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Topics - Frolie [Jellykid]

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1
Suggestions / Official CG Timeline
« on: March 09, 2014, 04:07:25 PM »
This is going to require some community imagination. We've got dates for the major events and such, but there's still some fuzzy areas that I think could use some modification. Something like this:

Xth of X, 20XX: Survivors of the Seven Hour War are transported to occupied cities that have been reformatted for Universal Union purposes.  All belongings are thoroughly checked and any materials that don't fit accepted criteria are confiscated.
 
Xth of X, 20XX: Universal Union outlaws non-regulated clothing. Citizens are issued denim uniforms and instructed to turn in all non-regulated clothing to be incinerated.

This could all probably go into the IC information thing. I think it'd help a lot for people writing backstories or for passive roleplay when people are talking about the past.  If anyone's got a point they want to add to timeline, we could eventually amass a big collection of 'em and admins could assign dates 'n shit. Post opinions and what such below

2
Denied Authorizations / Madelyn Krane's Authorization Application
« on: April 14, 2013, 05:53:15 PM »
Player Section

Steam Name: Frolie
Age: Fifteen
How long have you been Roleplaying? (can be any game): About Five years.
How long have you been playing Serious GMod RP?: A little over Two years.

Character Section

Authorization(s):
Talents in Computer Hacking, Programming, Coding, and Networking
In-Depth knowledge of Computer Software and Hardware

Name: Madelyn Krane
Age: Twenty-Four
Gender: Female
Affiliation: None

Write a detailed in-canon back-story how your character obtained these authorizations.
The following is the written transcript for interrogation of Madelyn Gendry Krane. Madelyn has been under investigation for five months, suspected of being involved with the Cyber-Crime group 'The Faceless Men'. Before her arrest, discussions were held to hire members of the group to work for M15 in exchange for dropping the charges. This interview was conducted to determine whether she was compatible for the job.

Spoiler for Backstory:
D.Roebuck: Madelyn Krane, alias Whisper. Come up with that one yourself?
M.Krane: I used it once, on a whim. It sort of stuck.
D.Roebuck: Are you prepared to confess?
M.Krane: Why bother? You've got enough evidence to convict, and you would have already if you didn't want something from me.
D.Robuck laughs.
D.Roebuck: Witty. That's in your file, you know.
M.Krane: Really? Had no idea the spooks were that detailed.
D.Roebuck: When it comes to special persons like yourself, Miss Crane, we make exceptions.
M.Krane: Special person am I? Such a flirt.
D.Roebuck: Enough chatter. You're correct in that we've got plenty of evidence, easily enough to put you behind bars for the majority of your life. This does not need to happen.
M.Krane: Predictably.
D.Roebuck: This interview is taking place only to find if you're compatible to work with MI5, Miss Krane, so I suggest you watch your tone, and chose your words with care. Make a bad impression and you’ll find yourself behind bars.
M.Krane: Well get on with it then. If I'm going to prison, I'd like to go sooner rather than later.
D.Roebuck: In a hurry, are we? Fine, we'll get on with it. When did your interest in computers begin.
M.Krane: I am my fathers daughter, and my father made his fortune in computers. When I was young, my dad was distant, so I took an interest in his interest. Over time it changed from a desire to bond, and into a sort of specialty.
M.Krane: How old were you exactly.
M.Krane: Nine or Ten, I think. I remember my dad was alone in his office behind his keyboard, as he spent so many other nights, and I picked up something of his, a computer piece, just to get his attention. He seemed to jump at the opportunity to tell me what it was and what it did. After that I'd pick up more things, and he'd explain them. I'd watch him work some days after school, and when I got older I showed off what I'd learned to my school mates.
D.Roebuck: The details are irrelevant.
M.Krane: I'm a story-teller, love. You'll have to put up with it.
D.Roebuck: Whatever. On file, we've got a school write-up concerning a bit of your computer mischief. Explain.
M.Krane: You fellows truly are nit-picky, aren't you?
D.Roebuck: It's our job. Explain the incident.
M.Krane: I was thirteen, stupid, and annoyed that I couldn't get on certain sites.
D.Roebuck: Which sites?
M.Krane: Does that matter? It didn't to me. I was just pissed that they were restricting me at all.
D.Roebuck: So what did you do?
M.Krane: I disabled the Network's Firewall by setting up an SSH tunnel. It sounds snobby when I call it 'elementary' stuff, but it really was. Frankly, the IT department was shit and couldn't figure out what had been done for more than a month after I'd done.
D.Roebuck: And your dad taught you all this?
M.Krane: The word 'taught' doesn't really describe it, but then, I can't find a better way to put it. He taught me some, and I learned some more on my own.
D.Roebuck: So you hacked-
M.Krane: Exploited.
D.Roebuck: What?
M.Krane: I prefer the word exploited. Hacked sounds so... fictional.
D.Roebuck: Right... either way, you found a way past the restrictions of your schools network. Did your dad stop teaching you after that?
M.Krane: Quite the opposite. I guess the fact that I was using these skills outside of our home proved to him that I wasn't just trying to impress him. Every spare second he spent telling me this and that, and when he wasn't I was learning by myself.
D.Roebuck: And that was the end of your trouble in school?
M.Krane: No, but it was the end of what they discovered.
D.Roebuck: What else did you do?
M.Krane: Well, if I hadn't done anything, I would've flunked out of school.
D.Roebuck: You changed your grades?
M.Krane: Among other things.
D.Roebuck: Interesting...
D.Roebuck writes more in the file.
M.Krane: I'll get my hands on that.
D.Roebuck: On what?
M.Krane: Everything you're writing about me.
D.Roebuck: Stop getting distracted.
M.Krane: You haven't asked me any more questions yet. I'm not getting distracted, just staying occupied.
D.Roebuck: D.Roebuck pauses.
D.Roebuck: Fair enough.
M.Krane: Like I said, I'm very much looking forward to prison, so let's speed it up with the questions.
D.Roebuck: Right. Did you receive any other form of computer education before college?
M.Krane: With my exceptional grades-
D.Roebuck: Fake grades.
M.Krane: Doesn't matter, it all looks the same on paper. With those grades I was given the option to take elective courses, and I took one in Computer Careers and another in Software engineering.
D.Roebuck: How long did those courses last?
M.Krane: I started them in Year Twelve, and they lasted until I graduated. Two years.
D.Roebuck: And then you applied to Cambridge?
M.Krane: Why are you even asking me these questions if you've already go the answers?
D.Roebuck: It helps to hear your perspective.
M.Krane: In that case, yes, I did apply to Cambridge. With my grades, a few recommendations from my teachers, and a sizable donation to the school from my father, they graciously decided to let me in.
D.Roebuck: Your father bribed the school to accept you?
M.Krane: Oh no, the donation and the acceptance were coincidence.
D.Roebuck rolls his eyes.
D.Roebuck: What did you major in?
M.Krane: I was a triple major. Computer sciences, engineering, and networking.
D.Roebuck: Quite the course load.
M.Krane: Attributed to why I failed all of them.
D.Roebuck: You failed? On file, it says you dropped out.
M.Krane: I dropped out when I had the dignity to do it.
D.Roebuck: Why didn't you change your grades like you did in High School?
M.Krane shrugs.
M.Krane: I was busy with other computer projects.
D.Roebuck: So you had already started you little group?
M.Krane: I was a co-founder. And just because we had few members doesn't mean we were little, we made an impact.
D.Roebuck: The Nameless Men were terrorists.
M.Krane: Vigilantes, doing your job for you.
D.Roebuck: You broke laws.
M.Krane: We broke Red Tape, for the greater good.
D.Roebuck: You stole.
M.Krane: From criminals! Besides, we needed money to fund our work.
D.Roebuck: Luckily for us, you left a decent bit of evidence in yours and your friends houses, and your friends have confessed to their crimes and are willing to testify against each other.
M.Krane: All of them against each other? How's that possible.
D.Roebuck: It really isn't, it's just a method we use to get them on file implicating others in their crimes.
M.Krane: That doesn't sound legal.
D.Roebuck: It's a grey area.
M.Krane: So, given that we've worked our way up to the present, have you made a decision?
D.Roebuck: The decision isn't mine to make. This tape and this file go higher up on the food chain, and they make the decision.
M.Krane: So we're done.
D.Roebuck: For now. Until the decision has been made, you'll be under house arrest. I've been appointed as your warden.
M.Krane: Pending my being hired, how much would I be paid?
D.Roebuck:Your salary would depend on the quality of your work, but you would start at  £36,000 pounds a year.
M.Krane:Would I be on file?
D.Roebuck:Technically you wouldn't exist at all. Hiring people of your repute is still a touchy matter, so you would be listed as a classified or unidentified consultant.
M.Krane:Good. I have a reputation to maintain, and that doesn't not include working for the government.

