#calyset

[the-colony-roleplay]

Roy Walters | Twenty Two;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Roy was a temperamental child, which unsurprisingly, didn’t change as he became a teenager. He wasn't a handful per se—actually, he was a pretty good kid. Something of a nerd, with perhaps some reclusive tendencies, he collected action figures, read comic books, played video games, and had "a love affair with his computer" as his mom used to say. Which, when he was older, he used to roll his eyes at her not-so-subtle jibes about it, and say, "of course I do, mother, it's where all the good porn is."

Yes, Roy was also sarcastic, but more so in his own head than anything else. He was bright, but not outwardly expressive and he was gifted in many intellectual ways—logical, studious, quick witted, and imaginative. He took advanced classes all throughout his high school career, and became rather immersed in online roleplaying games such as World of Warcraft and League of Legends. Intuitive and curious, he had a lust for knowing how things worked, for taking things apart just to put them back together so he could get an idea of how to create his own contraptions. Despite his antisocial behaviour in day to day life, he was a natural leader in the things he did online, making friends easily, managing projects or undertaking the running of gaming communities.

At school, he was decently well-liked, though not well known. People were pleasantly surprised when first sharing classes with him, that the quiet kid who was often alone, turned out to be good for a number of laughs, always the first to mutter a few dry, drawling remarks from the corner. But being liked for your cleverness wasn't as cracked up as people claimed it to be. Roy was still that kid that no one really knew, and no one especially cared to find out. And perhaps it was his fault, perhaps he didn't try hard enough, or so his parents said—but it confused him to think that he had to try to be someone that people could like. Didn't that defeat the purpose of having friends?

During his senior year of high school, he felt an immense amount of pressure put upon his shoulders by his parents, who despite their loving intentions, applied too much stress on the boy. Their tireless nagging lead him to lose sleep, appetite and motivation, which was the exact opposite effect to what they wanted. But the constant and unnecessary reminders of how important his college applications and his future schooling was, only made him less productive, if anything.

Roy’s parents had him convinced that his efforts weren’t good enough, that his remarkable report cards weren’t remarkable enough. That being himself, wasn't good enough, because he had to be social to be normal. Sure, they liked that their son was smart, but there was a certain stigma to being the kind of smart that meant that other people and their mundane entertainment like beer-drinking and sports-watching and party-puking, were incredibly exhausting. In the space of a couple years, what used to be a good relationship with his parents became a rather strained one and they argued constantly. One evening, in a fit of exhausted angst after a particularly emotional quarrel, Roy tiredly wished for his parents to disappear.

The next day, was the end of the world.

Roy Today

Roy was found, filthy and frighteningly thin, among the trees just a few short miles away from the Colony 22 property. He was hardly cognitive, speaking of things that made no sense, but no one could tell if it was delusion from trauma and starvation, or something worse.

He spent a few weeks in the medical ward upon his first arrival, being nursed back to health, and though his cheeks grew warmer, brighter, his skin smoother and healthier and no longer taut to bone, his mind did not seem to untangle itself. While he eventually became more aware of his surroundings and communicating normally, he began to show signs of what appeared to be some form of paranoid schizophrenia.

Attributing this mostly to Infection, Colony scientists believe that the virus attacked Roy's current mental state of guilt and grief and warped it into something worse, and far more twisted. Now, he seems to be of the belief that he is some kind of misconducted prophecy. He thinks that he is not only responsible for the disaster that took the planet, but also has the power to give and take life, like the Grim Reaper is living inside of him—like he's possessed by Death. Living with it in his skin, but unable to control it or cage it or exorcise it.

Roy feels like he is a carrier of death and destruction, that one wrong slip and the demons that fill his ears with voices no one else hears, will take down his friends and loved ones one at a time. He believes that Death is feeding off his bones and using him as a vessel and he's become afraid of his own reflection, as he sees warped hallucinations of his face when he looks in a mirror, frightening and skeletal and representational of hell itself.

Roy's reclusive nature has consumed him now, the fear of getting close to anyone and inevitably condemning them to pain has warped his mind. His animosity towards being pressured into being something he wasn't, being pushed to a breaking point where he wished his own parents dead and giving the Reaper reason to target him, has made him scathing and caustic, turning his sarcasm and isolation into a weapon. Though deep down he is nothing but afraid and alone, on the surface he is angry, cynical, even vindictive at times.

Roy feels trapped, like his body and mind have been stolen from him and it wreaks havoc on his personality and emotional state. His loneliness eats him alive, but he feels helpless to do anything about it because his instinct is to not only push people away, but hurdle them away at full force. The mirrors in the immediate proximity of his dorm room are all taped and boarded, as are the mirrors in the bathroom attached to it.  His housemates who share a dorm with him sort of learn to deal with it, as it's easier that, than argue with him.

