you can let go *

physical attributes.

face claim richard madden

voice claim richard madden

height 5’10

weight 176 lbs

build athletic / muscular

exercise habits whenever possible but mostly circumstantial

allergies cats + nickel + medical adhesive

hair color dark copper with faint grey + a mallen streak at his hairline

hairstyle short

eye color blue

glasses/contacts no

dominant hand right

tattoos a small black orchid on his inner left bicep

scars too many to count

piercings none

jewelry/accessories garmin instinct 2x solar watch + dog tags

background information.

hometown elderslie, scotland

current residence new york, ny

spoken languages english / gaelic / spanish / belizean creole / igbo / hausa / yaruba / a few other languages very minimally

driver's license yes

occupation private security / previously scottish royal regiment

familial information.

relationship status single

mother eilidh o’halloran ( nee buchanan ) 

father graeme o’halloran 

siblings niamh o’halloran / sister + deceased

other maisie o’halloran / niece and current ward

children none

pets none

personality.

positive traits steadfast + astute + observant + loyal + selfless

negative traits guarded + overbearing + distrustful + suspicious

likes  earl grey + cutobrute + air-dried laundry + live music + runner’s highs

dislikes disorganization + rainy weather + selfishness + coffee + sunburn

moral alignment lawful good

mbti entj

Lindsay has always been private, especially when it comes to matters of his personal life, and the outbreak has only seemed to amplify this about him. In his prime, he was a skilled leader and communicator; his nearly two decades spent in service with the Scottish Royal Regiment have left him vigilant and selfless, always at the ready to keep a sharp out for the sake of those close to him, whether friends, family, or battalion. Professionally, he had a sternness about him that was not unkind, often softened by a quiet charisma and sudden and unexpected bouts of dry humor, and own his own time, he lived a life surrounded by vibrancy, more an observer than a participant. He’d frequent bustling bars and cafes and music venues, existing as a stoic fixture in the background, enjoying and observing with a simple smile twitching at his lips. He doesn’t take time for the simple pleasures anymore, and those glimpses of humor, of the lighthearted man he could have been, they’re rarer now than they ever have been.

supplies.

95-ltr. capacity tactical backpack / rucksack

first aid kit ( nearly empty )

two stainless steel water bottles

water purification tablets

utility knife / swiss army multi-tool

solar powered flashlight / power bank

hand-crank emergency radio

lighter / magnesium fire starter

signal mirror

tarp / rope

a children's sleeping bag

small plush rabbit

glock 17 + ammunition

machete + thigh holster

biography.

tw: brief mention of homophobia + abuse + drug use + death

From the outside looking in, the O’Halloran household is almost picturesque; with a modest but lovely two-story in the heart of Elderslie and two children, a son and a daughter, it would appear that Graeme and Eilidh have it all! Graeme has a government job that provides well enough that Eilidh can stay home and mind the house and the children. Lindsay Amos O’Halloran is younger than his sister Niamh by two years, but the pair are incredibly close; their father is strict — they’re mindful of their manners, their marks in school, for fear of his reaction if they don’t — and their mother is … well, Lindsay suspects she hasn’t been in her right mind in years. ❛ The pills will do that, ❜ Niamh tells him, ❛ numb you right up. ❜ She tells him this is why their mother never says anything. Lindsay expects all children must live like this — quiet, obedient. They protect each other, Lindsay and Niamh — best they can, at least. He walks her to class, she helps him with his coursework, and then they hide away in her bedroom and make up stories, elaborate tales of all the places they’ll go once they only get out of Elderslie.

To his credit, Lindsay does well to appease his father and keep relative peace in the house for many years. He learns when to mind his tongue, how to behave. If he yearns for approval, he quickly learns what it feels like to go without. Praise comes in the form of a quiet night — no shouting, no dishes thrown. He is careful to make no mistake significant enough to not be forgotten after his father’s spent a few long nights at the pub. Not until he turns fifteen. All his life, he’s been keeping it a secret; from his parents, his sister … sometimes it almost felt like he was keeping it from himself. For a while, it isn’t hard to keep it locked away; between school, church, and chores, he doesn’t have time for sinful thoughts. He can almost pretend …

His world ends on a brisk September afternoon at nearly three p.m. He’s sitting on his bed with Colin Bigbie from trigonometry, trying desperately to figure out how to calculate angles. And Colin’s tutoring him, which should be helping. It should, but Colin’s sitting so close Lindsay can smell his spearmint gum and he can’t stop looking at his lips, the way he grins around the eraser of a pencil. He still remembers the way his mother shrieks when she opens his bedroom door to find her son pinned under another boy in his own bed, a tangle of lips and limbs. ( How could he have let himself get carried away? How could he have let himself get caught? ) Colin has the common sense to scramble out of the house long before his father comes home. Lindsay is not so lucky. He has nowhere else to go.

