#nwrf

Clove Modius | Twenty Nine;  Head of Torren House

House: Torren Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: New Wave Reformist, Head of House Pronouns: He/Him

History

In his time, Clove had been quite possibly the most famous art thief on earth, taking from private collections and public museums alike. At heart, he was a showman, though he worked in the shadows, and the pieces he stole never stayed stolen for long (they always ended up back where they had come from, providing an extra challenge to him).

It was from his mother that he inherited his love of art– and it was from his father that he inherited the shadowy abilities necessary to steal it. Watching his mother daub watercolour murals across their home inspired a fervent desire in him; what were the polluted greys and browns of the world around them, compared to this? It wasn’t enough for Clove. He wanted more. It began small, just trinkets taken from classmates, shirts pulled from washing lines that weren’t his.

Of this, his parents were aware. They tried to stop him, but their efforts were half hearted at best. What they didn’t know of was its escalation, over the years becoming grand heists that found their way into the news. The strangest thing to them was how the thief had no interest in selling it on; none of the pieces were ever recovered from the black market; in time, they would simply reappear in their original place. The uniqueness of the crime spree was enough to keep them interested.

With the arrival of D-Day, he should have given up on that lifestyle. He had lived comfortably on the money left to him by his parents, enjoyed his secret heists, and had great plans for the future. Instead of letting the asteroids stop him, though, he took the opportunity to pillage more than ever before. Nobody cared about the art any more; nobody but Clove.

Survival wasn’t easy, but he found herself with a group of Looters, which suited him just fine. They didn’t mind if he wanted to grab ancient carvings and antique jewels, just so long as he hauled his fair share of useful resources too. It was worth it; the theft had never been about money for him, but about possessing beauty.

Clove is no fool though, and when, some months ago, he was approached by a group styling themselves as the New Wave Reformists, he knew they could give him more than the Looters ever could. Without a glance back, he took off with this new group.

Clove Today

The trouble, for Clove, is that the human existence was perfection already. The form was beautiful, whether cast in marble or flesh, and the mind was complex beyond belief. The new Infections cropping up everywhere seemed to him to be a desecration of nature’s finest art. The Infected are little more than a graffittied statue next to his own pure form. Certainly he feels pity for them, because they didn’t ask to be ruined. But the trouble is, they are ruined, and they’re inferior for it.

He’d thought that even before the Reformists found him, and with their guidance his beliefs only solidified. With his criminal past undocumented (famous as he’d been, it had been under an alias and nobody had ever identified him), they had no reason not to trust him. He was just a young man with a vicious streak of snobbery in him, and in the Reformists’ circle, it allowed him to make friends fast.

With Colony 22′s takeover, the Chancellor specifically requested Clove to become part of his team. Though he had few marketable skills to offer, he was strong willed and unshakeable, and he would be happy to have him as the head of his house. Many survivors have high hopes when they first see him, for his soft doe eyes and gentle features suggest a kindness of spirit. These hopes are always dashed in moments, though– if you’re Infected. The Uninfected, he is attempting to take under his wing. Those that protest the goodness of the Infected are poor, misguided little things and he’s eager to educate them.

Concerning gender, Clove never felt particularly comfortable sitting on one end of the spectrum. Not exclusively connected his masculinity nor his femininity, he identifies more as non-binary, although he still uses male pronouns. He has often associated this fluidity to his love of art and his appreciation for the beauty of the humanity. He doesn’t believe there is a right or wrong way to be a person (this being before the infections, of course) and believes it is more pure and authentic to not fall into the traps of societal gender constructs, but to embrace the natural duplicity of spirit.

Dante Orion Carrington | Thirty Six;  Head of Brink House

House: Brink Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: Head of Brink House, Psychotherapist Alignment: New Wave Reformists

History

Dr. Dante Carrington always took his job very seriously. As the head of the medical facility at the Old World’s HM Prison Altcourse in Liverpool, Carrington’s reputation superseded him. Well-respected and rarely questioned, his professional and chilling demeanor rendered him rather intimidating to other staff of Altcourse. He was sure of his work, reliably blunt and snappish, and held high expectations of the employees that he monitored—nurses frequently reported being more afraid of disappointing Carrington, than of accidentally pissing off an inmate.

He rarely cracked a smile; he kept his personal life exceptionally private and never socialized with other members of staff. No one knew who he was outside his life at Altcourse and he preferred it that way.

But that is why no one knew about the affair that went on between Carrington and one of the guards of the ward. It is also why no one could explain the nature of the breakdown he suffered when a fight broke out between several inmates and three guards. The incident left two men dead—one prisoner and one guard; Dante’s lover, having taken a knife to the throat.

