Post by Axton on Aug 7, 2018 23:43:36 GMT -8
Basic Information
Name: Axton Nowell
Nickname(s): N/A
Age: 35
Height: 6' 0"
Weight: ~185 lbs.
Blood Type: B
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Eye Color: Blue
Hair: Black
Pass Time Information
Hobbies: Collecting intact soda bottles (preferably beverage included), maintaining weaponry
Talents: Firearm Maintenance, Ventriloquism, can cook 1-Minute-Rice in 59 seconds
Favorite things: America, Soda Pops, and America ...and eggs.
Miscellaneous: Can make a hat out of anything on-hand; don't ask
Mental Information
Personality: Willing to take a bounty of orders; only willing to make his own when there's no command above him. Axton speaks and interacts as much as anyone else would, albeit he may find himself lacking due to the aftermath of the war. Attempts to keep himself collected, albeit when something he belongs to or holds dear is brought up...others will hope that he'll cease within the next millennia. Prone to snap when extremely aggravated and tested; violently so.
Mentality: (Fiercely) Loyal, Stubborn, Strong-Willed
Ideal: For all of America to fall under one flag
Belief: America, Unity, Democracy
Physical Information
Build: Lean
Defining Marks: Surgical Scars
Description:
History Information
History: The life of an utterly standard United States soldier isn't much to note. However, the beginning of Axton's truly American life was that filled with patriotism and wonder. Bias is another word, however that isn't what we're working with here. As a product of both the time and his upbringing, Axton threw himself to his nation's army at a young, able age; even after the country split into splintered fragments. In his first few tours of service, Axton saw minimal action and barely heard any reports to obtain information. Eventually, Axton fell into reserves for some particular reasons. Being sent home after his fifth tour, the soldier's high school sweetheart's first child was to arrive. The bliss wasn't to last, however, as yet further military business was to be conducted.
A program that a fair few soldiers were subjected to was enacted near the war's end. Axton hardly remembered the pearly white walls and dangerously whirring machinery before he woke once again. Scarred, both disoriented and energized, and ensured of further performance, Axton returned to his service practically a new man. Unfortunately, it was far too late for the world by then. Whilst stationed within mid-western America, siding with what he considered to be the highest remaining power, everything erupted upon itself. Buildings crumbled, the ground quaked and split in twain, Hell broke loose. After an immediately indeterminable amount of time in an unconscious state, Axton was thoroughly trapped.
Within the underground space he remained in, there was limited supplies; particularly foodstuffs. There were MRE packages, of course, however there were also soldier corpses aplenty. Search parties and excess soldiers arrived every so often, yet food stock were so limited that Axton resorted to the worst whenever some poor soul fell into the damnable crevice. Stolen supplies and far more corpses were unintended means to an end. Ten long years passed without hardly a calendar to confirm it; has it been ten years? Was any of Axton's family even alive? What happened to the territories? Has he and his best rock friend gone insane by now? Will America ever be the same again?
Who knows, but by now this damned crevice was becoming rather putrid. After such a horridly long while, Axton decided to escape his earthly tomb. Gathering whatever leftover, meager, and functioning gear he could scavenge, the leave began. It took another rise and set of the sun before he noticed unadulterated light. Following a decade(?) of limited light, food, fluid, and entertainment, he finally took it upon himself to leave and see this once again. Without an order or command from his superiors, Axton returned to the land of the living...in a sense. There was just as much ruin around as he last set his sights upon it; this time, however, there was someone other than a soldier. Some middle-aged man, bordering his later years, perhaps, nearby.
Hardly a conversation before Axton realized his inconveniences of mortality were patched. While previously rather normal in terms of conversation, the soldier hardly spoke a word; soon finding himself in a facility by the time he bothered to attempt to converse. What was this again? This academy appeared familiar. Memory was unclear after ten blanking years of isolation. Any process was hardly processed as the healer once again took Axton to a territory. Still squatting in primarily mid-western America, or rather it's tatters, Axton will begin his recovery and his newest stage of life.