Madelyn and four others from the group were hired onto the staff as security consultants. Madelyn was the only one to become a permanent installation.

What will these authorizations give your character in regards to perks or defects?
Perks
+ Provided she has any sort of technology to work on, her talents could supply her with a job
+ Talents could prove useful in scenarios when the character has access to a computer


Defects
- Without a computer, these talents are almost useless
- The character would be amputated if it was discovered she was under the employ of MI5


What do you plan to do with these perks/defects?
I hope to build an intriguing character with a bizarre past, and hopefully supply to the Passive Roleplay in the City.

Will anyone else need these auths? (If so, list OOC and IC name(s))
No, just myself.

Which server does this apply for?
City

Extra Notes (optional):

Articles on MI5 hiring Hackers:
The MI5 Hires Teenage Hackers
MI5 on the hunt for Hackers to Hire

3
Suggestions / 'Local Events' over the Radio
« on: April 06, 2013, 12:41:02 AM »
The Issue

This problem isn't really a problem- more of an imperfection. For you Outlands folks talking over the radio, or you units keeping in contact with each other over the radio, this is functional enough:

Generic Name radios in "Oh dear, here come the Overwatch Transhuman Agents! Quickly everyone, seek the nearest cover!"

That works just fine. But suppose you have to use the radio command to portray a sound? In the Outlands at least, I've seen this method used many times:

Generic Name radios in "*An agonizing scream and the sharp shots of AR2 rounds blare over the radio*"

Just doesn't look good.



The Solution?

What I suggest is a sort of 'local event' to be utilized over the radio, to eliminate the bother seen above. In my mind, when typed, it would look something like this:

When typed: /radioit An agonizing scream and the sharp shots of AR2 fire blare over the radio.
In game: An agonizing scream and the sharp shots of AR2 fire blare over the radio.

With this method, anyone tuned in on the frequency in question would be able to hear whats going on ICly, without the eyesore that we've got now. Below, I've simulated a situation where this could be used:

Spoiler for Hiden:
** Generic name beams his flashlight down across the earthy walls of the mine.
** The scuttling sound of a headcrab across stone echo's down the tunnel walls.
** Generic Name swallows nervously, pulling his radio off his belt and bringing it up to his lips to speak.
Generic Name radios in "I'm down in the mines, below the bunker. I thought I heard-"
** An olive-shade headcrab, oily and thin, flies out of the darkness into the light of Generic Name's flashlight, launching itself onto the unfortunate man's shoulder before climbing up onto his skull and beginning to burrow.
** Generic Name screams out in horror as the creature begins the horrifying process, his finger still sealed like a vice around the 'talk' button of his radio.
A horrible scream, unmistakably Generic Name's, rings out over the radio.

Generic Name2 radios in "What the hell was that?"
Generic Name3 radios in "Generic Name, can you hear me?!"

Hoping the dev's can fix some kind of script for this. Post your opinions below, or ways this suggestion could be improved.

4
Accepted Authorizations / Adrian Fasjovik's Authorization Application
« on: April 02, 2013, 04:08:34 PM »
Player Section

Steam Name: Frolie
Age: Fifteen
How long have you been Roleplaying? (can be any game): About Five years.
How long have you been playing Serious GMod RP?: A little over Two years.

Character Section

Authorization(s):

Undiagnosed case of High Functioning Autism, specifically Aspergers Syndrome
     - Never openly discussed in the backstory; symptoms and features manifest themselves throughout the story

4/4 Violin and Horsehair Bow (as well as accessories)
     - Hard Violin Case (Damaged and Burned in Several Places, Repaired with Duct-Tape)
     - Set of Pitch Pipes
     - Thin Wood-Polishing Cloth
     - Bow Rosin

Skilled in both Internal Medicine & Surgery
     - Graduate of Uppsala University (studying surgical sciences)
     - Moderate familiarity in internal medicine (reading, sitting in on seminars, etc.)
     - Experience as a surgeon and medical consultant
     - Three years’ experience as a black-market surgeon & Organ Trader

Moderately Extensive Collection of Surgery & Internal Medicine Equipment
     - Rudimentary Surgical Instruments (Forceps, Scalpels, Retractors, etc.)
     - First Aid Utensils (Bandage Materials, Bleeding & CPR Tools, Wound / Blister / Burn Care, Suture & Syringe Tools, Fracture & Sprain Tools, Rudimentary Dental Tools, etc.)
     - Large Supply of Prescription & Over-The-Counter Drugs
     - Some medical attire & sanitation supplies (surgeon’s mask, medical apron, latex gloves, soap, isopropyl alcohol, ethyl alcohol, etc.)
     - Gathering of Sedatives (Barbiturates, Analgesics, Etorphine, etc.)

Familiarity in both Swedish & English languages
     - OOCly something like this: [SWEDISH] blah blah blah

Name: Adrian Fasjovik
Age: Twenty-Nine
Gender: Female
Affiliation: None

Write a detailed in-canon back-story how your character obtained these authorizations.
Dalia Bjork and Linus Fasjovik were married as quietly and humbly as possible, before a judge in the City Hall of Stockholm. Linus had come from poverty: his parents had managed to get along on minimum wage jobs, but after Linus’ father was diagnosed with cancer, the medical expenses had put their family into irreparable debt. The difference between Linus’ family and Dalia’s is what made the bride’s parents disapprove of the coupling. Martin and Agneta Bjork, Dalia’s mother and father, were wealthy and illustrious; however, their contempt preceded their extravagance, and they broke off both financial support and communication with their daughter after she married against their wishes.

With only feeble monetary support from Linus’ parents, and complete neglect from Dalia’s, the newly-weds found supporting themselves to be very difficult. Nonetheless, with Linus’ job at the local auto-body shop, where he had worked since he was fourteen, and the job Dalia had managed to attain as a cashier in a downtown grocery, they got by, for a time. That all changed after the couple discovered that Dalia was pregnant- with twins.

After accumulating a mountain of debt in prenatal exams and basic necessities for newborns, Adrian and Lisbeth Fasjovik were born on the 17th of November, in 1989. Just after the twins were born, Linus was made aware of a serious complication that occurred during the delivery; the nurses had called it Amniotic Fluid Embolism, but that meant nothing to Linus. After hours of dicey treatment, it became apparent to Linus that Dalia was not going to make it. She managed to cling to life long enough for Linus and his parents to be with her before she passed.

