Player Section

Steam Name: Reaver
Age: 19
How long have you been Roleplaying? (can be any game): Multiple years.
How long have you been playing Serious GMod RP?: Multiple years

Character Section

Authorization(s):
Alright, this is a bit of an odd application.
I'm fully aware that some people have problems with me pumping out authorization applications like a fucking factory, but this application has a rhyme and reason behind it.
Basically, it requires the existence of several characters from Dark Chapel Site Alpha. All but two of these characters will be on reserve for other people to pick up. Naturally, these people will have to be trusted RPers who may or may not be required to make their own authorization application for their respective skills. Skills they had acquired BEFORE their assimilation into Dark Chapel. Their equipment, Dark Chapel knowledge and experiences, and movement into the Outlands will be covered by me. Again, their back-stories regarding the acquisition of their skills MUST be covered by the player that takes on the role of each character.
Characters:
Character-list wide hand-to-hand, weapon use, and weapon accuracy auths.
Director Tinnese:Black Dark Chapel Bullet Proof Vest, 9mm pistol, advanced hand-to-hand
John Harper: Dark Chapel Security Chief. Dark Chapel Security Vest, Advanced Hand-to-Hand skills. Bulky physique. Kind hearted.
John Harper's equipment- Dark Chapel Security Vest, (Some type of shotgun), Bowie Knife, 9mm pistol.
Tom Barringer: Very large physique. Six foot three.  Shotgun. Metal bat.
Tim Barringer: Twin brother of Tom Barringer, equal in appearance and equipment.
Christopher Thompson: Surgical and medical consultant, white DCSA lab-coat. Surgical equipment within a duffle (List will  be given by the player who chooses this character).
Maka Shipuren: Xen 'expert'-Obsessive to the point of disgust by others. Advanced knowledge of Xen creature anatomy. DCSA lab coat.
Carol Garnes: Information Broker and consultant for Eastern European Cities, transferred from Dark Chapel Site Omega. Access to all Dark Chapel resources.
Michael Rhodes: Information Broker and consultant for Western European Cities, transferred from Dark Chapel Site Fox-trot. Access to all Dark Chapel resources.
Marquise Masque-Ex-CCA. (I'm going to be giving HEAVY guide-lines for this character regarding exactly how he managed to cut himself away, exact details will be given by chosen player) DCSA bullet proof vest, Standard Issue Civil Protection Face-Plate. Access to most Dark Chapel resources.
Black and White- Infiltration experts, exacts not given due to the fact that their true nature may be meta-gamed. Used to infiltrate groups of 'at risk' individuals in the areas surrounding Dark Chapel's 'sites'.

Name: The Thirteen Survivors
Age: Ranging
Gender: Male
Affiliation: Resistance

Write a detailed in-canon back-story how your character obtained these authorizations.
"Isn't that cute, sweetie?"
Carol cupped her hands over the toddler's cheeks, puffing them together to give him a comical expression, much to his glee. She smiles warmly, retracting her hands to run the back of her right over the child's soft features. She stares at him longingly, tears swimming in her eyes as her vision grew misty. The woman cleared her throat, kissing the toddler on the forehead lovingly before turning him on his heel, giving him a playful pat on the behind, "Alright, get along and wash your hands, dinner will be ready soon." Carol sighed apprehensively, clutching her right arm against her side as the child skipped off happily, carefree.
He didn't understand the world.

Carol slumped inward, a sudden force sending her jerking forward. She whipped around, scowling, ready to chew out whoever checked her. Instead of the random inconsiderate teenager she was expecting, she was greeted by an aging male with a goofy grin on his face. If you didn't know him, you'd probably be quick to avoid him. He was a muscular man, and however old he was, he was still intimidating. But Carol knew better.
"John, you're an ass hole." Carol snipped, thumping him on the head.
"Yeah, but I'm a pretty ass hole."
"That's disgusting."
John Harper looked down at his feet with a placid expression for several moments. He sneered, nudging the woman in front of him with his elbow, "I should probably think before I speak more often. Not exactly a strong suit of mine. How's Jared?"
Carol's expression waned, looking over her shoulder to stare at the path the toddler had run along moments prior, "I don't think he understands."
"He's a kid, I don't expect him to. But it's terminal and we can't treat it. We've got resources, but we don't have everything. We can only hold onto a semblance of our old lives. I don't even think Jared understands the implications of the situation at hand." John sighed, placing a hand on Carol's shoulder consolingly.
Carol snapped her attention back to Harper, pursing her lips, "He's still so young. He doesn't understand that he's one of the only children alive on the entire planet. I've tried to tell him, but he's so carefree. I worry about him night and day."
"You aren't his mother, you don't need to do that." John cooed, running a hand through Carol's curly brown locks affectionately.
"If I don't, who will? His real mother? She's more interested in those head-humpers." Carol turned from him again, crossing her arms over her torso, staring at the building at the far end of the cavern, the one which Jared had run into.
John sighed, raising a hand to scratch at his neck, "Her research is useful. I'm not condoning her treatment..or..lack there of, towards Jared..but she's a busy woman. The Director probably doesn't want.."
"I don't give a bother about the Director and what he wants! I.." Carol broke off, burying her face into her hands, "I'm sorry, just..spending so much time around those traitorous swine in the 'Civil Protection' is messing with me. Civil Protection my eye." She whipped around to face him once more, "Do you know what they do to people they deem 'trouble individuals'? Last month they hooked a boy up to life-support and forced him to remain conscious and alive while they removed his organs. They let him die on a surgical table. Slowly. As his body failed without his kidneys and liver. He was subjected to the worst possible torment."
John enveloped her in a hug, shushing her, "It's better than turning him into a Stalker. Anything is better than that. It's horrible, but it's nothing new."
Carol sighed, lifting her head up from John's barrel-like chest to wipe away a tear. Her mourningful, sad expression quickly switched to a grimace as another man sauntered passed them. She eyed him up and down, scowling.
He wore a leather jacket, zipped up to the centre of his rib-cage. Accenting this was a pair of dark jeans. His face remained unseen, hidden behind some sort of metallic mask, designed to resemble a daemon. His presence alone was disconcerting, and she wasn't the only one who thought so. She spat on the ground as she saw the Civil Protection face-plate dangling precariously from one of his belt-loops.
John noted her expression following her gaze. Rolling his eyes, he looks down at Carol again, pressing his fingers against her chin, bringing her face level with his, "You need to realize that he's with -us- now. He's done more for Site Alpha than most of the people here, including myself."
Carol jerked out of his grasp, taking several steps back, "I think it'd be best that you go for now, John."
He sighed, inclining his head, "I'll be back. Don't do anything you'll regret, right?" He pursed his lips, sighing as he ran an open palmed hand over his roughly shaven jaw-line. He'd never understand that woman, or any woman in general.
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Right hook.
Michael stumbled back, gripping the side of his face. His opponent was bobbing about on his feet, both hands raised protectively over his face. He wore the standard tank-top-shorts combo that was required during sparring matches. He eyed the male, grimacing. He could see beads of sweat dripping down his ebony skin, his nostrils flaring, and unflaring. He was getting tired.
Michael Rhodes took the first chance he could, bolting forward, swinging a powerful left hook forward before feigning, sweeping out his leg in an attempt to send his opponent sprawling. Luckily, it contacted, and his opponent swung to the ground, his face making contact with the padded floor. From behind him, Michael heard a voice.
"He took a tumble, Tom."
"That he did Tim, that he did."
The two voices chuckled in unison, the one on the left elbowing the one on the righ playfully in the ribs, "Hey, Tom. I don't think White's getting up. Is this still called a black out, or would that be racist?" Tim throws his head back, releasing a boisterous chuckle.
"I think it'd be a White Out, Tim." The twin said, shoving a hand into a pocket on his suit. He produces a small tube of liquid paper, tossing it at the fallen male in the ring.
The twins give each other a short simultaneous glance before doubling over in laughter, clutching their sides. After a few more moments of this, one of them speaks, "I made a funny, Tim. With a prop. I'm Carrot Top."
"Carrot Tom."
The two promptly fall to their sides, kicking their legs in the air as they contiue into a fit of unadulterated hilarity.

