Real Name: Mark Teever
Age: 42
Gender: Male
Background: Mark was a television and radio traffic announcer for WSYR news when the outbreak began. He served in the national guard and spent a tour in Iraq as a communications officer. His military background (albeit minor) coupled with his communications training (SU Maxwell School of Communications graduate of 91) made him an ideal member of the Corpse Corps. His primary duty is to watch for zombie movement patterns from the top of the Mony Building (Codenamed ‘Olympus’ from which Crosshair rains down his lightning bolts), which he reports to Clipboard back at Central.
Accompanying character idea to be posted: Mark “Crosshair” Teever
Story Idea: “Crosshair” gets trapped in the top floor of the Mony building, where it is his role to report back to Zyracuse Central about any visible Zack movement and/or gatherings within the city. Somehow, the zack below discover his presence, and begin heading his direction. Crosshair cannot escape, and only has 37 shells for his rifle. Can the CC reach him before it is too late?
“Bill, we need to see the captain.”
Sergeant Bill Asher wondered why it was that all the civilians treated him like a secretary. He was Captain Slater’s adjutant, and as such, he outranked even the battalion commanders. It didn’t matter much. Let the civvies think whatever they needed to.
“No, you don’t. You’d like to see the captain. Sorry, guys. He’s busy right now.”
“Bill, we insist.”
Okay, if civilians were bad, civilians that had been to college for three years and had two weeks of Corpse Corps action were worse. “Oh! Why didn’t you say so earlier? That makes all the difference. Who should I tell him is calling?” He wondered if the kid would be able to pick up on his sarcasm. “Come on. You know procedure. All requests for meetings with the captain go through your squad leader and battalion lieutenant. Nothing is so urgent that–”
“This is.” The taller man in the back had spoken for the first time.
Bill stared at him in a cold, stony silence. “No, it isn’t. Back to your unit, soldier.”
The door opened and the captain stepped into the room. He looked over the three men standing there.
The one who had not yet spoken said, “Leo, sir. 74th Squad. This is J. J. and he’s Razor.”
The captain nodded. “Yes. I thought you’d be by. You’re here sooner than I expected. You’d better come in.”
Continue reading ‘Court Martial’
<<This one needs a lot of help.>>
Captain
Real name: Tom Slater
Former Army Special Forces captain. Current head of Corpse Corps. Responsible for perimeter security and excursionary forces. Does not leave the compound under Brooks’ orders. (“It’s a colonel’s job to stay at HQ.” “Then you’re a colonel.” “No, I work for a living.”) Volunteered to stay behind along with a sergeant–the only two good things to come from the mass migration west. Loyal to Brooks and the Zone, but may clash with the realities of a civilian government. Did ROTC training at Syracuse University. Would bleed orange, red, white, and blue if he ever bled. He does not. Seems to be the only member of the Zone who always looks clean.
Has four lieutenants who are not military-trained but picked by him for leadership qualities.
All people in the Zone call him Captain, except for Brooks, who refers to him as Captain Slater.
<<Please improve on this.>>
Krezner
William Krezner, MD, SUNY Syracuse, 1983.
58 year-old widower with no children. Wife died before the plague.
Former general practitioner housed in an impersonal medical building in Fayetteville.
Heads a medical staff of three other doctors, six nurses, and numerous trained-on-the-spot physician’s assistants and orderlies.
Warm, charming, twinkling-eyed and friendly. Invites confidence. Humorous. Constantly wears a bowtie. Secretly relieved to be practicing medicine and not having to worry about insurance or salary.
While he has limited surgical exposure (sutures and stitches) he has extensive medical and psychological experience. While called Krezner, everyone, even Clipboard refers to him as Doctor Krezner or Doc when speaking to him directly.
Extremely considered about malnutrition and water cleanliness as a long-term problem. Has turned both into off-duty hobbies. Like Clipboard, he never seems to be not working.
<<Please note: This is not my character to do this to. This is not canon and needs improvement.>>
Clipboard
Name: Bob McCarthy. 44 Years old. Formerly of DeWitt.
Forensic accountant, Department of the Treasury. Worked from the Federal Building in downtown Syracuse. Always carried a pistol.
His wife and three kids boarded the last Delta flight to Cleveland, hoping to get jet West. He stayed behind so women and children could board.
Puts himself into his work as a means of dealing with the loneliness. Hardly ever seems to be off duty. When he is, it’s noticeable. A former warm family man, now he seems more like a monk.
Injured his left leg permanently during the Panic. Walks with a noticeable limp, faster than a Z, but looks like one on the one side. Does not go outside the fence.
Has a near-photographic memory. Can perform calculus in his head.
He is the interface between the boots on the ground and Brooks. He is probably the second most important person in the Zone.
I had a lot of time to think while I was going to and from Auburn today.
Outpost. I have no idea what would happen in the outpost or where it would be. I just imagine a cold and crowded outpost.
Moo. Can we get to some cows before the other looters do? What about Zack?
History. Go to the library and figure out how those armies in the Civil War survived as long as they did.
Plumbing. What separates civilizations from, well, us.
Barricade. How do we make the wall? I say it’s out of cars from the Interstate. But how do we get through the wall? How do we make it?
Booze/Gideon. This would be harder to explain than write. Inspiration from the story of Gideon, which I think is in the book of Judges. Basically, it’s “To drink or not to drink, that is the question.” The answer is not to, but only one person has the guts to say it. He or she gets promoted.
Meeting/Election. BSG had an election controversy. We have a thriving town meeting on the roof of the garage. Something should happen there. What? I have no clue.
Christmas. An early thaw makes the worst Christmas in history even worse still for the guy that couldn’t find a present for his wife even when there was a functioning Walmart. “Honey, I got you some shotgun shells…”
Do know the only thing that smells worse than undead? Untreated halitosis.Yes. I’m serious.
All those people, crammed into Zyracuse Central like cattle — everyone scrambling to meet their chore quota, getting ready to cash in their ration tokens, or worse just sitting there, rocking back and forth muttering to themselves. A thousand “survivors” in one place, and not a single one of them had seen the business end of a toothbrush in a year. Let me tell you something — using a plant to scrape the crap off your teeth is about as effective as trying to clear a foot of snow from the sidewalk by breathing hard.
I know it sounds like a small price to pay for surviving the plague, the hordes of undead coming through the state, and the chaos of people going loony with the craziness of it all, but I can’t stand bad breath. Zombies want to eat my brains? No sweat — give me my axe and room to swing, and I’ll be fine. Looters want to break into Central and steal our food? Just point the Corps at them and stand back; everything will be just fine.
Force me to have an extended conversation with someone with rancid, rotting-meat breath and I’m no better than one of the weepers who snap. It’s almost as bad as fresh dead-head.
Continue reading ‘Mouthwash’
A warm front moves in on Christmas Day and brings some unwanted guests to Zyracuse Central.
I agree with Chris R’s comment (he’s a student; no full names) that there needs to be more gore, but I disagree that it should take place in Chris’s story. Stopping to kill everything would distract from the plot–and would actually contradict it. BUT we’re going to have to deal with the fact that there are hundreds of thousands of Z’s in the county, more heading this way from NYC/Boston/Philly/Cleveland by Zosmosis, and the fact that the ZSM says that cities will be a wasteland and need to be avoided in a Class IV apocalypse.
I think a majority of the mass cleanup will be in the winter when the odds (of dispatching Z’s and getting frostbite/pneumonia) go way up. But the Great Panic must take place in the springtime.
We need a way of killin’ stuff to get the numbers down–unfortunately of both refugees and Zack.
Zosmosis. Hee hee. Thank you, thank you. I’ll be performing here all week.
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