Post by The Director on Jan 30, 2010 21:52:38 GMT -5
Name: Director (“Anything more is classified.”)
Name Meaning: His name is his job title.
Gender: Male
Age: 41
Town: Fairfield, Pennsylvania
Former Occupation: Civil Emergency Defense Agency Director.
Height:5'11"
Ethnicity/Skin Tone: Caucasian
Hair: Hazelnut brown, and always combed back professionally.
Eyes: Usually hidden behind sunglasses that he is quite unwilling to remove (even at night), his eyes are an icy blue.
Clothing Choice: The Director will wear nothing besides his perfectly-tailored suit. It is a blue-gray colour with a well-pressed white shirt underneath. He wears a navy-blue tie (one with tiny sunshines that his wife forced him to wear) and black dress shoes. Unfortunately, his shoes have been scuffed during his travels and his suit has obtained some new spots. Once this ‘zombie’ thing blows over, he’ll be ordering a new one, first thing.
Personality: The Director is apathetic and uncaring. The zombie apocalypse was at first an experiment to be observed from the safety of his Illinois office. Now, having had his saferoom compromised, it’s merely a minor inconvenience that must be overcome if he ever hopes to get back to work. Teammates are kept around not for company or chit-chat, but for someone to free him from some of the more powerful Infected.
Strengths: The Director’s apathy towards life in general comes in handy: during events where the average person would panic, he remains calm and collected, aiming with precision and throwing grenades based on the probable amount of benefit it would bring.
Faults: His job description says a lot: he's more used to giving directions than acting them out himself. Furthermore, he relies little on his instincts and, for that, tends to take more time to shoot than others. He has difficulty with situations in which he must shoot and run at the same time, because all of those missed bullets just go to waste.
Sample Post:
The lightbulbs had burnt out long ago. The Director frowned. If he’d known that an apocalypse was coming, he would have stocked up before looters had begun to run rampant. Casually (but professionally), he reached for his desk’s wide but thin middle drawer, digging around blindly for the spare matchbook and candle he kept for blackouts. He effortlessly struck the match and set the candle’s wick ablaze, bathing his office in a flickering, orange light.
Just as his eyes had begun to settle to his new light source, the first-floor’s security alarm went off. ‘Impossible,’ he thought to himself, already standing to look out the window. ‘The doors’ keypad should have kept them out.’ He stared down at the building’s foreground. A hoard of shambling infected had begun shuffling through the now-open door (though one of them simply leaned on the wall and drooled over his now-broken keypad). Ascertaining the source of the malfunction was as simple as looking to the window at his left towards the outdoor generator. A curious Hunter had taken to gnawing at the wires and occasionally scraping the box’s exterior, apparently looking for food if the excessive saliva oozing down the cords was any indication.
Grimacing at this unfortunate turn of events, the Director remained calm (as always) and pivoted away from the scene. A quick rummage through his desk’s bottom draw provided him with his emergency revolver, a basic first aid box, a spare pair of sunglasses, and a map of various states. He took one last glance out the window, removing his car keys from his pocket and starting the car with the device attacked, before striding over to the emergency exit. A quick flip of a switch turned off the fire alarm and allowed him silent access. He took the four flights of stairs two at a time, but with no rush to his pace, even as the infected pounded the reinforced door.
Outside, the sun had just begun to set, casting an iridescent glow across the road. The Director could already see the moon in the sky, and the light was beginning to fade. Figuring there wasn’t too much time to lose, he strolled over to his beautiful silver mustang and slid inside. The few infected that hadn’t rushed into his building simply stood around, dazed. Unfazed, the Director started his car, momentarily regretted not filling the tank before the apocalypse, then drove off. There were some smaller towns around that he could recall; he was fairly sure he had (past-tense) family in Ryland.
He sighed, driving off in no rush and observing the speed limit signs (the ones that still stood, at least). This would definitely delay his research.
Notes: Being the head of CEDA means that he knows plenty about the various infected types; he recalls the nicknames assigned to each as well as their power. He also refuses to take his sunglasses off, choosing to wear them day and night and sleep sitting up so as not to crush them. (He has nothing to hide. He just believe they make him look more professional.)