In the ring, Michael kept his guard up. White wasn't the kind of man to go down so easily, he's been in and out of stickier situations than that, but technically they both worked in the same field, White's job was just a bit more sensitive. Michael masqueraded as a casual citizen, while White and his partner would go under-cover with resistance, weeding out the bad eggs, putting them into a situation where they would be summarily wiped out. However, it was rarily by his own hand. That would complicate things a great deal.
"Alright." A voice mumbled through padded flooring, "I'm getting too old for this shit."
White raised himself to his feet, running the back of his hand over the trickle of blood oozing out of the corner of his mouth, "I understand the neccessity of daily sparring exercises, but half of the people who are subjected to it never have to use the skills they learn." White flares his nostrils again, rolling his neck as several popping sounds are heard. A moment later, he began moving towards the door, turning his head mid-stride to spit a globual of saliva and blood onto the ground. He was through the door-frame and gone before you could blink twice.
Tim and Tom were on their backs still, but they angled their heads to face the doorway in unison as White dissapeared through the door.
"White seems a little booty bothered, Tim."
"He got a little close to us on the way out, Tom. I could nearly see the Whites of his eyes."
"I think that's a bit off, Tim, he's a-" The two's regular banter was interupted but Michael groaning loudly, "Tim, Can you shut up?! Jesus Fucking Christ, it's all day with you two."
"I'm Tom, he's Tim." One of them quipped, "You can tell because I'm the better looking one."
"No, I am."
"We'll just call you visually pleasing, Tim." He throws his head back again, snorting.
"Can you two shut the fuck up, k-thanks. How does anyone even tell the difference between you two? Especially the Director."
"Well, Mikey. It's actually quite simple." One of them began.
"Yeah," the other interjected, "Tom here has three more  hairs on his head than I do. Open your eyes, Mikey. Jesus, it's  like you don't even know us."
The two rolled over again, kicking and laughing as Michael stormed out the door, throwing his hands into the air.

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The man peaked over the rocky crags over-looking the steaming pool hidden behind it. It floated up elegantly from the sparkling body of water, each individual refraction of light a wonder to behold, but that was the least of the man's interests. Not far from the peeping tom stood an exposed woman, running a sudsy hand over her shoulders, washing herself. Her back was turned the the man.
He could make out every contour of her back, every mound on her spine and even the two dimples hovering beautifully over her full bottom. His mouth hung open as he drooled piggishly on his stoney hiding place. The woman seemed to take notice of this, as she turned to face him ever so slowly. Her face was without flaw. No pimples or blemishes at all. Her button nose turned up as he canted her head, her oddly dry locks of hair cascading down her shoulder. From his hiding place, he could see every detail in her eyes. Eyes that any man could get lost in; a deep, swirling pool of blue that mirrored the body of water perfectly. He slumped forward, sliding down the rocky crags until he landed on his chin, still drooling. The woman giggled, raising a hand. The mist rising from the water swirled around her in a way that shrouded her more sensitive parts from his view, much to his disdain. He tried to silently will them away to no avail. This seemed to only amuse the woman further as he clasped either hand in front of her navel, leaning forward precariously. The mist began to dissipate around her chest as she did this. Her areolas were submerged in the water, hiding them from sight, however, her large bust was visible between her arms, which pressed either breast together seductively.
"Black.." She cooed, her pouty lips seemingly inviting him ever closer. He began to crawl, pawing at the water as he submerged himself in the same pool that she occupied. The woman continued to mutter his name softly, beckoning him closer. He waded through the water until he was directley in front of her. His hands outstretched as she slowly stood up..her arms moving away from her breasts..
His finger twitched, his palms hiding the image from his view, but it wouldn't matter, he would be touching them soon..
His eye-lids fluttered as she spoke again, this time more directly, "Black.."
He nodded slowly, completely entranced by the enchanting figure in front of him. his hands finally made contact with her wide bust, groping the flesh longingly as the woman opened her mouth a final time, her voice a deep, snapping boom, "Black, get your fucking hands off of my chest."

