Post by Maxwell Johnson on Apr 27, 2010 19:00:04 GMT -5
Name: Maxwell "Rabies" Johnson
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Former Occupation: Senior Airman(Air Force), Air Traffic Controller, 334th Force Support Squadron
Height: 5'7"
Ethnicity/Skin Tone: caucasian
Hair: dark brown
Eyes: brown
Clothing Choice: Max wears his camouflage Air Force uniform, called the ABUs, along with the authorized sage green, suede leather combat boots. The sleeves of his ABU top are rolled up to just above his elbows. He has a machete strapped across his chest, and a pistol holster strapped to each leg.
Personality: Max is, like many former air traffic controllers, very confident. However, this confidence is something that actually helps him stay calm when up against a horde of zombies all by himself. Since getting separated from his unit, he's gotten rather adept at surviving by himself, even when Smokers manage to get their tongues around him.
He's also really sarcastic, almost to the point that it makes him seem like an asshole. However, he's probably one of the nicest guys anyone could ever meet.
Strengths: Max is an exceptional shot, knows how to remain calm in almost any situation, is a good leader, and knows how to work in a team.
Faults: Can be overconfident at times(which has gotten him in trouble before), gets distracted trying to take care of those he's with instead of focusing on the Horde
Picture:
Sample Post: Max lounged in a chair in the abandoned church that was supposed to be an evacuation area. He'd managed to make his way here after getting separated from his unit, since they were supposed to be headed here anyway. However, when he arrived, he found the place as undisturbed as it had been before. There was no sign of his comrades ever having been here.
So, he'd decided to wait it out and see if they showed up. He had his rifles and pistols. He had plenty of ammo to use with them. He'd be fine...for now.
It was as his mind went back over these events that a sound coming from outside brought him back to complete awareness. It sounded like some kind of screech, high pitched and angry sounding. He knew what that sound was, too. It was the sound of a Hunter.
Cursing his bad luck, he immediately got to his feet and took up position next to a door, his back against the wall. He leaned over carefully to peer through the doorway, but couldn't see the deadly zombie that was obviously stalking him now. It put his nerves on edge...
Then, with a chill, he heard it again. Only this time, it was behind him.
He turned just in time to see the Hunter in the doorway, a split second before it pounced on him. As it sailed through the air, Max shifted his grip on his M16's stock and brought it around through the air, trying to hit the Hunter and knock it out of the air before it could hit him.
Luckily, it worked, and he batted the Hunter back to the ground. It landed in a heap as Max re-shifted his grip on his rifle and brought the stock to his shoulder and took aim at the zombie's head. Then, with a small, gentle squeeze of the trigger, he sent a three-round burst into the Hunter's head, which subsequently exploded, leaving a large splat on the floor of the church.
"Dammit to hell," he muttered to himself, turning the safety back on on his weapon as he shouldered it,"Where are those guys? They couldn't have died......"
He spoke the words without truly believing them. He had that little voice in the back of his head telling him that they wouldn't be showing up...ever. His mind, though, didn't want to believe that little voice. It wanted to cling to that last shred of hope that said they had just been severely delayed, no matter how illogical the thought was.
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Former Occupation: Senior Airman(Air Force), Air Traffic Controller, 334th Force Support Squadron
Height: 5'7"
Ethnicity/Skin Tone: caucasian
Hair: dark brown
Eyes: brown
Clothing Choice: Max wears his camouflage Air Force uniform, called the ABUs, along with the authorized sage green, suede leather combat boots. The sleeves of his ABU top are rolled up to just above his elbows. He has a machete strapped across his chest, and a pistol holster strapped to each leg.
Personality: Max is, like many former air traffic controllers, very confident. However, this confidence is something that actually helps him stay calm when up against a horde of zombies all by himself. Since getting separated from his unit, he's gotten rather adept at surviving by himself, even when Smokers manage to get their tongues around him.
He's also really sarcastic, almost to the point that it makes him seem like an asshole. However, he's probably one of the nicest guys anyone could ever meet.
Strengths: Max is an exceptional shot, knows how to remain calm in almost any situation, is a good leader, and knows how to work in a team.
Faults: Can be overconfident at times(which has gotten him in trouble before), gets distracted trying to take care of those he's with instead of focusing on the Horde
Picture:
Sample Post: Max lounged in a chair in the abandoned church that was supposed to be an evacuation area. He'd managed to make his way here after getting separated from his unit, since they were supposed to be headed here anyway. However, when he arrived, he found the place as undisturbed as it had been before. There was no sign of his comrades ever having been here.
So, he'd decided to wait it out and see if they showed up. He had his rifles and pistols. He had plenty of ammo to use with them. He'd be fine...for now.
It was as his mind went back over these events that a sound coming from outside brought him back to complete awareness. It sounded like some kind of screech, high pitched and angry sounding. He knew what that sound was, too. It was the sound of a Hunter.
Cursing his bad luck, he immediately got to his feet and took up position next to a door, his back against the wall. He leaned over carefully to peer through the doorway, but couldn't see the deadly zombie that was obviously stalking him now. It put his nerves on edge...
Then, with a chill, he heard it again. Only this time, it was behind him.
He turned just in time to see the Hunter in the doorway, a split second before it pounced on him. As it sailed through the air, Max shifted his grip on his M16's stock and brought it around through the air, trying to hit the Hunter and knock it out of the air before it could hit him.
Luckily, it worked, and he batted the Hunter back to the ground. It landed in a heap as Max re-shifted his grip on his rifle and brought the stock to his shoulder and took aim at the zombie's head. Then, with a small, gentle squeeze of the trigger, he sent a three-round burst into the Hunter's head, which subsequently exploded, leaving a large splat on the floor of the church.
"Dammit to hell," he muttered to himself, turning the safety back on on his weapon as he shouldered it,"Where are those guys? They couldn't have died......"
He spoke the words without truly believing them. He had that little voice in the back of his head telling him that they wouldn't be showing up...ever. His mind, though, didn't want to believe that little voice. It wanted to cling to that last shred of hope that said they had just been severely delayed, no matter how illogical the thought was.