Suffering from Postpartum Depression and crippled by debt as a result of costly medical bills, Linus lost his job at the auto-body shop and was evicted from his and his late wife’s apartment. Humiliating though it was, Linus moved back in with his parents, relying heavily on his mother to care for the newborn twins while he grieved for his wife. It took two whole years before Linus found himself capable of work again, two years within which his mother had passed away, and left raising Lisbeth and Adrian to Linus’ father, who’s cancer had grown so aggressive that he was barely present at all. Linus found his vigor to work again in caring for his daughters and father, finding a new job at a different auto-garage, and taking a second job at a magazine kiosk outside of a downtown subway terminal.

Lacking in parental figures, Adrian and Lisbeth grew up largely under the guidance of their exhausted and dull-witted grandfather. Adrian became an obvious problem child from a young age. She would terrorize her sister frequently, subjecting her to emotional abuse that would stick with Lisbeth for most of her life. When she turned five and began Kindergarten, her reception to other students was just as bad. She would stick among a small group of friends, and would often act horribly mean to anyone else, sometimes growing so possessive of her friends that she would beat anyone who tried to talk to them. The most trivial action could set her off like a powder-keg, and without warning, she would go into fits were she would yell at her teachers and physically hurt other individuals; on one occasion even putting a classmate, a six-year-old boy, into the hospital with a cerebral hemorrhage. Linus loved his daughter dearly, but realized that his limited experience as a father could not handle such an issue, and with lacking time and money, he found it difficult to do much of anything.

The signs of Adrian’s intellect and predilection to the illicit began at age eight.  Adrian had listened (often with irritation) to the neighbors child, who was 13 and in the school orchestra. She played the violin, and in Adrian’s opinion, she played it badly. One evening, the neighbors found that the instrument had disappeared. When it’s absence was discovered, the neighbors had searched for it furiously, to no avail. On the third day, the neighbors heard the familiar screeching of an amatuer’s bow across strings from the Fasjovik household.

Linus made his child turn over the instrument the instant he found out of this lunacy, and took a few days off work to both ridicule and support his daughter. He made her understand that what she did was wrong, both with her actions at school and with stealing from their neighbor. Upset at disappointing her father, the blubbering young child confessed that she had taken it because she was certain she could play it better. Nonetheless, Linus demanded that she behave herself at school, and to never, ever, steal again. Adrian quickly agreed.

The problems in school disappeared almost immediately afterwards, with Adrian’s behavior and attention in school taking such a sharp curve that Linus saw it fit to reward her. After scrimping and saving for weeks before the winter holiday, Linus gave Adrian a Violin on Christmas Day. Delighted with the magnanimous gift, Adrian began to play it immediately, and poorly. Her frustration at her immaturity in playing the instrument turned into motivation to learn how to play it better. By 11, she was a proper artist with the bow. When she reached the pinnacle of her skill with the instrument, Adrian began taking up other scholarly pursuits. When Adrian set her sights on graduating from high school early, her intellectual venting was pushed into something much worse. Linus came home from a tiring day at the auto body shop to find his daughter dissecting a gerbil. When questioned about it, Adrian admitted that she had stolen the class pet after it had died, and wanted to, “know what it looked like inside.” After that, she’d bring home more animals, once even dissecting a dead alley cat whose corpse she had found in the garbage behind their apartment. Linus had trouble enough holding down two jobs to support his two daughters and father, but did manage to find a healthy way to vent this growing enthusiasm in anatomy; he suggested that she should volunteer at the local hospital.

Delighted with the idea, Adrian immediately applied as a volunteer at Danderyds Sjukhus, a large Hospital in central Sweden that she had to use the subway to reach after school. Between her volunteer work, her studies in school, and her music, Adrian hardly had any time to terrorize her sister, or wreak havoc in school.

Adrian graduated from her high school at the age of Fifteen, top of her class. She insisted to her proud father that she wasn't smart, or incredibly gifted; only motivated to escape the people she frequently described as boring, stupid, or annoying. Her resolve to graduate early granted her many offered scholarships, only one of which she took up. When she reached the required age of 16, Adrian almost immediately enrolled in Uppsala Medical University, with her scholarship paying for most of it. She found the other students there more tolerable, but, her being 16, she was dramatically differentiated from her classmates, most of whom were in their mid to late 20s and up. Without much of a social life and a dorm room all to herself, Adrian turned again to her studies, her music, and her solidarity.

Adrian chose Surgical Sciences as her distinctive field of study, though her interest in medicine was very broad to say the least. She chewed through magazines like Lakartidningen and the Central European Journal of Medicine easily, and could absorb the material of a 500 page Internal Medicine textbook within a week and a half. Adrian even taught herself English using an online program, so that she could read European and American journals as well. She advanced through premed within a year and a half, and earned her degree in Surgical Sciences after 3.

It was about this time that Adrian’s closest confidant, role-model, and father, Linus, began to show the earliest signs of Alzheimer’s. Distraught, Adrian promised to take care of him if it ever got worse, as Linus’ work at the autobody shop could never cover the care he would need. Linus shrugged off the doctor’s words for Adrian’s sake, claiming that he was sure this was nothing, and that it would not pan out. Unfortunately, this was not the case. As if the time wasn't stressful enough, Lisbeth graduated from High School and immediately set out for America, to be as far from, what she considered, a 'sociopathic' sister. With a dead wife, a dead mother, a dying father, and a sudden absent daughter, Linus only had Adrian, who was preoccupied with school.

Adrian’s uncanny advance through her studies earned her dozens of recommendations from her professors, a few of the less arrogant ones even suggesting that the remarkable 19 year old had possessed knowledge in the fields of medicine that combated even their own. With the recommendations of her teachers, and a familiarity with the administrator of Danderyds Sjukhus (the same prominent hospital in Stockholm where Adrian had volunteered on her free time in high school), Adrian earned an installment as an unpaid intern.

When the hospital staff learned of a 19-year-old who was widely acclaimed as a borderline-genius, they imagined something far from what the girl behind all the praise actually was. She sported a bizarre and impersonal appearance, with a temper and attitude to match. Within a few weeks of her stay at the hospital, it was obvious that she was intelligent and insightful, but her bedside manner and courtesy left much to be desired. She had a bad habit of verbal berating patients and even other doctors when they made even inconsequential mistakes.

But, much as she was behind the bow of her violin, Adrian was a professional with a scalpel. Her concentration, dexterity, and focus in the operating room impressed her peers, and her intellectual prowess, while constantly annoying, was striking nonetheless. Adrian took many great strides during these years at the hospital. She moved her father out of his apartment and into a nursing home, where he could get better care, and applied the entire apartment to herself; with the money she made at the hospital, she could keep her father in excellent care.

A great opportunity came when Adrian was asked to participate in a career-making operation: an experimental heart procedure, utilizing lab-grown heart material to replace the damaged material of a 30 year old man. During the procedure, a serious complication occurred, and two options were made apparent: A, the operation could be stopped and the incision closed up, ensuring that continuation of the man’s life (at least, for a while). B, the operation could continue under serious risk. Adrian’s hubris took the best of her, and she chose option B, a choice which resulted in the patient’s death.

The case was reviewed by the Medical Board of the Hospital, who judged Adrian to be at fault for the patient’s death, putting her career and her pride before the patient’s life. She was suspended from her job, and ultimately fired, as well as having her medical license was revoked. Furious that she had failed the operation, furious that she had been fired, and furious that she could no longer provide for her father, Adrian had to find another way to turn her talents into revenue.