His eyes snapped open, the wonderful scene he was in moments prior long gone. He looked around the room for a moment, blinking.
Medical Bay.
He slowly turned his attention directly above him, where his hands were outstretched, clutching another man's chest tightly, his fingers intertwined in his white lab coat.
"I'm literally going to cut off your hands if you don't let go." Christopher snapped, staring down at the bed-ridden male sternly.
Black ripped his hands back, his neck muscles tensing as  he looked at the opposite side of his bed. An Asian woman hanging over the bed-pan was attempting to hold back laughter, cupping her hand to her mouth.
"Fuck you, Maka." Black spat, his face flushing red.
"Awh, Chris. We embarrassed him." She placed either hand on her hips. turning to the doctor who was straightening the pens in his chest-pocket, patting away the creases the patient had left on his lab-coat, "I'm going to say it's a pretty good assumption that Black is fine now."
Christopher sighed, swiveling back on his chair, halting himself by pressing his heels against the ground in front of a counter. He swiped a clip-board from it, spinning around on the chair's axis before wheeling back to Black's bed, "He's fine. He's  had enough bed-rest. Wounds are healed. Full recovery. Boom." He clapped his hands as if smacking some unseen substance from them, "Try not to get shot up next time you're doing your job, Black. The Director isn't going to keep you around if you fuck up more."
"This was literally the first time. It's not my fault that the idiots who ran that stupid group let in some nasty bugger who turned out to be a head-case. How was I supposed to know that the second he walked into the room, he'd start firing at everyone inside. I'm lucky I got out alive in the first place. Good thing the Seekers were dropping shit off for Price, or I'd be dead." He sighed, raising himself to his feet, "So, I'm going to make a point in saying that if any of what just happened leaves either of your mouths, I'm going to have to kill you."
Christopher scoffed, nodding slowly as he turned to his clip-board agian.
Maka wheeled her own chair towards a separate counter which held a half-dissected head-crab. She didn't respond in the slightest, instead, snapping on her surgical gloves, she picked up her tools once more as Black stormed out of the room.
---------------------------------------------
A man in a tightly fitting sweater ran his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he swiped away another piece of scrawled on paper.  Leaning back on his chair, he swiveling around on it's axis, bringing both hands up to cross behind his head. The sound ofa  door opening caught his attention, but he didn't move from his position.
"Hello there, sweetie." A male's voice rang out. There was a hint of a snicker in his voice, so he oquite obviously wasn't being serious.
"Price Masterson.." The man in the chair began, "You're an idiot. I can already feel a migraine beginning to form. You have a special talent for annoying everyone and anyone. Did you know that?"
"It's a gift, really." The suited man at the door began, running a single gloved finger over the lower strings of his balaclava, "I'm never going to understand why you're ditching Site Alpha. You lot got an amazing set up here."
"Because," The seated man quipped, "You yourself have said that more and more people have been noticing our Seekers and their vehicles picking you up and dropping you off. If people have noticed, Overwatch has as well. We're going to be moving out by the end of the week. The Security Force and the twins will be accompanying me to your last location, Noul Rodna in the Ineu Mountains. We'll set up an impromptu Site there. It's going to be something new, and we won't be as safe. All of the civilians will be sent to Site Gamma."
Price sighed, nodding slowly, "So I basically killed Seymore for nothing. That's awesome. Now I feel like a prick. It would've been nice if you lot told me about this -before- Harper had me kill Seeing Eye."
"Seymore was a liability to begin with. You did what you were told, and there's nothing to be ashamed about for such a thing. But that's not why I had the Seekers pick you up and bring you back to Site Alpha. You told me that there was a group who you wanted to give information about."
The suited male clapped his hands, "A-yup. The guy up top is named Fixer, I think. The other is some black guy. Never caught his name. They have a vehicle and are well armed. But I'm going to assume the situation is going to be handled on it's own without us needing to intervene. They've killed people in the past for equipment for what I hear, and I'm pretty sure one of them is a rapist."
"I will -never-.." Director Tennise began, "-understand how people can act so maliciously towards their fellow man in these times. If anything, we should all be working together. But no, they're all seperated cut-throats more interested in holding power over others. It's sad, really. If they're not dealt with by another, then I'm going to have a talk with them personally. Or we'll use Black and White, I'm sure they can deal with something like that with ease."
"Black got shot in his last operation, right?" Price mumbled, clearing his throat.
"He's a good man. He won't let that happen again." Tennise snapped, crossing his arms over his torso, raising himself to his feet. "I need you to go tell Marquise and Harper that everyone needs to gather at the Plaza in fifty minutes."
Price nodded once, his facial expression softening as he turned on his heel, exiting the room.
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The echoing sounds of scores of people muttering filled the cavern. The stage in front of them was empty, save for Tom and Tim, who, uncharacteristically, were standing quietly, arms crossed in front of their torsos.
Carol looked to her right, nudging John, "I doubt the civilians are going to take the news well. They've grown attached to this cavern, and the other sites aren't nearly as well equipped as Alpha."
John shrugged, staring plainly at the stage, "We're about to find out. Look."

Up on the wooden platform, a man in a black suit sauntered between the twins, raising both hands up to call for silence. His facial expression was tight and complacent. The wrinkles in his face defined by the shadows cast by the artificial lighting.
"Quiet, please." He boomed. The cavern immediately fell to a murmur, then silent. The Director wasn't someone who was ignored easily. And he easily deserved the respect he was given.
"I'm sure you've all heard the rumors," He began, "That Site Alpha is going to be left behind for another location."
Muttering was heard from the crowd.
"It's true."
The muttering exploded into protests, random people yelling out in despair.
"QUIET!" Director Tennise yelled, easily drowning out the other's yelling, which all stopped at once.
"Remaining here is no longer safe!" He boomed, "Our position will soon be compromised, if it hasn't been already! Overwatch is always looking for bases like this, and we were not once promised never-ending peace. We all knew in our hearts that one day it would end." He looked down at his feet, throwing a hand towards the way towards the Cavern Entrace, "But today is not that day. We're leaving before that can happen. We will be sending you all to Site Gamma. Those of you who wish to accompany myself and Site Alpha's specialists to Noul Rodna are welcome, but mind you that we will be in an exceptional amount of danger. Our move will begin next week. Most of our auxillary resources have already been transported by the Seekers, as you have already been made aware of. You will be equipped with a small Security Force during your transport to Site Gamma. You will be removed in groups of ten and will take seperate routes in order to deviate attention from you. This trip may or may not be safe, but for every three citizens, there will be on Task Force member. They are well armed and trained individuals as you well know, and they will keep you safe if it costs them their lives. To speak to another subject; I'm aware that you've all also heard rumor of DCSA being spoken of within the cities. Seymore, the man who spoke of us, has been dealt with. He was a traitor, do not mourn him. He could have easily killed you because of his ramblings. However, word has -not- reaches the cities, which means Overwatch has most likely also not learned of our existence yet. Saul and Third Eye have assured me that where their influence is felt, Dark Chapel's existence is unknown. This is backed up by both of our City Specialists, Carol Garnes and Michael Rhodes. They have worked hard for all of you to keep you safe, and you should be thankful. I ask that you all move back to your respective homes and pack your things, but only take what is necessary. Other amneties will be provided at Site Gamma in the forest. Now, please clear out of the Plaza, it is needed for material and resource transport.."
'This isn't going to be easy', Tennise thought to himself as he turned on his heel, walking off of the stage.

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"Only take what is needed for the initial move." Tennise ordered, finishing wrapping himself in his vest, "We don't have enough vests for everyone. The Task Force needs them more than us. If we die, then Noul Rodna doesn't receive our aid. They've lived like that for this long, and we lost a possible new site. If they die, then countless innocents will die."
Tom and Tim looked each other over, a somber expression on their faces, something entirely uncharacteristic.
"I presume you've all prepped with extra firing practice and sparring. There's no telling what we will be forced to deal with when we arrive at Noul Rodna." He said as he slams his pistol into it's holster.
"Alright, let's move."
The thirteen men and women in the room turned on their heels respectively, exiting the room into the Plaza Cavern. The armoury was now bare, all of the auxillary weapons and ammunition long since gone, transported out. They used a small cavernous path away from the cave's 'plaza'. It wasn't long before each of them had exited the base all-together, journeying towards a mountainous peak to the north.