No one knew why, but Dr. Carrington was crueler since that day, edgier and even less approachable. But the main changes that occurred were things that went unseen by most of the staff, things done under the cooperation of a handful of the prison guards and the privacy of the cold and dungeon-like basements beneath Altcourse. For Dante wasn’t the only one who wanted vengeance for the death of the man they’d lost. His lover had had many friends among the team, and so it took very little persuasion to get enough men on his side. In the dead of night, Dante would take out his anger on disobeying inmates—torture them until they sobbed and begged for his mercy, flay them till they collapsed. Meanwhile, the guards would cover for him, keep a watchful eye on the empty cell and the entrance to the basement deep below the ground. And Carrington was sure to keep one thing quite consistent—he always kept his victims conscious, just cognitive enough for him to tell them that if they ever tried to rat him out, they’d have an excruciating death awaiting them. After all, how were they to know who was working with him and who was not? And even if they squealed, no one would believe them—prisoners weren’t exactly held in high regard.

No one ever did find out, but as the six month mark post the tragic incident approached, the prison warden had his suspicions. Mostly they were concerns about Dr. Carrington’s mental state and his increasingly caustic interactions with the staff. After several harassment complaints from the nurses and other medical workers, the warden was forced to let Carrington go. But because of his many years of dedicated work with the facility and his still withstanding reputation, it was done quietly so as not to tarnish his name or damage his credibility.

From there he moved on to take up a position with Ravenswood Institution, a nearby facility for the criminally insane. There, Carrington had hoped to turn over a new leaf with his damaged psyche, and continue on with his medical practice—and his life. His skill and intelligence kept him slotted as unquestionably one of the best in Britain. But upon entering the doors of Ravenswood, he found himself up to his elbows in work—lousy staff, poor patient treatment, outdated medical prognoses… foreseeing a lot of work ahead of him, he hit the ground in that brisk and confident stride, making quick demands and swiftly taking over with the neglected patients. It seemed, at first, that despite his irritable manner and galling tongue, he was just what the Ravenswood needed.

The question remained, however, whether or not he was doomed to become its worst nightmare.

Dante Today

Dante was stationed as Head of Medical with Colony 4 up until the coming of the New Wave. For Dr. Carrington, the apocalypse had come at a time in which he was balancing self-recovery with the recovery of others—a messy juggle for even the most clear-headed individuals.

D-Day had, to say the least, thrown a wrench in his hope for a healthier life, and the repatching of his mental state was more or less put on hold. Or, depending on how you look at it, accelerated. Already alone in the world, he felt oddly numb to the loss that was D-Day, shock of the end of the world aside. Certainly he suffered the traumatic effects as anyone would, but it did not feel personal, but rather distant, like it was happening to someone else. He’d been an island for so many years prior, that this loneliness didn’t feel all that different.

He didn’t get better, exactly, but neither did he get worse. He spent a number of years coasting as a questionably immoral man, halfway between cruelty and nobility, but nowhere near honest. He teetered with the dual faces of himself—the man who was once capable of loving deeply and caring about his profession, and the man who’d twisted into something dark and callous from within.

The New Wave Reformists recruited him, and though he was not particularly enthusiastic, neither did he have the energy to resist. Medically and professionally speaking, he did think these evolutionary changes of man were unnatural and should be carefully monitored and kept under control. Based off the kinds of things he’s seen in the world, he knew that these kinds of powers put into the wrong hands could be disastrous, and even the Infected themselves were in danger so long as the human condition of imperfection, greed and a lust for power remained as it was.

Really, it was in their best interest to be audited by the Reformist government, because at least with them in charge they would secure some kind of protection.

Three months after being recruited by the NWRF, Carrington was asked to transfer to Colony 22, where he would be instated as the new Head of Brink house, and take on a position of Psychotherapy. Though Dante’s main focus in the Old World had been medical, there was already an acceptable head of Medical at Col22, and Dante’s PHD and credentials counted him as qualified for the job.

The irony left a tar-like taste on his tongue but he accepted, and has taken on his position with the same striding intimidation as he has everything else. So far, he has not made many friends within the Colony, but that is hardly his concern.

Charlotte Williams | Thirty Eight;  Elite

House: Torren Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: Interpreter and International Liaison Alignment: New Wave Reformists

History

If you were to look at a lineup of the five Williams siblings and pick who you thought was the oldest, it’s highly likely you’d pick Charlotte – but you’d be wrong.

She missed out on being the eldest by a few years, but that never stopped her from maturing rapidly and with a borderline comic severity for a girl her age. The majority of the Williams family took very little seriously, and Charlotte was but a minor exception. She had two soft spots growing up: Ethan, her closest sibling by a mere fourteen months, and a rampant obsession with spy movies from any era. It fit with the family business, and with every intent of following the Williams legacy, Charlotte took to watching the Long Kiss Goodnight on repeat and even, for a time, insisted on going by the nickname ‘Charley.’