With no medical license, legal work was impossible to obtain- desperate to keep her father in good care, Adrian resorted to illegal, black-market plastic surgery. Compared to other ‘doctors’ in this prohibited profession, Adrian was far more qualified: most others were veterinarians, retired nurses and EMTs, and god-forbid some curious amateur with no medical experience at all. The money paid the bills, and more importantly, paid for Adrian’s fathers care, but Adrian hated the work. There was no thrill in stuffing a woman’s chest with plastic and saline, there was no fun in collagen and Botox; Adrian’s hand wasn’t married to the scalpel so she could make women look more attractive. Her skill wasn’t without notice: when Adrian performed Botox injections on a young woman, she later discovered that she was the girlfriend of a man named Henrik Dahlgren, a native Czech, and middle-man in the drug and prostitution industries. Blackmarket surgeons of such skill were few and far between, so Henrik made sure to float Adrian’s name higher up the food chain. It wasn’t long before someone made an offer to her.

Her new job would involve working heavily with people who had been wounded and couldn’t go to a hospital, people who needed some sort of illicit surgery performed, or people who were brought into the country to work. Over the next few years, Adrian would burn off fingerprints, treat bullet wounds, evaluate the health of illegal aliens, and consult privately on other matters, on occasion even on torture, which she shamefully enjoyed most of all. She thought of it like a game: the right touch, the right way, with the right tool, only then would the unfortunate victim reveal his secrets.

Adrian had inadvertently nailed a lucrative niche market. Her years of medical practice and fascination, not to mention her unique personality and border-line sadistic nature, made her exceptionally able in performing high to low profile medical tasks in the criminal demographic. Her practices were bizarre and varied, and she enjoyed most every one of them. Although she knew how horrified her father would be if he knew the source of the money that was keeping him in such good care, Adrian continued her illicit work with a pleasure that made her feel guilty.

Her being something of a workaholic, the Seven Hour War occurred, predictably, while she was at work. Her pager, cell-phone, and home phone had all gone off almost simultaneously that morning, at 2:00 AM. Her expertise had been called upon to treat the very man who had roped her into the business, Henrik Dahlgren. Henrik had been knee-deep in a touch-and-go transaction of human trafficking, but while brokering a deal for the exchange of foreign prostitutes, a rival industry a sent a hired gun to kill him. He had suffered eight bullet wounds, mostly to the upper body, but had somehow managed to stay alive.

A car came to pick her up, and brought her to a small safehouse within the city; an old, underground fallout-shelter, renovated and disguised as a garden shed. Her tools had been brought to the safehouse from her place of work, including her violin, which she played whenever she had time off. It was there in that bomb shelter , while wrist deep inside of Henrik’s stomach, that the first signs foreshadowing the 7-Hour-War began. First it was police sirens; then, the first explosions. Panicked and confused by the sounds coming from the surace, Adrian gave up on her patient and left Henrik to perish on the operating table. Without knowing what was going to happen, a gun was put into every man’s hands: even Adrian took Henrik’s Czech pistol from the holster inside his jacket, though she’d never shot a gun in her life. The next Seven Hours were populated with screams, gunshots, the screech of tires on pavement, and sounds of helicopters; a myriad of sounds blended together into the orchestra of war, the greatest war in human history.

They stayed in the shelter for days, desperately searching for accurate news over the radio and on the tiny 12 inch black-and-white screen TV. They learned as much as anyone else did in the first few days of the combine occupation: Most of man-kind had been extinguished, and an alien occupation had begun. Some scientist named Wallace Breen had become representative of earth, and had managed to quell the extermination of the human race; now the remaining population was being abducted, to be brought to occupied cities until further notice.

Four of the seven inside the bunker went out, firearms quivering at their sides, and never came back. The only things inside the shelter were Adrian, two others, Henrik’s corpse, and a very modest food supply. Inevitably, argument made it’s way into the conversation like an insidious worm. Adrian’s rationale was that if they went it, they would be killed or taken. If only one or two went out, they would be made to talk until they gave up the location of the other. When the other two had resolved to go to the surface, Adrian made a kneejerk decision. With Henrik’s Czech pistol in hand, she murdered both of them when their backs were turned. Without remorse, she waited for days inside the shelter, with nothing but three dead bodies and a dwindling food supply for company.

After her eighth day inside the shelter, it became apparent that if she didn’t go to the surface for more provisions, Adrian would starve. However, on the surface she would inevitably be captured. With these two important points in mind, she made an important decision. The tools of her trade had to stay behind, and she had to go to the cities if she wanted to survive (with her food supply dropping, she would starve if she didn’t go to the surface). She had heard over the radio that these aliens, now widely known as the Combine (compliments of Wallace Breen), were still searching for any humans in hiding. She stashed all of her medical supplies inside the empty cardboard food boxes, as well as Henrik’s gun, and hid all the boxes under blankets in the corner. She searched the corpses of Henrik and his body guards, luckily finding the metal key to the shelter door inside of one of the corpses’ pockets. Key pressed between her teeth, Adrian climbed the ladder out of the shelter up to the surface.

Before she left to be found by the Combine, Adrian made sure to hide the shelter door in the shed. She flipped a table over onto the door itself, and covered that with a blue tarp before surrounding it all with other furniture and boxes she found spotted around the interior of the hut. Content that the shelter was well hidden, Adrian went out into the world for the first time in days… only to find that the world she knew was gone.

The city that she knew, the one she had grown up in, the entire world as she had known it, had withered and died. The skies were smeared with the thick smoke of industry, the skyline cracked with destroyed buildings and the glow of fires. Queer looking helicopters cut through the sky, search-lights frantically dissecting every inch of the land for signs of life. With the key to the shed still pressed between her teeth, Adrian ran as fast and for as long as she could, breathing only through her nose; when she was found, she wanted to be as far from the shelter as possible. It wasn’t long before she was abducted, only two miles from the shelter.

She was transported by helicopter, with about twenty others, to the camp erected inside of Stockholm, and briefly examined by a medical official. When asked to open her mouth for an oral exam, Adrian called upon all of her pain tolerance to swallow her key without being discovered. The sharp ridges of the key cut at her esophagus as she swallowed, but she did manage to gulp it down. When she was moved into an apartment, she immediately vomited the key up into the toilet bowl, and hid it under her bed.

Many months passed before she left the city again. She carefully, slowly climbed up the side of a building from a fire-escape, then jumped from the roof to a small catwalk system lining train tracks. The blue shields of the combine razor trains hadn’t yet been implemented, so all that stood between her and freedom was only a long, 20 mile walk adjacent to the tracks, and passing razor trains. Many more days were spent getting her bearings outside the city before she found the shelter again.

Adrian removed the key from her shoe, where she had hidden it before she fled the city, and pushed open the shed door, relieved to find that the whole place was, more or less, untouched. She pushed away all that covered the shelter door, and then opened the door itself. A half-year of rotten air, the air of the bodies escaping all at once, was so overpowering that she had to leave the shelter entirely, leaving both doors open overnight to let the reek air out overnight. The next morning, with a cloth tied over her mouth, she ventured down into the shelter again and again, each time bringing up a little bit of her supplies.

With Henrik’s pistol tucked in the waistband of her denim jeans, and her prized medical collection carefully loaded into a large grocery cart, Adrian took to wandering. Many, many months would pass before she would arrive in the Rodna mountains.