------------------------------------
“Overwatch!”, a female voice rang out. The exclamation was cut short, however; the last syllable absent from the rest of the sentence, so all that was heard was ‘Overwat-‘. Regardless of this fact, the denizens of the cavern went into frenzy. What was originally a calm and collected group of refugees, getting ready to leave in groups for their next destination, became a stampede of frantic men women and children, running for their lives. Discernible amongst the screaming was the tell-tale sound of a Pulse Rifle’s secondary firing capabilities. A high pitched drawl rang through the air, slowly rising in decibel. The sound’s origin was an imposing figure at the mouth of the cavern. He (or she) donned a set of thick white armour emblazoned with several insignias. Its face was covered by a gas-mask coupled with a helmet that mirrored the design of the rest of its suit.  In the gargantuan’s hands was clutched a polished grey weapon with an long angular barrel, the mouth which was emanating a bright iridescent glow. The sound continued to rise before it changed tone dramatically. The sound that was heard now was reminiscent of the one prior, but it sounded as if it was being heard through a long metallic tube. On cue, the second this new note offered itself to the horrifying plethora of screaming voices, a blinding light issued forth from the terrifying man’s weapon. A perfectly round ball of pure energy shot through the cavern, making contact with several people in its path. As if in a science fiction movie, these people immediately rose into the air, their forms dissipating into individual particles. The second the ball made contact, they were already dead. The ghosts of their forms, an outline and nothing more, was all that was left. But a matter of seconds later, and that was gone as well.

 

               The weapon’s wielder had slunk back behind the gate it had come upon firing the weapon, and for good reason. The second the destructive force it had unleashed made contact with a solid surface, it rebounded, cutting a swathe through the cavern, disintegrating men women and children indiscriminately. After what felt like ages, the ball finally ceased to exist suddenly in mid-air, a wave of energy exploding from it, sending scores of refugees flying in different directions. From the fallen bodies, the invader could be seen once more. He was slinking back into the room, sweeping his rifle around. From behind him, three more similarly dressed, but darkly coloured, soldiers came into view. They held identical rifles, save for one, who held what seemed to be some modified form of a shotgun. It seemed as though the one in white was at the helm, as he lead the group forward. Said soldier raised his rifle a second time, the same sound bringing forth a new set of screams from the crowd of people that still breathed.

               From the right of the sound came another, even louder one. A man draped in a darkly coloured Kevlar vest released a loud, booming cry as the weapon in his hand discharged. He seemed to have jumped out of cover moments prior, as the white Overwatch soldier was caught completely off-guard. It had little time to react as it’s central visor shattered, the white material on it’s face being replaced by a deep crimson as the bullet entered and exited it’s skull. Grey matter coupled with blood cascaded to the side as the soldier fell. The two immediately behind it suddenly brought their own weapons up, discharging them in the man’s direction. He was lucky enough to narrowly avoid the first string of bolts, but was struck in the calf mid-leap in his attempt to move back into cover. He slammed against the wall, slumping down as countless numbers of shots were fired upon him, rending flesh from bone and covering him and his surroundings in a coat of blood.

               The two soldiers clutching automatic weaponry immediately went about arching their weapons over the remaining group of refugees, raining hell-fire upon their still screaming forms. Scores died this way, men falling dead atop wives and mothers fruitlessly shielding their children from the bullets. This continued for several long minutes, only a choice few making it away from the assault....


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From high atop one of the rocky crags, a man sat crouched over an overhang, watching as countless Overwatch soldiers poured into the cavern that he had once called home. His heart hardened as hideous tripedal creatures bounded into the mouth of the Site, releasing terrifying mechanical screeches which only added to the sounds of screaming still echoing from the cave-mouth.

“You knew, didn't you?” The shaky voice of a woman bit out in a hushed tone. From this height, there was no way they would be heard, but the threat was immediate and the fear of detection was high. “You knew the whole time that they were coming, and you let this happen.”

Tears spilled from Carol’s eyes as she buried her face in the man beside her’s chest. John wrapped a hand around her shoulders, his face stoic. He had known as well. It was only a few days prior that reports of Overwatch movement were sent in from both Price and the Seekers. The information was kept from a vast majority of the Dark Chapel Site Alpha community. John bit his lip, the distinct feeling of a lump in his throat causing him to cough loudly, attempting to hide his own anguish and drown out the echoes of the raid in one go.

There was a choice few others with them in their mountainous hiding place, the rest already sent into the Ineu Mountains under the cover of night. The others accompanying them seemed to have the same emotion and response as Carol did. Despair.

“It..” The man watching the scene bit out, “It was something that couldn’t be helped. Call me a monster if you must, but..”

“You let all of those people die!” Carol cried, ripping herself from John Harper’s grasp, “You knew that this was coming and you didn’t warn anyone!”

The Director whipped around, scowling as he attempted to keep a tight facial expression. He was not a man to show weakness, and this was no exception. “I said, think what you want. But consider what would have happened if I had told them. Panic. They would have ran out into the wild and either died or been picked off by Overwatch either way. Or captured and tortured. There was no way for us to send them out to the other Sites. If we had, Overwatch would have tailed the path they took and found them. There were sacrifices made today. Necessary sacrifices. It was unavoidable. If I hadn't let this happen, then countless more lives would be lost, and the Dark Chapel Initiative would be razed to the ground in one fell stroke. By allowing Overwatch the think that this was a single community, and not linked to other similar sites, we’ve allowed all other areas to continue peacefully for now. Do not patronize me. You would have made the same decision in my shoes.” He grabbed his bag from the ground, aggressively pulling the strap over his head, letting the sack dangle from his side as he sauntered off.

The few men and women behind with Carol and Harper stood in place for several long moments, watching him in silence as Tennise disappeared behind a large spire of mountain rock.

John pursed his lips, clearing his throat as he grabbed his own supplies, taking a few steps forward before turning his head, looking at the rest of the group solemnly, “We’d better catch up. Come on.”

He turned on his heel, taking a moderately quick pace after the Director, the other refugees in tow.



What will these authorizations give your character in regards to perks or defects?
Perks
The creation of RP, and hopefully calming down Outlands a bit.

Defects
The presence of such a large new group will cause fuss and surely bring about Overwatch's ire.

What do you plan to do with these perks/defects?
The whole reason I've created Dark Chapel is to bring RP to the Outlands in the field of Passive RP and general non-violent RP. The Outlands currently is a place where players who want to tote guns walk around shooting eachother. Which is bullocks. Basically, no administrator should worry about us being elitist or waggling around out e-peens because the whole reason I crated Dark Chapel was to do away with that.

I'm fully aware that this doesn't specify each character and their back-grounds. To reclarify, each player who takes a character will require an authorization application regarding their obtaining skills that would have made them useful to Dark Chapel Site Alpha. The site, weapons and existence is already authorized by a member of the Super Administration team. Most of the supplies will be random things, such as food, tables, and other useful resources needed for survival and RP.