Only a few months shy of his sixteenth birthday, Lindsay enlists in the Royal Regiment of Scotland. His mother nearly worries herself into an ulcer over the idea alone, but his father is supportive. Thinks it’s a ❛ wise move, ❜ in fact, that Lindsay could use the structure. She weeps over afternoon tea the day he brings home the forms, cannot even bear to look her husband in the eye as he fills them out. The more unpalatable truth need not be said aloud, for Lindsay already knows it in his heart — as far as Graeme O’Halloran is concerned, he no longer has a son, not in the eyes of God. Perhaps if he leaves now … learns what it means to really be a man, to bring his family respect in lieu of shame, of disappointment … well, perhaps he might return home to more welcoming arms.

This, Lindsay thinks as he packs a sparse duffel the night before he leaves for phase one training, that’s what he wants out of enlisting. He wants to feel like he belongs again. ( Has he ever? Has his father ever actually been proud? ) ❛ No but for christ’s sake, fuck ‘em all, Linds! Honestly! It’s all a bunch a’ shite, and anyway, you’ll always belong here with me,❜ comes a tearful reassurance from his sister over a shared rooftop cigarette the very same night, a possible last ditch effort at convincing him to stay. It doesn’t work! His mind is made up, and when she pinky swears that she gets it, that she understands and she could never hold it against him, Lindsay believes her. He cries when she hugs him goodbye the following morning. In spite of his best efforts, he cannot hide red eyes and mottled cheeks from his father as he climbs into the car. He says nothing, but Lindsay can feel his gaze; he cannot bring himself to meet it for the entirety of the six hour drive from Elderslie to Berkshire.

The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst provides twelve months of intensive training to all prospective young officers. Lindsay is desperate to succeed because, in his mind, there is no other option. He learns to operate on a strict schedule and quickly becomes regimented, disciplined. But Lindsay does not socialize with the other young men in his barracks. Many of them are quick to make friends — he sees them being raucous in the mess hall, hears them slagging off their superiors when they’re out of earshot — but Lindsay always keeps to himself. He never joins in. In his spare time, Lindsay pens letters. They’re mostly to Niamh. He tells her of his successes, embellishes his happiness in neat lines signed with love. The letters he receives back are the highlight of his time at the academy — they keep him going. Occasionally, he’ll write to his mother and father; to those letters, he hears nothing in return. his mother takes his phone calls on holidays — he expects that’s the only grace his father allows — but beyond that, they make no effort toward significant contact.

At least not until he graduates. They all show up, all three of them, but make no mistake it is not a grand affair. He knows from his sister’s letters things have not grown better in his absence but worse; his father’s temper flares and without Lindsay there to take the heat, his mother and sister suffer in his place. At dinner that evening, Niamh announces her plans to move overseas. She’s nearly twenty now, and after all, they’ve got relatives in America, distant cousins in New York, and she intends to relocate with their help. Her news doesn’t go over well; their father shouts, their mother wails, and when they leave, it is with the assurance that the entire lot of them are banned from what was Lindsay’s favorite Italian place in Berkshire for life. In the end, it doesn’t actually matter though, does it? He’s leaving again anyway.

Lindsay returns home for two weeks while he awaits his assignment. He helps Niamh pack and does his best to avoid conflict with their parents. When she leaves for New York, Lindsay is the one who takes the family car to drive her to the airport. ( He finds out that day that maybe he doesn’t know how to say goodbye to his sister without crying. Once can be written off as a fluke, but twice? ) He doesn’t know what to expect when he receives the call specifying the location of his first tour, but Lindsay can be certain that Belize does not even make the list. He didn’t even know they had anyone stationed in Belize. ( If he’s being honest, before he knows he’s going, Lindsay couldn’t have confidently pointed the country out on a map. ) Within seventy-two hours, he’s on a plane. Unlike with Niamh, when his parents leave him at the terminal, Lindsay sheds not a single tear. On the flight, he thinks of this mother’s outpouring of emotion and wonders if it’s sincere. Does she mourn the loss of both her children?