What will these authorizations give your character in regards to perks or defects?
Perks
Undiagnosed Aspergers
  + Extreme focus on certain areas of study makes the character very intelligent in certain studies

High Skill in both Internal Medicine & Surgery
  + Can use talents with surgery & medicine to earn food, tokens, or other supplies
  + Can treat most injuries inflicted on other people
  + Can treat small or moderate injuries on herself


Collection of Surgery & Internal Medicine Equipment
  + Equipment, coupled with tools, allows the character to treat injuries (her own or otherwise)
  + In dire situations, the character could sell some of her equipment for food, tokens, or other supplies


Violin and Talent in Playing it
  + Allows the character to entertain herself and / or others
  + Violin is something of a healthy escape; allows the character to vent excess frustration or enthusiasm


Familiarity with both Swedish & English
  + Might allow the character to converse with other individuals in her native language

Defects
Undiagnosed Aspergers
  - Impersonality can make the character seem rude or difficult to associate with
  - Character has special sensitivity to certain sounds and lights
  - Character possesses certain quirks and 'pet-peeves' that might annoy or disturb others


High Skill in both Internal Medicine & Surgery
  - Skills could make her an asset, and thus a possible target
  - Should the character screw up during a procedure, then the patient or patient's friends could seek revenge
  - Failing in medicine can send the character into deep states of fury


Collection of Surgical & Internal Medicine Equipment
  - Owning valuable equipment can make the character a target for robbery

Violin and Talent in Playing it
  - Violin is valuable to the character; were it damaged or broken, the character could go into an uncontrollable rage
  - Violin could seem valuable to others, and make the character a target for robbery


Familiarity with both Swedish & English
  - Character doesn't have complete fluency, and speaks in broken English; communication could be an issue


What do you plan to do with these perks/defects?
This character spawned off of a picture I saw online, of a female-version of the Team Fortress 2 medic (silly, I know). Nonetheless, the image got me thinking of a sort of punk-doctor, or a psychopathic surgeon. The idea seemed intriguing... but lacking at the same time. I put a lot of thought into the character, time which culminated in the character featured in the backstory; one motivated by family and passion, a sadist and sympathizer at the same time, someone who's both protective and apathetic. With these perks and defects, I hope to roleplay this character in the unique way I intended.

Obviously, a good deal of this means Passive Roleplay (the medical supplies and violin specifically). Routine things like giving checkups on refugees, or entertaining rebels with her violin, they all contribute to the atmosphere of the Outlands.

Will anyone else need these auths? (If so, list OOC and IC name(s))
No one else will need these authorizations, just Adrian.

Which server does this apply for?
Outlands

Extra Notes (optional):

I felt a bit nervous with the story when I posted it, like I might have left something out or made some kind of blunder (even though I reviewed it many times). That being said, if you've got any issues, post them below, and I'll amend the backstory accordingly.

5
Bug Reports / Purple & Black Screen (Maybe just my issue)
« on: February 23, 2013, 02:33:06 PM »
So, yesterday I started up Gmod, and tried joining Outlands. I chose my character, and was greeted by a broad Purple & Black checkerboard.

I backed out to the main-menu, and found that all my workshop content had disappeared. Any attempts to download anything from the workshop don't work. This is probably just a problem I'm having myself, but still, it's preventing me from playing any form of HL2RP.

6
Accepted HL2RP Suggestions / Combine Civil Authority Propaganda Films
« on: February 18, 2013, 01:50:00 PM »
When the map change first took place, one of the first neat things I noticed was the theater; but I also felt like such a neat little feature could be going to waste. I've seen (both ICly, and OOCly) the Combine Empire being compared to the Nazi Regime, wish is a good thing: few can attest to the kind of supremacy, the surveillance, and the totalitarianism that the Nazi Party instilled in occupied territories, like Paris. Except, of course, the combine.

While on the Catalyst Gaming servers, we've managed to attain the sort of threat that the Combine possesses, but the Propaganda Factor is relatively low. We've got posters, and Civil Administrator announcements, but that's close to it. So I was thinking that these three different things are rolled into one: The Theater going to waste, our comparison to the authoritarian Nazi's, and our lack of Propaganda. So, how about Propaganda Films, aired bi-weekly at the theater, with notable comparisons to WWII Propaganda Films.

Here are a couple Examples of German Propaganda:

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVurfhMw1UU" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVurfhMw1UU</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXST0wF5T4s" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXST0wF5T4s</a>

My Proposal:

Admins nominate an individual among themselves who is willing to create a character who exists ICly (not necessarily as a character that walks around in-game), who directs films that are aired at the theater every other OOC week. A brief broadcast would go out announcing that a film is going to be aired, and through /it's, the admin in question would broadcast a film of whatever their sweet imagination comes up with. They can feel free to air the same film on both ends of the month.

** If, in the future, I find this idea to be popular enough, some more propaganda-related suggests may follow this.

7
Media / Your First Concert
« on: January 19, 2013, 04:48:11 PM »
Curious about your first concert. I'll spin my story first, and you guys can follow me down below.

   The first concert I ever went to (that I really enjoyed, that is), was an electronica show by "Feed Me". To this day, it is one of the most wild experiences of my youth thus far. As any electronica show should be expected, there was a phenomenal light show, and the crowd just felt really, really alive.

   Of course, that was my first, and really only show I've ever attended. I've got nothing to compare it to, but still it seems like something I won't forget very soon.



Alright, so throw your story down below, and maybe even an example or two of the music that was playing.

8
Denied Outlands Appeals / Frolie's Outlands Appeal (ye another)
« on: January 19, 2013, 12:07:54 AM »
Steam Name: Frolie
Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:41729694
Character Name: Layla 'Razors' Blackburn
Reason for the switch: (OOC) Want to RP on one of my favorite characters, until Outlands returns. (IC) Keeping an eye on Joanna, Seeking in-city contacts

If required, write a detailed backstory on how your character left the Outlands:
Spoiler for Hiden:
Layla pushes open the thick metal storm-door of the safehouse. She's wrapped up in some of her warmest clothing, and looks to be carrying most of her belongings.

"I'm leaving, for a bit. Following your girl into the city."

Eli looks over his shoulder. He’s still covered in bandages and gauze from his recovery, he seems to have been working on something when she stepped in. He slowly gets up from his chair, turning around to look at her.

"... That's a rather dangerous decision to make, don't you think?"

"I got here from City 27. You think I can't walk a few dozen miles and slip into Precinct Three?"

Eli taps his forehead with his index finger twice, and says, "I think you'll get chased the second you step in there. Luco is in the city… You don't think I'd forget something so simple, did you?"

Layla looks down towards the hard-wood floor, almost guiltily.

"Maybe Luco is part of the reason I'm going."

Eli sighs, taking off his glasses for a moment to rub his eyes, and putting them back on. He again begins the same lecture he’s given Layla a thousand times. "Razors, blind revenge isn't going to get anything done...  How can I trust you'll go there and won't just get yourself killed in the first 10 minutes you get in?"

Layla scowls at Eli, her icy expression speaking before she does.

"I'm not a child; I can take care of myself. I only let you know as a gratuity, I didn't have to."

She bites her lip, anxiously anticipating the answer to her next question.

"Maybe... you could go with me."

Eli stares at her for a few seconds, not saying a word and keeping a strong stance. "... You know I can't, people still need me here, and I won't abandon them.”

He pauses, searching for words.

"Joanna is there though, that's as close to me being there as we'll get right now... Besides, I'm sure she has 'something' to talk to you about."

Layla adjusts the cold-weather scarf sagging around her shoulders, straightening her posture to address Eli more professionally.

"I've got other reasons for going there, too. I want to get a connection with one of the resistance networks, or smuggling connections. Something, or someone, I could use to farm stuff into the Valley. Besides, I feel somehow obligated to look out for Jo... She was the only one who cared enough to treat me after I got shot by Matt.”

Layla pauses to find more words, and coming up lacking.

"So, I'm headed out... Don't miss me too much."