Will anyone else need these auths? (If so, list OOC and IC name(s))
Yes, but each player who wishes to take up a character will require both my blessing, due to the fact that these characters can NOT be abused, and the blessing of the Administration Team.

Which server does this apply for?
Outlands

Extra Notes (optional):

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Post Auto-Merged: April 10, 2013, 09:57:41 PM

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Also, as each character is taken over, I'll be writing an outline for the character, basically fleshing them out and explaining them for each player.

Player Section

Steam Name: Reaver/Multiple variations of that.
Age: 19
How long have you been Roleplaying? (can be any game): Multiple years.
How long have you been playing Serious GMod RP?: Three years.

Character Section

Authorization(s):
-A Safari Grade BAR Mk. II Browning Hunting Rifle (I assumed this would fall under the umbrella of MP7s, since it's still a rifle, however only semi-automatic, but still a rifle none-the-less.)
-Ammunition for said rifle.
-Dark Chapel Security Jacket.

Name: Price Masterson
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Affiliation: Resistance

Write a detailed in-canon back-story how your character obtained these authorizations.
The loud roar of the engine was starting to get annoying. Price's hands were bound behind his back, and a bag was over his head. He could see little through the combination of his balaclava and the ruck-sack tied off around his neck. He wasn't concerned, this was a regular occurrence, and had been for several months now. He sat quietly for what felt like ages, and indeed it was quite a long while. During this leg of the journey, he had been in the bed of the truck for a good seventeen hours. The day before, he had been in it for twelve. They were getting close, and they should be there within the next few hours.
The truck lurched forward, then back, sending him tumbling backwards onto the bed of the vehicle.
"We're here."
Oops. Bad guess at time.
The gruff voice could be heard coming closer. Before long, the bag was untied and removed from his head. He sat up slowly, allowing the man to untie his hands. Price heard a chuckle as they helped him out of the truck, "Bag must be nothin' new to you, G-Man. Wearin' the cloth over your face all the fuckin' time."
Price rolled his eyes, something unseen behind his balaclava. He arched his shoulders, looking around at the familiar surroundings. They were deep within a rocky crevice, little light made it down here, thanks to a number of rocky over-hands above them which zig-zagged against themselves. They were immediately in front of a large gate with several armed guards flanking either side. The one on the left nodded politely at him, the one on the right however, glared. Price and his two escorts made their way towards the locked fence, both men flashing a key-card. The guards threw open the gate, giving them entry. Price lagged behind some-what, still in relative awe at the fact that this group of individuals could remain out of Combine detection for such a long time. This thought was cut short, as a large amoutn of force sent him staggering to his left.
He knew what it was.
The guard to the right flicked the suited male off, scowling, "Fuck you, you fuck up around here and I'll be the one to put holes in you, and it won't be fucking slow."
Price sneered behind his balaclava, a gesture detected by the other man, who flushed red with rage.
"Woah there, Skippy," Price retorted, "Didn't know it was your wife. Maybe that wouldn't have happened if she wasn't so loose. Never once mentioned you, but.." He continued through the gate, yelling out, "She's mentioned me several times!" He jolted into a run, catching up with his escorts while the enraged screams from behind him broke off into a slew of curses. The second he caught up, he got a nice little smack on the side of the head.

---------------------------------------

The trio had to pass through a mile of jagged rocks and rough terrain, bending, ducking, jumping and scaling rocks in order to get to a large opening in the rock-face. The opening, as it seemed, was just that. A sizable hole in the side of the mountains. But what was inside, was what mattered.

---------------------------------------

Another gate, another group of guards. Yet another door, yet another pair of armed men. A final entrance, a final duo of males totting guns. It was tedious, but Price understood why it was needed. The final door was thrown open, and Price was greeted by a spacious cavern that may have been an old mine. Lanterns hung from the roof, and electrical currents were all lined up nicely to a number of Transformers that were stacked amongst the walls. There were a large number of small buildings in the centre, and men and women were sauntering around, going about their business. By their attire, it was obvious that these were individuals of no consequence. People that called this place home.
"Price, you jack-ass, get over here."
The suited male jerked his head to one side, seeing an older man dressed in a blue flak-jacket, hands placed leisurely against his hip-bones. His facial expression was warm, and his lips were spread into a welcoming grin.
"I hope Tim and Tom didn't give you much trouble," the man called after him.
"Nah, they were nice enough. Better than the first time I came in here." Price quipped, walking towards the man with an extended hand.
The man gripped Price's palm, jerking it up and down in a strong hand-shake, "What brings you here this time? I hope you have something to tell us."
Masterson shrugged, eyeing the older gentleman with a grin, "Nothing bad to tell ye, but people are starting to hear about you lot because of Seymore. He's spouting of shit randomly. Poor old guy's gone senile. But if you need me to, I can kick him in the ass, or push him off a cliff, John."
John huffed, pursing his lips, "Seymore was a good man, but something bad's gotten to him. He needs to be put down before he reveals our location. I could do without the Union busting in here, guns-a-blazing. We can deal with humans, but we can't deal with Overwatch."
"They are human."
"No they aren't."
"John. Yes they are."
The larger male canted his head to the side, "No, they're fucking not. Or at least not anymore. But let's not talk about this. I'm going to need you to deal with Old Seeing-Eye Seymore."
Price inhaled, then exhaled in a long drawn out sigh, "I hope you don't expect me to just blow his head off. The guy was a good bloke, couldn't I deliver him back to Dark Chapel?"
"No, if he's been talking about us that much, then we can't swoop in and take him away. There are undoubtedly people watching him, and maybe Overwatch too. It'd be too risky. We need him put out of commission."
"Can I at least-"
"No, if you plan on continuing any interactions with us, then I'm going to suggest you do as I ask. Seymore has been causing more trouble than he's worth. And no matter how much it hurts for me to say this, he has to die."
Price throws his hands up, bending his head back to release a loud groan, "Fine. But I'm not doing shit unless you give me something better than a hand-held to do away with him. That'd include me gettin' close enough to kill him without missing his head. And then people would be watching me."
"Naturally, we've already spoken with Director Tennise, we're authorized to supply you with more fire-power."
"I want something with rockets."
"No."
"Snip-"
"No."
"Do I get anything fun?"
"You get what we give you. We don't even have to let you stay here."
"Yeah, but you have to give me something to pick him off from a distance."
John runs his teeth over his bottom lip, flaring his nostrils, "You get a rifle. That's it. Nothing fancy either, semi-automatic. No super bunker-bustin' mega uber rifle. Just a good old hunting rifle."
"Does it loo-" Price began, but he was quickly cut off.
John had raised his hand, keeping Price from continuing on with his sentence. He rummaged inside of a large crate before pulling out a intricately designed rifle, the muzzle of which was covered by what seemed to be a carved eagle's beak.
"Nothing fancy my ass." Price yelled giddily ,"That mother's sexy."
John sneered, pulling out two cartridges, shoving them into Price's chest, "Yeah, well you'd better put it to good use. It belonged to Tarren. May he rest in peace." John lowered his head, placing his hand against his chest for a moment of silence.
"Maybe if he hadn't pissed off Gerald, he'd still be alive. That fucker's insane as it is. He practically started the fight to begin with." The suited man responded, peering down the Hunting Rifle's sights, aiming it around at the ceiling.
"He didn't deserve to die, Price." John mewled, sighing.
"Then maybe he shouldn't have tripped Gerald down a flight of stairs." Price mumbled, too entranced in fingering the contours of his new toy. He raised it up, slinging it over his back before stuffing the cartridges into his bag, "So, I assume Tim and Tom get to d rive me back to that shit-hole now."
"Yup."
"Do I get a kiss goodbye?"
"Shut up."
Price snickered, extending his hand, "Until we meet again? When the boys drop off my next shipment, I'll make sure to have something better to tell you all. And if we're lucky, Seymore will be gone."
John took the hand, shaking it heartily, "Don't die, Price. You're the only idiot we can find who won't blather off about us to everyone he sees, and still wants to stick around out there, instead of staying with us in here."
"Yup, tell Wade I said that next time I come back I want him to stop fuckin' his woman and make me something nice to eat." Price quipped.
"Wade hates you."
"And?"
John smirked, shaking his head before turning Price around, shoving him back towards Tim and Tom, "Get going. And keep in touch."
Price nodded slowly, walking back towards the entrance of the cavern, the brothers leading him forward.