The stifling heat of the South American sun — surely impossibly the same sun that casts clouds over his village back home — fries pale, freckled skin within hours of landing, but Lindsay quickly learns that he enjoys the pain. It provides a welcome distraction. A lucky break, it would seem, because it is found here in no short supply. Tropical Environment Training, it’s called. Or, how to fight in the jungle! From dawn to dusk, he and his battalion trudge through gnarled, swampy undergrowth; they learn to camouflage themselves in the wild, how to use nature and the elements to their advantage. He learns to blink past the burn of sweat in his eyes, to claw his way forward when his limbs threaten to give out. His limits? Clearly he’s been underestimating them all his life! Out here in the harsh wild, nobody cares about his story, where he came from. Nobody cares who he loves. They only care that he can perform. Endure. It matters not who he is, only what he is capable of.

Belize teaches Lindsay O’Halloran that he is a very capable man.

When he first enlisted, it was without a clear, intentional path in mind; he’d known then that he wanted to serve his country, but he hadn’t the foggiest what he could even offer. would he be sent to kitchen duty or put on the frontlines? Were there even front lines? Six months after arriving in Belize, Lindsay completes his training. He’s adapted extraordinarily well to the environment; his superiors watch as he takes lead of his battalion, seizes control to lead his brothers- and sisters-in-arms to safety. He watches his team with the fierceness and precision of a hawk. When his entire battalion completes the program with flying colors, Lindsay is asked to remain in Belize. For someone so young, he displays potential. For the next ten years, Ladyville becomes his new home. He immerses himself in its culture just as much as its jungles; his accent twists the words in a funny sort of way, but he learns to speak spanish and Belizean creole. He drinks belikin and shares panades with locals. He becomes familiar with the forestry, teaches it to hundreds. And he writes to Niamh about all of it.

One day, when she writes back, Lindsay learns he’s an uncle. When his tour ends, he hops on the first plane he can catch to New York so he can meet his niece. Her name is Maisie O’Halloran and Lindsay is convinced he falls in love the second he holds her in his arms. He spends several weeks in the states with Niamh; he sleeps on her couch and spends day in and day out with her to make up for all the time they’ve lost. She tells him Maisie’s father isn’t in the picture, and Lindsay makes her pinky swear that she’s safe, that she’s okay. He wishes he could stay, but he’s given another assignment far too quickly. He tells himself he won’t cry this time when Niamh and Maisie leave him at the terminal, that he can keep it together. He can’t, and they’re both laughing through their tears as she makes him promise they’ll meet here again in a few years and he relents on one condition: she sends him weekly updates on Maisie in the meantime.

When he lands again, Lindsay is in Nigeria. He has been assigned to the UK’s permanent outpost Abuja to aid in the training of the Nigerian military. What he lacks in knowledge about the country and terrain, he makes up for in a passion for the sharing of knowledge, of valuable, life-saving skills. Hausa and Yaruba are more difficult to learn than spanish, he’ll admit, but he spends enough time there that he becomes at very least conversational in a few different local languages. When he returns to Elderslie after another six years, he does not sound the same and the streets no longer look like home. His country beckons him back before he can visit Niamh, but he promises soon. He still writes every chance he gets; she convinces him to start video calling because Maisie is talking more than ever. His parents don’t see their only grandchild, don’t get the privilege. He visits them once while he’s back on home soil. Once in two years. It’s tense. His mother doesn’t recognize him. His father shakes his hand.

It takes fifteen years, but Lindsay can finally feel the weakness in his grip.

Time slips through his fingers faster than Lindsay can stop it and before he knows it, the year is 2023. He’s back in Berkshire and, as it turns out, that little Italian restaurant? They don’t even remember him anymore. Lindsay is in his flat when he receives a phone call from an unrecognized number. It’s his cousins from New York, bearing news of his sister. Grave news. He can barely make out the details over the ringing in his ears the moment he realizes what they’re trying to say. ❛ …it was a break in … she’d just gotten back from work … didn’t even know she’d been struck …’m so sorry … ❜ And just like that, Lindsay O’Halloran’s whole world shatters.

By some grace of God, Maisie isn’t home when it happens. Their cousin had been watching her while Niamh was on shift, had just gone to take her back and opened the door when … ( oh, she saw it, the poor girl saw it! ) Lindsay requests immediate discharge and his years of dedicated service allow him to catch the next flight out of Heathrow to New York. He has to begin making arrangements. It takes six days to find a flat in the city and get Maisie moved into it; with his cousin minding her for a few hours, he packs up his sister’s apartment in a single night. Delicately, he tucks away years of memories into boxes — some he’s seen, many he’s missed out on. He does this alone, and he realizes a truth he’s known his entire life. He will always cry when he says goodbye to his sister. This night is no different. He weeps openly on the floor at the center of her apartment, surrounded by sweaters and pillows and photos — he cries for every little piece of her that he is forced to say goodbye to. His grief echoes off the walls. He gives so much that by the time they bury Niamh, Lindsay has no tears left to shed. He is exhausted. And for this, he is grateful. It allows him the ability to stay strong — he does not do well with emotion, but he knows how to push through fatigue. For Maisie, he will. From this day forward, his needs will forever take the back burner to hers. He is no father, but he will raise her the best he can. He owes as much to Niamh. 