Bright and driven, it seemed as though nothing could possibly stop Charlotte from fulfilling her dreams. Nothing, that is, short of a medical disqualification: even at a young age Charlotte was prone to sudden bouts of fainting and even the occasional seizure, prompting her parents to ensure she received a suite of extensive testing. Eventually, a diagnosis was reached: LQTS, a rare and severe heart rhythm disorder leaving Charlotte susceptible to abrupt and potentially dangerous arrhythmia. Charlotte was both literally and figuratively heartbroken, unable to pursue her lifelong dream and her family legacy the way she wanted.

She set aside her childhood dream and her childhood nickname, but still, Charlotte refused to give up entirely. As she learned to manage her condition with careful monitoring and treatment, Charlotte threw herself (and her newfound wealth of downtime) into a new passion: languages. Charlotte was exceptional at anything she put her mind to and, in time, she’d mastered fluency in a set of languages that fast-tracked her in a more prosaic but equally important role within the CIA.

By the time Charlotte turned thirty, medical advancements had caught up with her condition, and having worked in a high-ranking field for the better part of a decade, she could easily afford it: a van Asch cardiac stabilizer. So effective was the implant that Charlotte even had the option to shift careers to what she’d always dreamed of as a child, but she’d grown to love her work. She was content in her position, and to live vicariously through her younger brother’s myriad of escapades. Charlotte’s ultimate role as Directorate of Operations for the language division may not have been what she’d dreamed about as a child, but now she couldn’t picture herself doing anything else.

Charlotte Today

After D-Day, Charlotte was as quick to fall into a leadership role as she had been before it. With no inclination to strike out on her own, she dug in with a number of other government figures in D.C. to form a large clan with a focus on communications gathering and relay. Over the course of the first few months she had the resources available to locate each of her siblings – for better or worse – except for one: Ethan. Even though they’d lived in the same city Charlotte lost track of him immediately, left to wonder where he’d stolen off to once she’d confirmed the rubble of his apartment hadn’t held his body. Without anything left to tie her to the area, she and a number of her colleagues opted to trek north and settle between twin Colonies 1 & 2.

Months turned into years, but she didn’t give up. When the New Wave swept through and converted Colony 1 to their headquarters, she felt obligated to pledge allegiance or lose her post, even if their rhetoric proved troubling under too fine a microscope. Charlotte’s cool professionalism lent itself easily to the work, and her position devoted to facilitating communication was neutral enough not to grate against her morals.

Eventually, though, Charlotte learned the NWRF had crossed a line that she couldn’t possibly forgive.

In the ongoing hunt for her last remaining sibling, Charlotte searched every identity Ethan had ever slipped into as a foreign operative, every codename and alias, every fake name he’d used even once. It was a whim and a particularly fanciful search that actually yielded a helpful result: Charley Baltimore, namesake of the heroine they’d both grown up watching. The Echo result corrected to “Charlie” – an alias, surely; a message, for Charlotte to be able to find him. Ethan Williams was an impossible name to search, particularly with an unreliable facial recognition database to confirm her brother’s identity for certain. Attached to the file for “Charlie Baltimore,” however, his blue eyes and broad smile shone up at her from the screen, and despite herself she cried at the relief.

Charlotte read further into his file, however, and her heart sank. The relief she felt to find him alive gave way to shock and anger, not only that Ethan was Deluded but that the NWRF saw fit to exploit him so calculatedly and in such a vulnerable state. Pulling strings and taking advantage of her clearance, Charlotte asked for more detail on this Deluded asset with feigned detachment, purely as a professional curiosity, and the more she learned the more incensed she became. She’d joined the NWRF because it’d seemed like the strategic choice, but seeing what they’d done to her own flesh and blood? Charlotte was furious.

So she fashioned a couple almost-truths to get herself transferred; As she’d not told anyone the specifics about her family, she requested a transfer to Colony 22, saying that the last time her youngest sibling, Harper, had appeared in the Echo database, had been somewhere in the UK. Charlotte made a pretty convincing case about tracking Harper down, who was ‘apparently still unregistered,’ but Charlotte was determined to believe was still alive—perhaps in hiding somewhere in the wastes. 

Little did her superiors know, of course, that Harper was indeed alive, well, and registered in a small Colony in Europe. But no one had bothered to fact check Charlotte because they had no reason to suspect she was lying. And even if they had, ‘Williams’ is a common last name, even post-apocalypse. Anyone wanting to follow up on her story would have more work cut out for them then they’d care to get into, most likely. At least, that’s what Charlotte hoped. 