What will these authorizations give your character in regards to perks or defects?
Perks
A rifle, naturally. Price is authorized to be skilled with rifles, so that's an addition.

Defects
The more times he is transported to and from Dark Chapel, the more the base risks detection.

What do you plan to do with these perks/defects?
Killing Seymore might alert Overwatch, if they have indeed been watching, due to the fact that rumors have been spreading about the man.
Seymore is armed, and if Price doesn't pull it off the way he's planned, he might not make it out unscathed.

Will anyone else need these auths? (If so, list OOC and IC name(s))
Nein.

Which server does this apply for?
Outlands

Extra Notes (optional):
I'd ask that the rifle's model NOT be MP7, and rather a CSS model, since it's like...not an MP7, yes. okty
Also, see this thread; http://www.catalyst-gaming.net/index.php?topic=23457.0
It's existence is in fact authorized.

---

Post Auto-Merged: March 28, 2013, 07:54:44 PM

---

Also, the Jacket will be optained when Seymore is killed. As he is wearing it.

//Right, so in light of the fact that the server is down, and we are all bored, that's right, I'm speaking for you, I've decided to create a Forum RP for us. The rules are as follows,
Everything that goes on in this thread is strictly In Character, as in what happens will carry over to the City Server, and will be counted as In-game goings-on.
Treat this as you would the City, meaning anything said can and will be used against you if you decide to be a knob.
All rules that apply on the server apply here, and if you do something that will warrant you being killed in this thread, you will be removed from the CAB as if it were on dat City server.

The room was filled with a waxing glow from the small, enclosed window within the wall adjacent to the broadcasting equipment. The distant sounds of radios emitting shrill pings could be heard coming from below the elevator shaft, as well as the closing and opening of doors. The low hum of a distant Helicopter could be heard passing over the otherwise quiet city as a man stepped out from behind the Broadcasting Camera's view. He wore a dark coloured suit with bright lapels, the tie that hung from his collar lain immaculately against his pressed undershirt. He raised his free hand, the one not clutching the off-white carbon-fiber cane, and ran it through his slicked back hair. It was early morning, and he had just declassified several documents, relaying the information to the public about the new Third Precinct. As he slowly used his cane as a strut, he shambled over towards the desk at the far end of the room. The silence was suddenly broken by the loud groaning of the lift, slowly making its way up the shaft towards the office, bearing an unknown occupant..

Once upon in time there were humens and analmals in ravenhole, the sky was happy and full off hop, in ravenhole there was a man called bob grigori he was a nice man and worked in an church in the middle off city off ravenhole. all was good that day but then the cobmines invaded and staerted killing all the humens in city off ravenhole, the cobmines killed with headgarbs that flew down in rockets and landed in bobs room bob then took out his wepon and shot the headgarbs bob then saw his wife and rest of family were evil headgarb zombies
"YOU WILL BE ONE OF US BOB!"
Shouted the evil zombie headgarbs bob then shots the evil family zombies in the face but sadly because he didnt want to then he ran outside and saw the cobmines had taken all of earth and the humens were sad bob let cry fall from his face as he shouted but quiet cus the evil cubmines were looking for humens and evil zombies to shot at, bob then saw the cumbin tower that went up in clouds and sparked with sparks cumbiens were flying around the sky and on the ground with stridars and picture bots bob gregori looked at them and got mad and picked up a riffle from the ground he then said
"Dam yu cobmine i am going back to ravenhole to help humens and give pepple hop!" the cobmine tower laughed and said "haha bob gregori" bob then went back to ravenhole and found that everyone was evel zombie headgarbs bob then vowwed to kill them all and get revenge on the cumbiens for killing the humens and analmals. "THIS ISNT OVER!!!11!" bob gregori shouted at top of voice.

By, a fucking idiot named Dalas


Admin edit;
Reaver you should have known, that this... Poorly written history, sorry to say, would belong in spam instead of in creations.
I'll go ahead and give you a 10% warning for doing such, as you already know the rules.
10% warning issued ~Challenge.

Player Section

Steam Name: Reaver/Binders Full of Reaver/You all know who I am
Age: 18
How long have you been Roleplaying? (can be any game): Several years
How long have you been playing Serious GMod RP?: Several years

Character Section

Authorization(s):
An established Trade Route between the Outlands and Price, within the city. This will never amount to anything major, and if it was anything controversial, I will post another authorization application. This will be food and other items such as radios occasionally and Every other week, a very small piece of weaponry, this could be anything ranging from a small knife to a shovel.
This is also an OL Appeal, for Price to re-enter the city. As it states, he also possesses one 9mm pistol with one magazine within. This was obtained ICly, and I do in fact have it in my inventory.