Eli keeps looking at her intently, seemingly thinking.

"Hold on."

He turns around, digging around in his desk for a moment. He takes out a small envelope from inside, turning around once again and approaching her, handing her the envelope.

"Give this to Joanna when you get there,” He says as she takes the envelope in her hand "Just try to not get yourself killed out there, Layla. You're more important to this place than some people think or are willing to admit.”[/b]

Layla shakes her head dismissively; if it weren't so unbefitting for her psyche, her expression might even be perceived as sad.

"The people have a funny way of showing it..."

Eli thinks for a moment, speaking words from experience.

"It happens in our line of work."

Layla slips the envelope into her bag, patting the pocket it's in as if to assure Eli of it's safe-keeping.

"I guess. When I get back, we might need to talk about some things... But it can wait."

Eli nods. It's clear he has his apprehensions about her going to the city, but it's important enough to let her do it.
 
"Better go before anyone else catches you hanging around here, they're not as forgiving as I am, unfortunately."

Layla nods, turning and twisting open the door to leave. Just before she exits, she turns to say something.

"Eli, you're... I-"

She seems to choke on her own words, too anxious to finish the sentence. She abruptly pushes her way out the door, cutting Eli off from saying anything in response.

Eli leans against the wall as she leaves, watching the door for a moment to make sure she doesn't decide to come back for some other reason. He talks somberly out loud to himself thoughtfully:

"... She's going to need all the help she can get..."



Layla turns the collar of her jacket upwards against her cheek, cushioning the fierce blow of the mountain winds. She pulls a glove off with her teeth, using the freed hand to dig around inside her jacket pocket. From inside it, she removes a weathered, and wrinkled map of the Romanian Mountains, pausing briefly behind a rock to study it.

Layla shuts her eyes; images flicker past in her head, tracing the path she took so many months ago from City 27 into the Outlands; Ruins, road, rock, town, junkyard, freeway, sign. Her eyelids quiver as the struggles to focus on the details. Sign...

Pitesti, Bucharest, Ploesti.

Bucharest.

Layla opens her eyes, staring back at the cotton map. She traces her fingers across the dotted-lines, marking public-access roads, leading up to a single intersection. She rubs her neck, thinking to herself.

I can find my way to the sign... Follow the road into the City.

She folds the map in half, then into qaurters, before stuffing it into her pocket and donning her glove again, trudging out across the snow down towards the road.



Pacing briskly down the blacktop of the road, Layla stops mid-stride, delicately turning her head behind her. Something had caught her eye, or she had heard something, or smelled something. Something was different, suddenly.

The survival instinct that had kept her alive her whole life forced her actions:

Get off the road.

Layla makes a 90 degree turn, darting off through the small barrier of snow-covered terrain between the road and the thick brush. She wriggles her way into a secure hiding place, safe from view of the road, before sliding her bag off her shoulder, and tearing it open, digging around inside desperately for her weapon.

The roar of a vehicle blares not too far away, only suddenly audible.

Panic clutches at Layla, like a fist being closed around her stomach. She digs frantically inside her bag, eventually finding a second, brown-paper bag stashed away inside it. She digs inside, pulling her Nine Millimeter USP Match, and the magazine inside the bag as well. She shoves the clip into the empty niche of the grip, then pulls back the slide. She pauses, just a second more, before clicking off the safety.

The vehicle, which was tearing down the road just a minute ago, seemed to be slowing to a stop. With an amateur application of the breaks, it skids to a stop. The driver gets out, as well as someone in the back-left seat.

"I told you not to drink the beer, you were just going to be pissin' half-way through the trip."

Layla's neck creened out from behind her safe cover, examining the pair and the vehicle. Both men were in their 30s or 40s, and there was a third passenger, a female, asleep in the seat opposite the driver's side.

One of the men, sporting a unshaven chin and a .357 in his waistband, approached the brush where Layla cowered, marching into the thick forest.

"I'll just be a second, then we'll be on the road ag'in."

Layla curls her head back behind the tree, just as the man pushes apart the brush to head further into the woods. The other man says something inaudible as Layla holds her breath, not making a single sound. The man passes right by her, undoing his fly nearby a tree.

Layla rises from the snowy dead grass, her pistol at waist-height primed for the man's mid-section

"Don't turn, don't talk, don't move."

The man jumps somewhat, startled by the sudden voice. It takes him only a second or two to adjust to the change of scenario.

"I've got nothing worth taking, so if you see it fit to rob me, you'll get nothing out of it."

"You've got a revolver in your waist-band and a fueled truck on the road. Both seem like pretty good loot, if I were to take them."

"Then shoot me and try your best to deal with my friend. I promise you, it won't be easy."

Layla clicks on the safety, lower the barrel of her firearm down towards the dirt.

"I'm not a robber, and I don't seek to kill you or your friend."

The man zips his trousers back into place and turns. Long, thin, and matted hair line his aquiline facial features, and the rugged unshaven shadow that has developed across his chin and cheeks gave him the appearance of a refugee; an experienced one at that. A brief scar went from his left cheek-bone down towards the edge of his nose, and carvings of wrinkles and creases lined his face here and there.

"If you don't mean to kill me, or rob me, what do you mean to do?"

Layla shrugs.

"Hitch a ride, maybe."

The man chuckles, a deep, bassy, and condescending laugh.

"Why should I? I've got no reason to call you friend. You snuck up on me while I was having a piss, and pointed a pea-shooter at me."

"I didn't shoot you, did I? That should tell you enough to know that I'm not a petty crook. Out here, one hand washes the other. You give me a ride, and I'll pay you back."

The man cocks his head.

"Pay me? With what."

Layla's eyes crawled across every detail of his physique; The hair, the face, the shirt, the hoodie, the jeans, the teeth-

The teeth. Tobacco Stains.

"You're a smoker?"

"Yeah, what of it."

"I'll give you what's left of my pack of cigarettes and One-Thousand Token Bills if you can drive me as close to Bucharest as you're comfortable."

"Bucharest? That's City 45, ain't it? Most folks are trying to get out of the cities, not crawl back in."

"You want what I've got, or no?"

The man pauses to think, eventually giving a brief nod in affirmation. He walks back down the hill, through the brush, expecting Layla to follow.

Back at the truck, the other passenger looks confused at Layla as they work down towards the car.

"We've picked up a Hitch-Hiker?"


The opposite man nodded, "Aye, this is..." He turned, facing Layla. "You didn't give a name, you know."

Layla pushed open the passenger side door, calling out her moniker and she slammed it closed again: "Razors."

Both men again re-enter their vehicle, assuming their position for the road-trip once again.

"I'm Jag, his name's Shaun. Now everyone get comfortable, we've got a few hours ahead of us."



They had passed the sign about 15 minutes ago. Layla knew that they drew close, not just because of the looming city landscape but because of the rank odor of metal and fuel and blood.

The car slowly slide to a halt. Shaun turns from the passenger's seat, addressing Layla.

"I drove you where you wanted, now give me what you promised."

Layla leans in, setting a stack of CCA token bills, and her last package of Beans' cigarettes on the dashboard (minus four, of course; she had to keep some for herself).

"Thanks for the lift. If you need a place to stay when you're riding through the valley, I'll make sure there's a spot for you."

Jag nodded, though somewhat dismissively. It was obvious that he didn't enjoy her company, and would prefer it if this business were wrapped up quickly.

Layla crept out of the vehicle, and quietly shoved the door closed. The red glare of the headlights illuminated her path for a moment as the car backed up, and lurched back the way it came. Layla wasted no time in finding the nearest canal access; she'd heard tale of how simple it was to access the city through these useful portals. Clicking on her flashlight, she began the slow, 15 minutes of claustrophobic mission through the damp tunnels, into Precinct Three.