Now, her loyalties are painfully conflicted: she hates the NWRF for how they’ve been using her brother, but knows that breaking her loyalty to them would likely end badly—for her and her brother both. It’s all she can do to try to remind him who he is while the Reformists hunt for their elusive cure.

RELATED BIOS: “CHARLIE ESSEX” | EMMANUEL TRENT

Dr. Emmanuel Trent | Forty Four;  Elite

House: Brink Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: Deluded Psychologist Alignment: New Wave Reformist Codename: “Icarus”

History

Emmanuel had been an enigma even to his parents as he was growing up. Reticent and subdued, he struggled to form meaningful connections with those around him all the way through school, too distant and inwardly focused even to draw the undesirable attention of the schoolyard bullies. There were unkind rumours, though, that he didn’t have feelings and that he didn’t have a heart; that house pets went missing around him, to meet gruesome ends. None of this was true, but neither did Emmanuel bother to refute it. Instead he used it, and used their own fears against them to garner his continued solitude and their skittish respect all the way through his teens. They murmured “sociopath” behind his back, and this, maybe, was true.

The way people’s minds worked continued to be of utter fascination to him when it came time to narrow down a profession. Psychiatry and a more medical avenue didn’t interest him; it was the cognitive and behavioural sciences that piqued his interests and best served his curiosities, so he entered into psychology. His parents weren’t sure what to make of this – it seemed an awfully altruistic field for a boy who had a famous amount of difficulty connecting with others. Still, he excelled, finding his connections more with the teachers and the experts in the field than his peers. Maybe Emmanuel had simply gone unchallenged growing up, and only now had his chance to flourish amongst those of higher intellect and shared interests.

He enjoyed modest success in the psychological field, purposefully taking on the more difficult cases out of clinical curiosity, able to solve a number of them thanks to a more sterile twist in view. Commendations from his peers were treated with a measure of confusion; Emmanuel did little for recognition alone, leaving his brilliant mind further under the radar than was likely deserved. He carved out a quiet but meaningful life for himself, philanthropic on the surface but with more interest in how people ticked underneath than how they interacted. As he aged he never married, and a fair number of his friendships, though seemingly rewarding, would eventually be looked back on by the other party as rather shallow in hindsight. Emmanuel was largely uninterested in bonds for the simple sake of them. As such, his heart didn’t break too badly when the sky fell. 

No one who knew Emmanuel before the Falling would be much surprised that he threw his lot in with the New Wave. It wasn’t that he hated the Infected, even if he did suffer the odd spike of jealousy that they could develop such singular powers that continued to defy science and logic. It was more that he had plenty to offer the Reformists with his intimate knowledge of the human psyche but with so few of the adjoining hangups, so when the placement was offered, he didn’t see much reason to refuse.

Emmanuel Today

Emmanuel held a strong interest in the Deluded from the beginning, and the NWRF were quick to capitalize on said interest. He was tasked with finding out how they ticked, how they thought, if and how they could be used. The longer he spent in the Reformist ranks the less he realized they were manipulating him just as he was learning to manipulate his subjects: the NWRF wanted Infected tools to use, and Emmanuel had just the talent they needed to make that happen. He’d already been sharpening his subtle control of the Deluded down to an needle-fine point when the perfect opportunity was dumped right into his lap—or rather, walked right through the door: six-foot-three of unadulterated, highly trained American muscle, scrambled John-Doe brain ripe for the remaking.

He couldn’t have asked for a more willing subject or a more thrilling experiment. Emmanuel immediately devoted as much of his time to grooming this “Charlie Baltimore” as he was allowed—which was plenty, considering the vast returns on the airtight control of such a skilled operative. Despite the manipulation coming almost laughably easy to such a malleable mind, Emmanuel delighted at the pet project. He divined the source of the Delusion and wove himself flawlessly inside “Charlie’s” story, slipping into the skin of his ‘handler’ with the codename “Icarus.”

In Charlie’s world, Icarus was a man assigned to manage a team of specifically selected security personnel, who were quite vaguely described as ‘especially promising’ and thus were to be groomed to support the future of the Reformists; as they explained it to Charlie, these were troubling times and they anticipated potential uprisings in the future. Charlie and these other ‘selects’ were intended to help prepare for that. These ‘others’ of course, did not in fact exist. But through the weave of this fictional identity, Emmanuel worked with Charlie for months, studying him and grooming him, gaining his trust and securing his loyalty.

Because of this, the doctor was irreparably furious with HQ for the debacle with the “parasite” experiment at Colony 22 ( [x] [x] )—he couldn’t fathom how cavalier they’d been in compromising his investment without his knowledge or consent, or even his advice. He’d always figured that being Charlie’s man behind the screen—a remote, mysterious source of insight and plot—was the best route, but now he was wondering if it wasn’t better to keep an eye on things from a closer vantage. Emmanuel put together his transfer request to Colony 22 to take a more hands-on approach as soon as he was able. A general ambivalence towards the Games and political unrest was counteracted by his interest in dossiers on the other Deluded, a couple of whom he’d even discussed with Charlie; maybe Emmanuel could find his next project there.