To provide for them both, Lindsay secures a position at a private security company called Sentry Solutions. His extensive military and combat training make him the perfect fit for private security, and he finds that he approaches his new career with an inherent sort of dedication. Blame it on the guilt — he wasn’t there to protect his sister, couldn’t save her, but he’ll be damned if he can’t protect everybody else. Most of all, he intends to protect Maisie, to provide her with anything and everything she could ever possibly need and keep her safe. He wants to keep her happy, too, but he knows that’s a more difficult battle won. Though he could count the number of times he’d seen her face to face before moving to New York on one hand, they were hardly strangers; he used to call weekly at minimum to speak to her and her mum, often sent her gifts from Nigeria and then again from Berkshire. This does not make the process of familiarization any easier or less awkward, but Lindsay does his best and eventually, they fall into a routine. He learns what Frozen is and how to dutch braid hair. He wakes up early on Saturday mornings to make chocolate chip pancakes and commits the details of a traditional tea party menu to memory. Every Wednesday starts with a visit to Maisie’s grief counselor and always ends with gelato from the little Italian place on the corner of their block. After a few months, Lindsay starts to believe he can actually do this. That they both can.

And the moment Lindsay thinks he’s finally started to find his footing again, it’s as if the rug has been ripped from beneath his feet again. The world is ending. If it was dangerous to live in the city before, it begins to feel like a death sentence the moment he hears the news. He immediately begins formulating a plan. They need to get out of the city. The population is too dense, the layout of the city too labyrinthine to feel safe. He packs a bag and instructs Maisie to do the same. ❛ Only take what ye can carry, Mais, ❜ he says as if he’d not carry the moon on his back had she told him she wanted to take it along, ❛ only take what’s important. ❜ Her backpack is pink with faux-fur straps, stuffed with crayons and fruit snacks, plushes and photos of her mother; the matching sleeping bag is attached to his own rucksack. 

Lindsay expects it will take them some time to leave New York, but no amount of training or planning can prepare him for the chaos and bloodshed that ravage the streets. The streets are gridlocked but the cars are abandoned, some with windows smashed or doors left wide open. Driving out of the city is an impossibility, and every sidewalk, every building is like an active war zone. To think he'd been worried about the barricades. Moving through the city is slow. Every new street, every building promises new threats; if it's not the undead, it's the living trying to ransack them for supplies. Desperate people. Lindsay tries not to fault them ― fear can make people do all sorts of irrational things. He knows this. But if Maisie's safety is threatened, Lindsay does not hesitate to exterminate said threat, living or otherwise.

Distances Lindsay expects might take hours to cover instead take days. Weeks, even. Maisie is scared, confused, but she holds up better than he expects her to. He should've expected she'd be resilient like her mum. He keeps watch while she sleeps, operates on bare minimum and learns how to whittle his exhaustion into something functional and sharp under the cutting edge of adrenaline. He's never been in survival mode for this long. He thinks back to Belize, to the way the sun blistered his skin and the way his muscles screamed for mercy. He'd been able to push through it then for family who didn't give a damn about him, and he'll dig his heels in and survive this too. For Maisie.

When the snowstorm hits, they take shelter in an elementary school. It appears as though it had been used at some point in the recent past as a makeshift shelter, but aside from the biters that Lindsay methodically removes, it has been thoroughly abandoned. ( Some of the ones Lindsay exterminates, they look fresh. He does well not to dwell on this. ) The winter is long and cold and grueling but they survive. Lindsay is careful to ration what food he can scavenge from the cafeteria and, by some grace of God, it's enough to last the pair of them through the coldest months. He's grateful for the sense of familiarity the location provides Maisie; there are books and toys in the classrooms to keep her entertained and enriched. She has the chance to be a child and Lindsay finally has the chance to rest. At least for a little while. Come spring, they'll be getting out of this city.

Lindsay thinks so, anyway, but he's beginning to realize that what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men might actually be true. Maisie falls ill sometime in late February. It's not that he hasn't been keeping track of the passage of days, either, only that he doesn't know for sure when it actually begins. Her sniffles are easy enough to write off as a symptom of the colder weather, of course, but the cough is admittedly concerning. She seems unfazed, so he keeps an eye on it for a few days and intends to wait for it to resolve itself. Only it doesn't resolve itself. Maisie gets worse.