Name: Price Masterson
Age: In his twenties
Gender: Male
Affiliation: Resistance

Write a detailed in-canon back-story how your character obtained these authorizations.
Price rolled over off of the boxes that he had meticulously laid out in the basement. Rubbing his eyes, he looked down at his otherwise naked torso. The red blotches that irritated the pale, usually clear complexion of his upper body were easily visible in the dull, artificial lighting of the room. They were incredibly itchy, but he had grown to the point that the feeling could be ignored after a bit of concentration. With a deep groan, one over-exaggerated in order to see if he could raise a reaction out of any of the possible early-wakers, he lazily raised himself to his sore feet. The only sound from above was the lonely pitter-patter of some stray creature scampering acrossed the rotting floor-boards of the Inn. Using his arms as leverage, he took an uneasy step forward, the Vertigo haze from standing up too quickly still obscured his vision greatly. Taking half a moment to lean to either side, weighing himself against his pelvic bones, he released a long sigh of pleasure as each pleasant pop sounded from his achy back. Slinging the bags over his shoulder, Price stumbled into the other room, tossing the more cushioned of the two in the corner, the one which housed his gun, wrapped carefully in several articles of clean clothing. The other he laid down with a greater sense of care, this was full of bottles, and other such delicate items. Sadly, it was lighter than it used to be....and his stock was running low..
-Insert some segway here for a transition from flash-back to present day-
Price had met a few men soon after coming to Belles. Apparently, they were from some sort of organized resistance a border over. They explained that for several months, that had been attempting to make contact with those within the city, and establish a sort of trading route, one that would involve the trade of goods for information. Unfortunately, they confided in Price that they had no way to hold contact with any of those inside. Price explained to the men that he had every intention of moving back into the city, and he would be more than happy to discuss a deal. Besides, receiving tangible objects in exchange for verbal communication was by far one of the better deals he has ever made. They promised him that every other shipment, something special would be added, to sweeten the deal. An odd book, small electrical appliance, perhaps a medical item or two, even minor weaponry(Although Price assumed he meant things such as pipes and shovels [Which is right]). Naturally, with any deal there is a catch, and this one was no different. The trade would be conducted weekly, on Fridays at the dead of night, at the turn of 11:00 PM. The supplies would be left just within the pipe that people used to escape and re-enter the city. However, it would be difficult, as the threat of location and detection were at a peak. Was it really worth it?...
[Another booby segway, something that flows]
Price shook his head, sighing as he slowly slipped into his darker suit, seeing as the journey ahead of him surely was to be a dirty, long and hard one. Wrapping the tight cloth of his covered fingers aroudn the white balaclava, Price tugged the ends over his crown, brow, and then his head, successfully concealing his unshaven mug.

The newly suited man took an easy stride when he exited the door, clearing his throat in order to catch the attention of the four men clustered around a small cart filled to the brim with a wide assortment of supplies. At the head of the recepticle was a green, bipedal craeture goraning quietly. It looked noticably more content upon the arrival of Price, as that signaled the time for departure. Price wasted no time, striding toward the creature to pat it gently on it's bony shoulder. Moments later, they were pulling the cart forward, moving back to the city...

It was quite awhile before the cart arrived at teh outpost; which naturally was abandoned. The others were keen to check the structure for supplies, while Price fancied staying behind to catch his wind..and he couldn't help thinking back to the altercation with the men again...
[Another fucking segway I need to think of]
"There's plenty in it for you," Arron mused, staring Price dead in the eye, "You know the offer, and all we ask for compensation is information. You get a shipment weekly, along with a little something-somethign every other time. We fully understand your reluctance, fella. Climbing in and out of that sewage pipe or whatever every week isn't going to be a cake-walk. Especially so often, and in the cover of night. But the mutual benefit? Woooooowee! Not to mention what those poor bastards in City 45 get to reap...the advantage is substantial, man."
Price scoffed, rolling his eyes beneath the cloth that masked his unpleasant features,"Right, and what happens with Overwatch becomes privy to our little 'operation', eh? They kill me, and end up shoving their hands up your asses, working your mouths like puppets to make you talk."
Stevenson hopped off teh wagon, shaking his head,
"It'd be the price we have to pay then, iddn't? The interest of many over the interest of few, ye?"
Price released an exasperated sigh, chuckling lightly,
"I want one more thing."
"Ain't got no ladies, fella," Arronguffawed, offering a warm smile.
"No," Price waved a hand, chuckling, "Four months from now? Ye...I'm coming back with you."
[Yay! Another segway I need to think of!]

They were finally back on the road, Price at the head with the Vortigaunt. It would only take roughly one day more, and they would be at City 45..


What will these authorizations give your character in regards to perks or defects?
Perks
The ability to sell contraband within the city, as well as give myself Passive Roleplay.
Also, the gun will only ever be used for protection Price has no motive for killing, and will not. The gun is a last resort

Defects
It will become dangerous to move in and out of the city regularly to get the supplies, also, if a Loyalist sees the gun somehow, I'm basically fucked.

What do you plan to do with these perks/defects?
Create passive RP for me and others by having resources and food, drink and occasionally, more tangible items

Will anyone else need these auths? (If so, list OOC and IC name(s))
Nein.

Which server does this apply for?
City

Extra Notes (optional):
Admin edit: Editted after speaking with Reaver. You may ask him or me, over pm / steam. -Challenge.

If it was true, that would mean that there is a universe where Multiverse Theory is false.

My head hurts.

Player Section

Steam Name: Reaver
Age: 19
How long have you been Roleplaying? (can be any game): Several Years
How long have you been playing Serious GMod RP?: Several Years

Character Section

Authorization(s):
Laptop and Mobile DVD Player-Only plausible way to recharge either would be from a Vort, and they both would end up being over-loaded and stop working.
Advanced skills in Metal-working, welding, engineering and mechanical work.
Autism- Glen suffers from a minor case of Asperger's.
Welding equipment as well as material used in meta-working.
(There might be a thing or two I forgot to type, but it will be in the story.)
Numerous small gadgets, ranging from the Torch Light to the NOVA Laser from wickerlasers.com. he preffered using his enhanced version of the laser to cut metals.

Name: Glenn Moyers
Age: Late twenties-early thirties.
Gender: Male
Affiliation: None

Write a detailed in-canon back-story how your character obtained these authorizations.
Birth:It was 1985 when the baby was born. Unfortunately, it was done so prematurely to an unwed teenage mother at the age of fifteen. Due to complications with the birth and the mother's under-developed reproductive organs and small frame, she required a Cesarean Section, which led to her death. Allison Moyers passed away leaving a unhealthy, dying child to the care of interns at Lake West Hospital. The father, a 43 year ld man doing time in prison for the rape that led to Glenn's conception, was in no way legally allowed to even see the child. On of the Scrubs, Morie Castello, was a single mother of a four year old daughter and was actively looking to adopt. After taking care of the legal implications of the birth and contacting close loved ones, she was legally able to take the boy into her care.

Middle School: At the age of thirteen, Glenn was placed in Moritory Middle; a secondary school commended nationally for it's clubs, extra-curricular activities and after-school programs. Although Glenn detested the thought of going to Public School, and would have rather stayed home to be taught , like most kids his age, he wanted a friend. This view was altered drastically half-semester when Glenn was placed into the school's Metal-shop program. In this short period of time, Glenn came to the realization that he not only had an affinity for Metal-working, he excelled in the class! Before long, he held top marks in the class, and stayed after school to participate in extra assignments. This was his first time using welding equipment, and he loved it. If it contained moving parts, he would soon find out how it worked, how to take it apart, and how to put it back together.