RELATED BIOS: "CHARLIE ESSEX” | CHARLOTTE WILLIAMS

OCS, SKELETONS & AN ALL NEW NWRF EXTRAVAGANZA

Okay guys! We come to you with another really exciting announcement! 

As you probably know, Lottie and I are always working hard behind the scenes coming up with ideas for future plots, and potential changes/expansions that will help ensure the longevity of the Colony’s life. And we have lots in store for you guys, things that we hope to release or expand over the next year, but our current project and focus, especially since we’re not able to get into the next Games Live Play until Game season is back upon us in the verse, is to do with helping to foster an actively played, NWRF presence at the Colony. 

After some discussion about the current environment of the game, and the kinds of things that might help to make it continue to prosper as well as it has been these past couple years, we’d like to help strengthen the active conflict dynamic within the RP. As of now, the verse has plenty to work with, which has helped us immensely in the last three years, since the drop of the NWRF plot. However, we’ve been thinking that since we’re all one big happy family just trying to play a cool game, what kinds of tools can we introduce to help make the game even better and more accessible for everyone? So....

Introducing ‘Plot Device’ Skeleton bios! 

Starting now, we’re going to start working on and rolling out skeleton bios specifically designed for characters that will help move the plot forward, and open doors for new and exciting tension and content! For the time being, since this is essentially an NWRF themed promotional festival (lol, the irony is obscene), all of these skeletons will be NWRF, with potential for other roles and bio types in the future. 

These skeletons, however, will come with their own parameters for activity and play, which will hopefully help make filling these roles more feasible, and make the gameplay more exciting and fun for the whole group! The parameters will be as follows: 

Skeletons (or ‘skeles’ as I’ve taken to calling them) will be designed in such a way that they can be temporary, if need be.  That is to say, if we’re in need of someone on a temporary basis to help make a certain plot more interesting or dynamic, these characters can be played on a temporary basis. Of course, hanging onto them is always encouraged too! If you fall in love, who are we to take them away from you! :) 

Picking up a skeleton will not count towards your character count. 

Muns will not be specifically required to write paras on skeletons, UNLESS it’s for a big/action heavy plot, etc.  Essentially, we will always encourage paras, especially since half of y’alls chats are basically long enough to be paras—but with these skeles, you will not be expected to para in the same way you are with regular bios. The exception to this will be applied when you’re participating in a plot where the content sort of demands para format anyway. 

Skeleton bios will have an extended activity limit of TEN days.  We know that NWRF type characters can be a heavier load sometimes, in terms of muse, and the weightiness of threads. But these skeletons are designed more to be sort of part-time characters, whose appearances on the dash will really help shake things up, but don’t necessarily have to be as present. That being said, goodness gracious, if you can be as active on them as your other characters please do so. We are not suggesting you can’t dedicate as much time to these guys. Just that they are designed to be more flexible, so more people feel they have the time to pick them up, which will help add cool versatility to the active player plotting opportunities. 

Similarly, Skeles will not be expected to have as many on going interactions at one given time.  So, yes, we still want people to RP with a variety of characters and members, and try to experience plotting and threading with everyone eventually. But you will not be under the same expectations to have that many threads going at one given time, or to reply to as many starters, etc. We still hope for diversity, but as ‘plot-device’ characters, our goal for them is to add range to the dash that will be beneficial to the plot and for people’s muse, while not bogging down our muns or be quite as large of a commitment.  (We may set a minimum number of 3, but these rules will be solidified in the future). 

Skeles will only have suggested FCs (some requirements accordingly, like POC, etc) age ranges, +/- traits, and general summaries.  Like most skeletons, these will be character guides that we would like the muns to get creative with and flesh out in their own way. We will provide character labels, (rather than full names), job titles, a small summary of the character, and some general aesthetic/moods. From there, you will be free to do the rest. This also means that the application will be different for these bios, and that will be released at a later date. 

Skeletons that are dropped will be handled on a case by case basis much like any other bio. They’ll either be closed and written out of the story, reopened to be played again in the future, or potentially reopened as a full bio, if the mun decides to release it as such. 

Skeleton bios will only be available to current members.  This is strictly because if you are going to be a member of this RP, you should start with a fully committed character, with regular activity requirements and participation. We want new members to get the most out of their time here and to really be a part of this community, and these particular skeletons are fashioned in such a way that the requirements wouldn’t be beneficial to you as a new member. However, if you are a new member and you’re interested in NWRF roles, keep in mind there will always be the full NWRF bios, as found on on our open masterlist, as well as the possibility of writing OCs! And finally, if you’ve absolutely fallen in love with a skeleton, and want to apply for it as a full character with normal activity requirements, that’s certainly something that could be discussed, and we encourage you to come to us about that if you’d like! 

