AKFHPhantom
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Nov 24, 2011
- Posts
- 437
The year is 2095. The United States is one of many superpowers crippled by what many to claim, an Apocolypse. Famine, Drought, Disease. All of the several things that afflicted the world. Now, all that remains is the scattered civilizations, tribes, clans, all fighting to survive in the Apoc's, the lands between civilizations, untamed, reclaimed, and filled with criminals, theives, raiders, slavers, and animals.
Though it is uncommon for anyone to travell through this land. One clan, Polis. Located in the ruins of southern Minnisota, has an annual test -the GPT, or group placement test- which looks for skilled workers, an average of 2 out of 5 pass the test. Then comes the next test -the SSE, or Survival Skills Evaluation- Which if you pass, you are sent to settle land for the clan. Though, this year, Polis hopes to capture an iconic city. Vegas.
---
Name: Argen.
Age: 19
Occupation: Worker for the Gunsmith.
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 151 Lbs. Swimmer body (Though stronger.)
Apperance: Usually wearing a khaki teeshirt, with a dark brown hoodie, left and right arms and hands covered in bandages to cover burn marks aquired from an accident. Wears black faded jeans, and has a tattoo of hades on his right shoulder.
Skills: Straight shot with pistols, Hand to hand combat, survival.
Weapons: A combat knife with special echings along the blade. A specially made M1911 with a silencer.
---
Today was the day he left this place. He had read in pre-apoc books about lush land, and adventuring heros, rouges, and other characters. He needed this, thats why he studdied, trained, so entensly to pass the GPT and SSE. He gathered his supplies in his backpack, a simple leather pack, with a fold over the top. Inside he kept a few boxes of ammo, a picture of his mother, and a map from here to Vegas.
He opened the door to the hallway connecting to his room, and with a final glance in the room, he shut the door, and started his new life. "Those whom are travelling into the Apoc's shall immediatly report to the south gate for instruction." the intercoms cranked out. He began to hurry, jogging down hallways, and winding through structures. Once he finally reached the pavilion, everyone was gathered. 36 Pilgrums. The elder stood at the podium, speaking, but Argen couldn't understand him, so he made his way into the crowd, and stood next to a woman. "Hey, I'm Argen." He said, attempting to be polite. If he was depending on these people, might as well be friendly.
Though it is uncommon for anyone to travell through this land. One clan, Polis. Located in the ruins of southern Minnisota, has an annual test -the GPT, or group placement test- which looks for skilled workers, an average of 2 out of 5 pass the test. Then comes the next test -the SSE, or Survival Skills Evaluation- Which if you pass, you are sent to settle land for the clan. Though, this year, Polis hopes to capture an iconic city. Vegas.
---
Name: Argen.
Age: 19
Occupation: Worker for the Gunsmith.
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 151 Lbs. Swimmer body (Though stronger.)
Apperance: Usually wearing a khaki teeshirt, with a dark brown hoodie, left and right arms and hands covered in bandages to cover burn marks aquired from an accident. Wears black faded jeans, and has a tattoo of hades on his right shoulder.
Skills: Straight shot with pistols, Hand to hand combat, survival.
Weapons: A combat knife with special echings along the blade. A specially made M1911 with a silencer.
---
Today was the day he left this place. He had read in pre-apoc books about lush land, and adventuring heros, rouges, and other characters. He needed this, thats why he studdied, trained, so entensly to pass the GPT and SSE. He gathered his supplies in his backpack, a simple leather pack, with a fold over the top. Inside he kept a few boxes of ammo, a picture of his mother, and a map from here to Vegas.
He opened the door to the hallway connecting to his room, and with a final glance in the room, he shut the door, and started his new life. "Those whom are travelling into the Apoc's shall immediatly report to the south gate for instruction." the intercoms cranked out. He began to hurry, jogging down hallways, and winding through structures. Once he finally reached the pavilion, everyone was gathered. 36 Pilgrums. The elder stood at the podium, speaking, but Argen couldn't understand him, so he made his way into the crowd, and stood next to a woman. "Hey, I'm Argen." He said, attempting to be polite. If he was depending on these people, might as well be friendly.
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