are dead...
What will you do? Be a hero and attempt save lives? Look for supplies to stay alive? Curl up in a ball and babble to yourself incoherently? The decisions you make now will drastically affect what comes to be...