High School: In his first year as a Freshman, Glennw as diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, which both explained his obsession with metals and his lack of ability to properly socialize with other children his age. He had, by this time, created a friend for himself, named Alfred. Alfred would do anything Glenn asked, and although he was imaginary, it made him happy. He used Alfred as a crutch, a way to fill the gap that real friends had left there. The second symptom was his self-imposed need to take recluse in a subject that he could pour hundreds of hours into, which ended up being working with metals, and after his freshman year, also engineering. Taking courses ranging from, but not limited to, Vehicular Maintenance and Repair, Commoneer's Engineering and Advanced Mechanical work, he exceeded in all elective classes up to his senior year, however, he let his main courses slip. By the end of his High School years, he had taken nearly every optional class in the mechanical field.

College bound: Glen had, by his second year out of school, been able to construct, wire and program a meriad of silly machines and gadgets around his home. He also became enamored with Spot Welding, and even took an online course in spot-welding armour and weapons. (This was due to his love of Fantasy Video Games, and only did this due to personal interest. He never really used the skill.) Thanks to the internet, several local classes he took, and books that he had read into, as well as Glenn's ever-growing interest in metal-work, he had also learned how to craft and program several simple robotics in his house, two of these being Arm Attachments for his Toaster, which butter bread after catching it, to a pressure-pad under his bed to use so when he lays upon the mattress, his box fan would activate, giving him White Noise so he could sleep. it also sensed movement, so when he fell asleep, it would turn off to allow energy conservation. His skills would only increase when he was accepted to Baldin Wallace University, where he took several pre-requisite classes in his first two years. Accompanied with coursers surrounding advanced metal-work, robotics and Mechanical engineering, he took history classes regarding the Iron Ages as well as the history of metal-working, welding and such. After several more years, he had obtained several degrees, and was on the track to graduate. However, due to his fixation to working with metal, and his lack of the ability to do so during his University days, he dropped out, although he retained plentiful knowledge concerning the field. He took several jobs in the coming years, from a job at a Robotics Research Facility ran out of his neighboring town to a Floor job at Lincoln Electric. This job was heald for several years, and the employees always complained that someone had been swiping materials from the bins, and taking them home...

The Storm:Glen raised a hand to wrap the rough work gloves that entrapped his thick hard fingers around the lever, pulling it down as he watched through the dusty, scuffed view-port. The large rusted meta-caked bucket behind the window tipped on it's side, spilling its contents into the large swirling vat below it.
"There are plenty of things that could be made into, if only I could.."
 He shook his head, clearing up his mind as he turned on the heel of his heavy steel-toed work boots, the man shuffled passed the Fillarod Foreman, heading back towards his little cot that he held in his locker-closet, he had about...an hour? He was a heavy sleeper, so he had best be careful. As he slid passed next shift's workforce, he was greeted by several nodding work-man and the occasional, "Hey, Glenn", or "How are the wide and kids, Glenn?" He had neither, so he had no clue what the hell they were talking about. When the dark-haired man arrived at his cot, he flipped into it, slipping almost immediately into sleep.

It's a weird feeling...falling. You feel weight-less. As if you wer-.
Glenn's eyes shot open quickly, snapping his head up, he smacked it onto a large metallic rod. It didn't used to be there...Just before he once again passed out...he could hear the screams..
Breaking news stories, invaders obliterating all in their path...
Those at home not yet struck by each blow huddled together...the world as a whole was waiting for the death they knew would come. Droves of people being abducted and taken away to God knows where....then...silence.
It only took seven hours, you know.
Seven hours to destroy a world-wide civilization that took thousand of years to create.

Glen had found himself in an unforgiving world, and he wasn't exactly sure how he had escaped, or how he had been so lucky as to have been able to grab his things. He quickly left for home, taking a plethora of supplies from work, and loading them into the bed of the modified ATV that he kept in his garage. He stowed many of his belonging into the vehicle, quickly driving it off into the woods after tarping the truck-bed. After several more months, Glenn had arrived at a small run-down, nearly picked-clean town. There was only a small amoutn of things worth taking, some he took that weren't needed, but he wanted. A comprehensive list of what was found; An Alienware laptop containing several games, a CAD program, and Photoshop 2014, along with a portable DVD player, both found in a small boy's room in one of the houses. He also found a lot of Playboy magazines under the bed, but he left them there for obvious reasons. Several walkie-talkies, non-perishable food stuffs and bags were also found.
Loading these into the truck bed as well, and he drove off down the road. That night, he was sure he heard voices.

Glenn awoke at the wheel, quickly, he began his morning drive down the road, keeping to the wood-side to evade detection. After awhile, he noticed several oddly dressed men brandishing large, odd looking weaponry as well as sporting Kevlar vests. He cut the engine, allowing a slow drift into the brush, where he stowed the truck beneath fallen timber, leaves and grass. Off in the distance, there seemed to be a reasonably sized town. Although it was far off, he was sure he could cover the truck, take what he can carry, and walk the rest of the way. He did just this, packing several tools as well as a single radio, the laptop and some of the supplies. After roughly two miles, Glen came upon a small hatchet spliced inside of a fallen tree's trunk. Wrapping his fingers around the handle, he wiggled it, trying to free it from it's wooden vice. That was when he heard the engine. He wheeled around, slinking back in fear as he saw a stripped jeep zip passed him. He was unable to catch sight of the driver, but a panel labeled "Beans" was plastered on the back, where the license plate should be. With a sigh, Glenn released the ax, slinging it, and promptly he would return on his trek. Deciding to follow the path of the jeep, Glen kicked a pebble down the cliffside to his left. Down below, a splash was heard, a bad idea. Immediately following the action, several luminescent white balls of energy zoomed past his head, nearly taking off his head. He took no moment to ponder this, as he sprinted back down the road. After awhile, he heard more gun-shots, this time sounding more familiar. Following the cease of gun-fire, a loud screeching sound echoed through the mountains, as well as thumping sounds. Thankfully for Glenn, he ad arrived at the town mere hours after the last gun-shot. And...after looking at the sign....'Belles' sounded pretty inviting..

What will these authorizations give your character in regards to perks or defects?
Perks
Passive RP, as well as making Glenn a fun new character who can provide services.


Defects
Autism is the big one here, however, his tools can break, nad it isn't exactly easy to get more.
In order to charge his equipment and the Laptop, he would need a Vortigaunt. And it would need to be done rather often.

What do you plan to do with these perks/defects?
Create passive RP for me, and fun RP for everyone else. I can create items for people,as well as play with the few robotics that Glenn brought with him.

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

Which server does this apply for?
Outlands

Extra Notes (optional):