NWRF OOC Blog

One of the challenging things about playing NWRF characters is their connection to the main plot, which is largely executed and controlled by the admins, so communication is essential, and across so many players in so many different timezones, it can sometimes be confusing. So, starting this week, we’re going to be introducing a secondary OOC, that will be specifically reserved for plotting and sharing information between NWRF reps, guards, lab techs, etc etc etc, with regards to the goings on in the Colony. It will be where you can easily plot and drop notes and ideas, so you all have one place to communicate together where timezones won’t be an issue, and things won’t get too cluttered like they might in a group chat. 

The separation of this is only to be able to retain a bit of fun and mystery when it comes to Lottie and I not wanting to spoil event ideas and plot drops for everyone, but needing to loop in some of the NWRF for their own character dev or what have you, etc. This OOC, however, will never be for socializing, because we have no intention of splitting up the family in anyway.  It’ll exclusively be for plotting and the sharing of NWRF related info, etc. We’re hoping this method will help facilitate an easier and more cohesive system to playing an NWRF character. 

 Opening NWRF OCs

We’ve been on OC ban for some time now, and we had planned to do another stint of opening them up for a limited time. We have decided, however, to simply fully open NWRF OCs. (Not to worry, there will be more opportunities to apply for non-NWRF OCs in the future, but if anyone is interested in that, come chat with us about it off anon!) For now, however, since our current goal is to focus on getting more NWRF up and running in the game play, and we didn’t necessarily want to go on an NWRF exclusive ban, we figured this was a great alternative! 

The NWRF Incentive! (Better than it sounds!!) 

So, in the interest of boosting our NWRF presence here at Col22, we’re sort of rolling out a Bay-Day-Sale type promotion (haha). So, for a limited time only, anyone who applies for a FULL NWRF OPEN BIO (as in not a skeleton) will get to enjoy an extended activity limit of 9 DAYS for the first 3 MONTHS after their application. This is purely promotional, and will not be offered forever, but for the time being, it’s a little extra incentive for you guys to get your bums in gear! We also figured since the Skeleton bios will have a more lax activity limit, we may as well boost our full NWRF bios as well! The more the merrier, right!?

In Closing...

Obviously, the roll out of the skeletons themselves will take some time, and will be gradual. Lottie is about to go on a hiatus for about a week, and obviously I’m working stupid film hours, but hopefully we’ll get some posted for you next weekend! We just really wanted to give everyone the news now, so people can start thinking about it. 

If you have any ideas of things you’d like to see as skeletons, definitely let us know, and feel free to pitch us your ideas! And as always, if you have any questions at all or things you want clarified about this, don’t be afraid to hit us up here on the main blog! Please refer to the Ask Box so we can reply publicly and benefit everyone! 

Okay, that’s all for now folks! So much love to you all from the both of us,  and so very proud!!!

xoxo

Lorenzo Salazar | Twenty Two;  Survivor

House: Torren Security Class: 2 Status: Uninfected Alignment: New Wave Reformists

History

tw: violence, murder

Lorenzo Salazar was probably never meant to go through any hardship in life. The only child to a wealthy couple in Costa Del Sol, the boy was spoiled rotten from his very first years — the only problem was that no one wanted to deal with the consequences later on. As a toddler, he was already a brat. As a child, he was picking fights at the playground. Detention after detention in school, the rich kid couldn’t help swinging his fists at anyone who looked at him funny. He did it for the thrill of it, he’d probably say, but it was mostly for attention. With parents that only grew more absent as he grew older, Lorenzo tried to fill the parental-figure-shaped hole in his heart with scars on his knuckles and the taste of blood on his tongue.

At fourteen, his parents had enough of him. His antics wouldn’t stop and the only way they found they could deal with their son was, unoriginally, sending him away to the other side of the country. Lorenzo doesn’t blame them for it, if only because moving was the best thing that could’ve happened to him. An all-boys school away from home, filled with angst-driven rich kids like himself. The aggression and the fighting continued, of course, but it became more a group activity than a solitary choice.

He was sixteen when D-Day happened. The boarding school was left a mess of debris, but some of the students and faculty survived. Eventually, Lorenzo broke off from the others with a group of friends who’d survived as well, and they set out to find a way to survive in the Wasteland.

In a few months, after the head-splitting headaches and the sickness that seemed to be affecting nearly all of them, things cleared up. Infected, all six of his friends. A plethora of telekinetics, telepaths, heightened senses and whatnot, all except for Lorenzo. For the first time in his life, Lorenzo Salazar was the minority.