Extra Notes:

It should be noted that the character is in possesion of both a Nine Millimeter, and an SMG (as well as two boxes of ammunition for the pistol, and one box for the SMG).

9
Donation Questions and Trades / Donating for Cc Flags?
« on: January 17, 2013, 07:53:10 PM »
This is really more of a conceptual idea, nothing concrete.

I was curious as to how much it would run me if I wanted to buy Cc flags for the Outlands. The character that they would (hypothetically) be given to is both an electrical and mechanical engineer, so (of course, pending donation) I would put a couple of weeks of Roleplay into repairing what would likely be a truck, and then I'd post an authorization application.

So, in summary, I really just need to know if getting flags via donation is possible, how much that would cost, and whether or not the above stated ideas would be acceptable.

Cheers, Frolie

10
Denied Outlands Appeals / Frolie's Outlands Appeal
« on: January 15, 2013, 06:26:36 PM »
Steam Name: Frolie
Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:41729694
Character Name: Alex Korbin
Reason for the switch: Mis-Click

If required, write a detailed backstory on how your character left the outlands:

   -


Time when it happened(if mis-click):

I don't quite recall. Several months ago, at least. I hadn't thought about getting the character moved back to the city after the misclick until the City came back.

11
Table Talk / Is warfare part of being human?
« on: December 31, 2012, 02:23:01 AM »
Is war integral to humanity?



     Violence is primal. Since our earliest ancestors clawed their way from
the ocean, it's been dog-eat-dog. A struggle for food, for women, for habitat, or
something similar. Conflict, struggle, violence; they're all part of being human.


But war isn't.

     What is war, in it's most unadulterated form? It's a battle not for yourself,
but for someone else.  You aren't being benefited any more; it's not a
battle to fuck a woman so you can continue your species. It's now all
about resources, territories; defending your god or defending your leader. Point being here,
humanity is about survival, war is about profit.


For example, see these picture below as reference:


This is a graph of Haliburton's stock price, and how it has doubled
since our involvement in Afghanistan and Iraq. It's also interesting to note (though I
couldn't find a graph to visually represent it), that while Haliburton's stock has doubled,
so has the mortality rate of US soldiers.


Obviously, I encourage you to leave your opinion on this philosiphical debate below. I look
forward to both reading your observations & interpretations, and commenting on them as well.


Cheers, Frolie

12
Social Discussion / Mass Shootings in the Last Five Years & Gun Control
« on: December 14, 2012, 08:49:23 PM »
Virginia Tech
April 2007

Seung-Hui Cho opens fire on students and professors of Virginia Polytechnic Institute, killing 32 and wounding 17. Cho subsequently commits suicide with one of his firearms.

Westroads Mall
December 2007

19-Year-Old Robert Hawkins equips a semi-automatic rifle to kill 8 and wound 4. Shortly after, he takes his own life.

Covina, California
December 2008

Husband and father Bruce Jeffery Pardo, clothed in a Santa Claus outfit, utilizes a four handguns and a homemade flamethrower to kill 9 and injure 3. He kills himself shortly after.

Geneva County
March 2009

Michael McLinden kills 11 people, among them his wife and 18-Month-Old baby. After engaging in a shootout with police, the perpetrator is found dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

Carthage Nursing Home
March 2009

Robert Stewart, armed with a shotgun, a revolver, and a semi-automatic pistol, kills 7 seniors and 1 nurse before being apprehended by police.

Binghamton Civic Center
April 2009

Vietnamese Immigrant Jiverly Antares Wong kills a 13 immigrants from a variety of countries before killing himself.

Fort Hood
November 2009

U.S. Army Major Nidal Hasan opens fire at Fort Hood, Texas, killing 13 people and wounding 42.

Hartford Distributors
August 2010

Omar Thornton, formerly an employee at Hartford Distributors, kills 9 and wounds two others before turning his weapon on himself.

Tucson Shooting
January 2011

US Representative Gabrielle Giffords, among 19 others are shot outside of a grocery store in Tucson, Arizona by Jared Lee Loughner. She and 12 others survive; six people die.

Seal Beach
October 2011

Scott Evans Dekraai, armed with three separate pistols, fires on civilians inside the hair-dressing salon where his wife is employed. Of the 9 shot, only 1 survived.

Oikos University
April 2012

One L. Goh, a South Korean immigrant and former nursing student, fires on student in Oikos University in Oakland, California. He kills 7 and wounds 3.

The Dark Knight Rises Massacre
July 2012

In Aurora, Colorado, James Holmes armors himself in a ballistic helmet and bullet-proof vest before shooting up a theater during the midnight screening of The Dark Knight Rises. Holmes kills 12 and injures 59.

Sikh Temple Shooting
August 2012

White supremacist Wade Page storms a Sikh temple with a Semi-Automatic pistol. He kills 6, and wounds 4, including the responding officer. Page kills himself shortly after.

Portland Mall
December 2012

A shooter still unidentified by the police fires on crowds in a Portland, Oregon mall, killing 2 and them himself.

Sandy Hook Elementary
December 2012

This one just today; A yet unidentified shooter opened fire in the halls and classrooms of an Elementary School, killing 28, 20 of them children.



I don't know what needs to be done about this. Maybe the screening process needs to be reinforced, or maybe guns need to be eliminated from the hands of Americans entirely. Discuss it below, because this shit is distressing.

13
IC Chat / Ali Ezra | Character Profile
« on: December 13, 2012, 09:45:43 PM »
Character name: Ali Ezra
Citizen Identification Number: Never Issued
Physical description IC'ly:
Spoiler for Hiden:
RedHair(ShoulderLength) | SoftBrownEyes | 15y/o | 5'2'' | VeryThin | PaleSkin | GreyCoat & GreenShirt | ShortPurpleScarf | C11Jeans
Gender/sex: Female
Approximate age: 15
Before official and/or unofficial faction: None.
After official and/or unofficial faction: None.
Country originated from: America (Detroit)
Current location: Ineu Mountains
Accent: American

Hair color: Vibrant Red
Eye color: Reddish-Brown (For reference, think of Rust)
Face marks (i.e. scratches, bruises, scars): None
Hair design (short cutted, ponytail, etc): Cropped Short (Just above Shoulders)

Mental good and/or bad skills:

+ Shows great capacity to care for others
+ Very Intelligent

- Suffers from random shifts between Energy, Focus, and Intelligence, to Apathy and Depression (Bipolar Disorder)
- Suffers from inconsistent depression as a whole, due to dramatic life events before and after The 7-Hour-War
- Is prone to making poor decisions to combat her mental illnesses

Physical good and/or bad skills:

+ Youthful 'Innocence' manage to grant her some persuasive ability
+ Small frame, height, and youth make it easier to navigate through tight areas

- Youth makes her appear vulnerable, thus making her more prone to being attacked

Character look-a-like image:
Spoiler for Hiden:

Character fitting music and/or song:
Spoiler for Hiden:
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11RUv5iq23o" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11RUv5iq23o</a>

Clothing:

Head: Short Purple Scarf around Neck, Small Topaz Pendant Necklace
Torso: Grey Winter Coat, Olive Drab T-Shirt
Arms: Nothing Distinctive
Hands: Thick Black Knit Gloves
Legs: City Eleven Denim Jeans, Patched and Stitched to either seal heat or fix tears
Feet: Thick Leather Snow-Boots, Rubber Soles

Weaponry: None
Equipment: None
Known authorized items: None

14
IC Chat / Double Character Profile: 'The Hound' & Simon Reilly
« on: October 30, 2012, 02:49:38 PM »
'The Hound'

Spoiler for Hiden:
Character name: 'The Hound'
Citizen Identification Number: Not Issued

Physical description IC'ly:
Spoiler for Hiden:
LongDarkHair|DarkEyes|ExtremelyTall & Muscular|ScarredFace|LongAnimalPeltCoat|C18 Jeans|HikingBoots

Gender/sex: Female (Extreme Gender Identity Issues)
Approximate age: Mid 20's
Before official and/or unofficial faction: Zewiti Tribals, Unidentified Arms Dealers
After official and/or unofficial faction: Paolo's Romanian Caravan, 'The Crazies'
Country originated from: Namibia, Africa
Current location: C45 Outlands, Remote Location in Romania
Accent: South African

Hair color: Dark Brown
Eye color: Dark Brown-Reddish (Rusty)
Face marks: Large Scar Running From Right Eyebrow to Right Cheekbone; Scar from Left Side of Lip to Chin
Hair design: Very Long (Nearly to the Small of her Back). Usually Unkempt and Loose.