Name Meaning: His name is his job title.
Gender: Male
Age: 41
Town: Fairfield, Pennsylvania
Former Occupation: Civil Emergency Defense Agency Director.
Height:5'11"
Ethnicity/Skin Tone: Caucasian
Hair: Hazelnut brown, and always combed back professionally.
Eyes: Usually hidden behind sunglasses that he is quite unwilling to remove (even at night), his eyes are an icy blue.
Clothing Choice: The Director will wear nothing besides his perfectly-tailored suit. It is a blue-gray colour with a well-pressed white shirt underneath. He wears a navy-blue tie (one with tiny sunshines that his wife forced him to wear) and black dress shoes. Unfortunately, his shoes have been scuffed during his travels and his suit has obtained some new spots. Once this ‘zombie’ thing blows over, he’ll be ordering a new one, first thing.
Personality: The Director is apathetic and uncaring. The zombie apocalypse was at first an experiment to be observed from the safety of his Illinois office. Now, having had his saferoom compromised, it’s merely a minor inconvenience that must be overcome if he ever hopes to get back to work. Teammates are kept around not for company or chit-chat, but for someone to free him from some of the more powerful Infected.
Strengths: The Director’s apathy towards life in general comes in handy: during events where the average person would panic, he remains calm and collected, aiming with precision and throwing grenades based on the probable amount of benefit it would bring.
Faults: His job description says a lot: he's more used to giving directions than acting them out himself. Furthermore, he relies little on his instincts and, for that, tends to take more time to shoot than others. He has difficulty with situations in which he must shoot and run at the same time, because all of those missed bullets just go to waste.
Sample Post:
The lightbulbs had burnt out long ago. The Director frowned. If he’d known that an apocalypse was coming, he would have stocked up before looters had begun to run rampant. Casually (but professionally), he reached for his desk’s wide but thin middle drawer, digging around blindly for the spare matchbook and candle he kept for blackouts. He effortlessly struck the match and set the candle’s wick ablaze, bathing his office in a flickering, orange light.
Just as his eyes had begun to settle to his new light source, the first-floor’s security alarm went off. ‘Impossible,’ he thought to himself, already standing to look out the window. ‘The doors’ keypad should have kept them out.’ He stared down at the building’s foreground. A hoard of shambling infected had begun shuffling through the now-open door (though one of them simply leaned on the wall and drooled over his now-broken keypad). Ascertaining the source of the malfunction was as simple as looking to the window at his left towards the outdoor generator. A curious Hunter had taken to gnawing at the wires and occasionally scraping the box’s exterior, apparently looking for food if the excessive saliva oozing down the cords was any indication.
Grimacing at this unfortunate turn of events, the Director remained calm (as always) and pivoted away from the scene. A quick rummage through his desk’s bottom draw provided him with his emergency revolver, a basic first aid box, a spare pair of sunglasses, and a map of various states. He took one last glance out the window, removing his car keys from his pocket and starting the car with the device attacked, before striding over to the emergency exit. A quick flip of a switch turned off the fire alarm and allowed him silent access. He took the four flights of stairs two at a time, but with no rush to his pace, even as the infected pounded the reinforced door.
Outside, the sun had just begun to set, casting an iridescent glow across the road. The Director could already see the moon in the sky, and the light was beginning to fade. Figuring there wasn’t too much time to lose, he strolled over to his beautiful silver mustang and slid inside. The few infected that hadn’t rushed into his building simply stood around, dazed. Unfazed, the Director started his car, momentarily regretted not filling the tank before the apocalypse, then drove off. There were some smaller towns around that he could recall; he was fairly sure he had (past-tense) family in Ryland.
He sighed, driving off in no rush and observing the speed limit signs (the ones that still stood, at least). This would definitely delay his research.
Notes: Being the head of CEDA means that he knows plenty about the various infected types; he recalls the nicknames assigned to each as well as their power. He also refuses to take his sunglasses off, choosing to wear them day and night and sleep sitting up so as not to crush them. (He has nothing to hide. He just believe they make him look more professional.)