They walked the lands together for many more months after that, deciding that colonies were not the deal for them. Lorenzo felt uneasy being the only one in the group without some stupid superpower, and the others didn’t soothe his worries by relentlessly teasing him for it. After two years of wandering, the uninfected boy woke up in the middle of the night and heard a whispered conversation between his friends. They were talking about him; about how he was slowing them down, how they should leave him behind. One suggested they should knock him out, first. Another said something about killing him. Their voices were quiet but venomous. Lorenzo didn’t wait for them to make a decision.

In the chaos, he threw punches, he stabbed with a pocket knife, he grabbed what he could and ran away before he could lose the fight. From then on, he vowed to survive alone. He stole from other clans and slept in hidden corners, he lived on the run like a nomad, always looking over his shoulder, in fear his previous so-called friends might find him again and take him out for good.

If the world had turned into a war zone, then so be it. Lorenzo embraced it. Every person he came across was a potential enemy. Every clan he met was full of Infected people, and he wouldn’t make the mistake of trusting one of those again. He nurtured every terrible habit from his teen years into his life as a solitary looter, and he found that throwing the first punch always served him right. No one expected a knife to the throat from a kid with curly hair and round eyes. He knew his soft look helped him with the surprise element.

He probably would’ve continued surviving on his own if it hadn’t been for one night, about three years ago. He decided he would steal from a couple he saw camping nearby; their tent was filled with supplies, he could tell, and he was starving. Still armed with a trusty blade he stole from his “friends”, he only had to watch the couple from afar for a brief moment to see the woman moving something swiftly through the air with telekinesis, and he made his decision. Killing the Infected never made him feel much remorse. It was kill or be killed. He knew how they were — if they knew he was uninfected, they wouldn’t hesitate to take him out, either. He took the man out first, then the woman. He’s not a sadist, by any means, and so he did it quick and as painless as he could. 

It was only when he was done with them that he heard a noise coming from inside the tent. He held up his weapon and inched closer carefully, but for the first time in his life, he hesitated on his attack. Big doe eyes stared up at him, sparkling with tears, noises muffled behind a pacifier. It was a baby, a poor innocent girl inside an improvised crib, bundled up in a sweater and tiny gloves and with a teddy bear by her side.

Lorenzo couldn’t kill a baby, he immediately knew that much. It wasn’t the baby’s fault that her parents were irresponsible enough to have a child in times like these, and outside of a colony, no less. But when he tried to simply walk away, he couldn’t. It wouldn’t take long for this girl to die of hunger out here alone, and it’d be unlikely that someone would stumble upon her. Even worse, her crying might attract some sort of hungry wild animal who would be happy to take her as a meal. Either way, as he tried to walk away, he could only imagine the hundred possible horrible ways she could die, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave her behind.

He didn’t know the first thing about babies. His initial plan was to drop her at the nearest colony’s doorstep and walk away, but as soon as he picked her up from the crib, he knew that wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t letting go of this kid. However twisted it may be, he was responsible for this little girl now, and he wasn’t going to let anyone do her any harm — God knew he’d done enough of that already. He filled his backpack with as many supplies as he could, set the girl on his hip, and walked off into the fastest path to get him into the nearest colony he could find.

It was only a matter of days until they stumbled upon a search party for Colony 17, just off the coast of Spain and he asked them for help. He told them the babe was his little sister, that their parents had just been murdered by some lunatic looter, and that he’d grabbed all he could before escaping to save themselves. No one ever questioned his story.

Lorenzo Today

Adapting to the colony wasn’t too hard. He had a place to sleep and food on the table, and he had protection. He wasn’t just surviving for himself now, after all, he had to do what was best for his newly found sister. Sofia, he’d named her, when the Crusaders asked for their information. She was small enough that she’d never remember any of this, probably around nine months, so no one could disprove his story as long as he kept his mouth shut. To that end, he told the doctors that their parents had been Uninfected, but he lives in fear that Sofia might develop some kind of ability; he doesn’t want the poor girl to become a study case.

The betrayal he went through at the hands of his friends hardened him. He’s even more prone to lashing out now, paranoid, untrusting of most people, especially the Infected. As much as Lorenzo tries to be more docile for Sofia’s sake, his anger is still present. He never so much as raises his voice to her, but he’s overprotective. If he thinks someone is giving him or her weird looks, he’s swinging before anyone can begin to explain themselves. 

Colony 17 saw him as a nuisance and always refused to give him any sort of elite position, which he resents. But when the NWRF rose, he was filled with a new hope. Finally, the minority of Uninfected were gaining back their control. Finally, a place where he would be heard. Colony 17 started to get overcrowded, and Lorenzo was the first to offer himself and Sofia for a transfer over to Colony 22. He’d heard the rumours about how the NWRF had more control there, and at the same time, more positions open, too. He’d argued that the colony in England had more teachers and better opportunities for his little sister, which wasn’t a lie. Of course, officials were all but opposed to losing the troublemaker with a toddler. 