Mental good and/or bad skills:
+ Very Loyal
+ Determined in Combat


- Quick To Anger
- Not Very Smart
- Becomes Bull-Headed in the presence of extreme danger


Physical good and/or bad skills:
+ Very Tall (Frightening Attribute)
+ Extremely Muscular

- Very Large (Difficult To Maneuver into Small Places)

Character look-a-like image:
Spoiler for Hiden:


Khal Drogo, Game of Thrones


Connor, Assassin's Creed III

Clothing and/or protective armour and markings (bruises, scratches, etc) on the limbs:

Head: Long Hair, Several Scars On Face
Torso: Long Coat made from Animal Pelts and Skins
Front of the torso: Thick, Wool-Lined Plaid Jacket Under Coat
Back of the torso: Several Scars
Arms:  No Destinctive Features
Hands: Beat up Fingerless Biker Gloves, Studded on the Knuckles
Legs: City 18 Jeans, Roughly Repaired and Mounted with Straps (To Accommodate Weapons)
Feet: Heavy Black Hiking Boots, Studded and Steel-Toed

Weaponry: Heavy Frame-Work Hammer, Combat Knife
Equipment: No Distinctive Equipments
Known authorized items: (Hammer, Knife, Coat, Pain Tolerance)

In-game suffering information:
Suffering from?: Terminal Illnesses (Due to repeated inbreeding in Family)
Lost and/or replacement limbs or parts?: No Replacements

Skills, perks and/or traits of the character:
Known Prowess In Hand-To-Hand
Skills In Hunting
Firearm Handling and Accuracy Skills

Weaknesses and/or severe flaws:
Lacking In Intelligence, Extreme Bullheadedness, Intolerant of New Ideas, Intolerant of handling physical Pain

Simon Reilly

Spoiler for Hiden:
Character name: Simon Reilly
Citizen Identification Number: Not Issued

Physical description IC'ly:
Spoiler for Hiden:
FaceWrappedInBandages|Black-OutGoggles|SurgeonsMask|HeavyBlackCoat|HarvardMedSweatShirt|MedicalMessengerBag|HikingBoots

Gender: Male
Approximate age: Late 40s - Early 50s
Before official and/or unofficial faction: Harvard Medical Alumni, 'Doctors Without Borders', US Army Medical Corps
After official and/or unofficial faction: Clinic
Country originated from: United States
Current location: City 45 Outlands, Remote Location in Romania
Accent: American

Hair color: Formally Brown (Mostly Burned Away)
Eye color: Blue (Hidden By Goggles)
Face marks: Horribly Burned, Mostly Indistinguishable (Hidden by Bandages)
Facial hair (males only): None
Hair design: None (Scalp and Remaining Hair Hidden)

Mental good and/or bad skills:
+ Very Precise and Intelligent
+ Very Sociable and Friendly (When Sober)
+ Realistic Approximations

- Prone to Self-Loathing and Depression

Physical good and/or bad skills:
- Burns make advanced combat almost impossible
- Burns and Leg Injuries make Movement Difficult

Character look-a-like image:
Spoiler for Hiden:


Burned Man, Fallout New Vegas

Clothing and/or protective armour and markings (bruises, scratches, etc) on the limbs:
Head: Face Completely Wrapped in Bandages, Except for the Eyes and Mouth. Goggles Covering Eyes, Surgeon's Mask Covering Mouth. Otherwise Horribly Burned
Torso: Wool-Lined Olive-Drab Trench Coat (US Army Medical Corps Patch). Battered Harvard-Medical Sweat-Shirt. Bears Horrible Burns
Front of the torso: Dark Brown Messenger Bag Around Shoulder (Embroidered with a Red-Cross)
Back of the torso: Nothing Distinguishable
Arms: Horribly Burned, No Distinctive Clothing
Hands: Black Leather Gloves when Relaxed, Latex Gloves when Working
Legs: Dark Grey Jeans, Battered and Stained with blood. Repaired with Patches and Stitches
Feet: Brown Hiking Boots

Weaponry: No Weapons
Equipment: Extensive Collections of Medical Instruments, Utensils, etc
Known authorized items: Medical Equipment, To-Go Bag


Suffering from? (diseases, broken limbs, intoxication, etc): Crippling Burns All Over Body, Alcohol Addiction
Lost and/or replacement limbs or parts?: No Limb Replacements

Skills, perks and/or traits of the character:
Advanced Surgical Skills
General Medical Skills

Weaknesses and/or severe flaws:
Burns Covering Body, Alcohol Addiction

15
IC Chat / Simon Reilly's Personal Recorder
« on: October 24, 2012, 07:22:37 PM »
*Tape Clicks On*

Only two today. Of those, only one survived.

The first was a female. Gave her name as Samantha Walker. Came from farther up north, and was thus effected by third-degree  frost-bite. I was forced to amputate two toes, and one of her ears. The remaining tissue damage was mostly Chilblains and ulcers. The girl said she was only passing through, trying to get farther south to beat the coming winter. Makes me wonder if I should be doing the same. I can't ignore that the weather has grown fiercer.

The second was a male. No name was given, as he wasn't conscious to do so. Blunt force injury, with something thin; perhaps a metal rebar? Regardless, he suffered several broken ribs, and a skull fracture. I did manage to remove the bone fragments that posed immediate risk, but an Epidural Hemotoma developed before I had proper time to react. The swelling killed him before I managed to properly drain the excess fluid... You win some, lose some, I guess...

I should consult Eli, or maybe Matt about the coming cold. Proper precautions need to be met if we are to be prepared for the months ahead. Food, electricity, proper-warmth; these are our priorities. Unfortunately, it seems as though too many refugees out here are consumed with taking up flags, and symbols, to gun down those who bear other flags or symbols. It's a waste of human life. If we can't work together, especially in the difficult times we surely have ahead, then we're destined to perish.

There seems to be no one dedicated to assistance any more. Lord knows, I spend most of my time treating wounds caused by The Crazies, or The Sirens, or whatever other horrible group exists out there. They even have vehicles, simply to continue their petty squabbles. I sincerely wish I could get my hands on someone who could drive me about. What with my injuries, mobility is very inconvenient. There must be someone out there with the resources to accomplish such things.

I've had too hard of a day not to enjoy a drink, and a recorder simply isn't pleasant company. Until further updates.

*Tape Clicks Off*

Out of Character for OOC:
This is something I plan to update around every couple of days, as a vent for what's going on with this character until OL is back up. It's also a handy place to channel some medical knowledge :D

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