Lorenzo thinks he has a much better chance of rising to a position of power in this new colony, which would mean a much better position to keep Sofia safe. He’ll be doing whatever he can to get to the top, even if he has to claw his way up there.

Ethan Williams Charlie Essex | Thirty Six;  Elite

House: Torren Status: Deluded {Unregistered} Elite Specification: NWRF Security and Enforcement Alignment: New Wave Reformists

History

Ethan Williams had a life that was charmed from the start, perfectly befitting the backstory of any self-respecting, self-proclaimed hero of their own story. Born the middle of five children to loving parents, Ethan grew up with all of the support and encouragement he could ever need. He thrived both in and out of school, and with a swift mastery of most mental and physical requirements, he was fast-tracked as a CIA operative to follow in the footsteps of his father. Special Ops was his dream career, and when you love your job, you don’t work a day in your life.

Still, it’s always good to have outside interests: a hobby. Ethan’s occupation didn’t allow for a lot of downtime, but what he did get he invested the majority of into expansive and immersive VR games and experiences. He’d always enjoyed video games as a kid, and it was dual-purpose escapism: it gave him something to focus on other than ruminating on the things he’d lived and experienced as a foreign operative, as well as giving him a more casual training experience and low-key skill upkeep. Open-world fantasies were his preoccupation of choice, eager to explore and pick apart the intricacies of worlds with uniquely built power structures, socio-political balances, and, like. Dragons and mages to fight, of course.

Ethan was four hours into a particularly immersive session of the latest installment of his favorite franchise, Reverent Sword pt. IV, when the asteroids started to fall. He didn’t even hear them coming.

When Ethan awoke three days later, he wasn’t answering to Ethan anymore. He was reborn “Charlie Baltimore,” an action hero name for an action hero character. Believing himself to be the brainchild of a faceless player and outside of his own agency, Charlie was named after an existing action hero of choice and given the backstory to match: a complicated blend of Ethan’s own history and cherry-picked events and characteristics of the main character from the movie Charlie’s namesake is derived from. Character creation is a complicated thing, but when you do it right, you can create an avatar that’s well rounded in flaws as well as skills – and just a touch overpowered, with a perfect six-pack.

Charlie fought his way through the Wastes with all the skill and recklessness of a CIA operative classed as a player-character with little to lose, jumping from clan to clan wherever and whenever he could help. Time passes differently inside the world of a video game, so even though years had elapsed by the time the New Wave formed and he reached his first overtaken colony, Charlie figured he’d just finished making his way through the initial levels and it was time to advance the plot. He was given his inaugural in-game alignment decision: the Radicals, the Rebels, or the Reformists. His player always did like a challenge, apparently, and after enough games as the good guy and rooting for the underdog, they were ready to shoot for something more ambitious. Charlie chose the Reformists, and so his plot began.

Charlie Today

The presence of a Deluded in the ranks of the NWRF is… unique. Generally unheard of. The thing is, “Charlie’s” skill set is too valuable and his bizarre sense of loyalty too steadfast for the NWRF to be able to pass up. They’ve always intended to use the Infected to their advantage, and Charlie presented himself as the perfect candidate for exploitation. He’s an easily manipulated and exceptionally useful pawn so long as they can keep him occupied, which is one of the reasons he was transferred to Colony 22 roughly four months ago. The location was couched as a den of particularly combative and rebellious Infected, and Charlie ate the premise right up. This was obviously the next step in the main questline. Upon arrival he was branded Uninfected, his delusion swept under the rug and the facade held in place by his remarkable devotion to roleplaying his character. His name was changed to match the area he was picked up in, on the off chance “Charlie Baltimore” was too recognizable. He had to go undercover, you see, or so the NWRF told him.

He approaches the more challenging aspects of his security and enforcement detail with zeal, not unkind but generally following orders to the letter, concerned about losing his game progress if he goes against the alignment he chose. Charlie doesn’t believe the Infected are inherently bad, but he assumes there’s a bigger plot in the works and they’re just two steps away from some kind of evil transformation. They can’t help it: it’s in their coding.

Training and the promise of the games are easily his favorite parts of the whole Colony experience, though his patience with the former is starting to wear thin when there isn’t a lot left he can practice or be taught. Charlie is beyond the tutorial levels by now, and he’s ready to hit the main event with every bit of inappropriate enthusiasm for winning the game within the game. All in all he’s something of a charmingly dense presence around the colony, as blithely fickle as he is legitimately dangerous.

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