There are flashes of Roy's personality that seem quick and likeable, but the trouble is that though many people feel sorry for him, many also fear him. He's turbulent and difficult to read and those who try to help him often walk away scorned, though it's not because Roy doesn't want the help, it's because he's terrified of allowing anyone to get close enough to do so.

TAKEN

[the-colony-roleplay]

Adrián Javier “Ajay” Benítez | Thirty One; Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 3 Status: Infected - Telekinesis

History

Canadian born, but Chilean bred, Adrián Javier was creating chaos in the lower mainland of BC, long before the apocalypse. In fact, before D-Day, Vancouver and its surrounding cities would have perhaps ended a couple hundred thousand dollars richer, were it not for young Ajay Benítez.

It sort of happened on accident, really. That is, he never meant to become a kleptomaniac. But then again, does anyone ever really set out to become their own worst enemy? For Adrián it started almost like a nervous twitch. He was always moving, always a part of him practically vibrating. His knee incessantly bouncing under the table never failed to eventually make his mother snap at him, and, having not realized he was doing it, he would comply. But two minutes later, he’d be thinking about something else and would be at it again.

Some doctors called it ADHD, others attributed it to a coping mechanism developed in early childhood—before his transition. Having been assigned female at birth, Adrián had always been a bit of an anxiety case, uncomfortable in even the most mellow environments. And though his confidence bloomed after he started taking hormone blockers at thirteen, and continued to do so once he started testosterone at sixteen, being transgender wasn’t exactly easy on his anxiety or self esteem.

But whatever the cause (likely a combination of many factors) Adrián’s restlessness kept him (and his parents) pretty compelled to keep his hands busy and his mind stimulated, simply so that he wouldn’t go off the deep end without a constant outlet for his excess energy. Of course, that became steadily more and more difficult because Ajay could only focus on one thing at a time for so long, before getting distracted or bored, and desperate to move on.

The first thing he stole from an actual business was a pack of gum from the gas station he was working at. Actually, it was so cliché, he even found it a little embarrassing, and prefers to come up with other stories as to what he started with. After then it was some toiletries and next, cigarettes, even though he didn’t smoke at the time—he took them because he could, and because the opportunity had presented itself, and because apparently there was something addictive about the thrilling feeling of theft, the anticipation of making sure he didn’t get caught. Plus, as it turned out, selling cartons of smokes was an easy way to make pocket money.

Early on, he had a few petty-crime arrests, making his mistakes while he was still in the stages of nicking chips and sodas off the shelves of low-security markets. But his fumbles enabled him to learn better tricks, and after about a year he was getting away with a lot more than just smokes and candy. It was no doubt in part due to his already anxious demeanour and his blatantly obvious lack of a poker face. He was already quirky, high strung, and a bit awkward, so it made finding signs that he was lying somewhat difficult.

It’s generally agreed upon that he’s a nice guy, when it comes down to it, but Adrián’s always been a little bit obnoxious. His social cues are mildly off, and he often expresses what he’s thinking, even if protocol suggests it’d be better left unsaid. But maybe because of this, he was rarely taken seriously enough to become a suspect of anything, at least not by the people who knew him. He was just an awkward nerdy guy, who liked to have a good time and who was undeniably passionate about winning board games.

But they probably should have taken him more seriously, because if they had, there might not have been a slew of missing jewelry, clothing, and cash collecting in the top drawer of a squirrelly teenager’s dresser (decidedly the worst hiding place in the world and an early sign that he may have been becoming a decent little bandit, but he wasn’t necessarily smart about it). Taking him seriously might also have prevented the upgrade from a bit of pickpocketing to hot-wiring cars and eventually, grand theft auto.

Fortunately for Adrián, when he was finally caught red-handed with his fourth car theft in two years, he was able to avoid jail-time on the case that his wrong-doings were actually a full-fledged disorder. Since a very young age, his parents had had problems with their son stealing the strangest and most trivial items—pencils when he already have plenty, textbooks for classes he wasn’t taking, salt and pepper shakers from restaurants.... Literally anything the chatty girls in his classes would leave carelessly on their desks would disappear in minutes—nail polish, hairbands, chewing gum. It didn’t matter if he had any use for the object, or even if he liked it. Most of the time he’d trash the thing after a few days anyway, that or it would sit in a shoe box in a closet already littered with stolen property. But for Ajay, it was a compulsive need to obtain things. To take what was in front of him for no reason other than to call it his own.

Found Not Guilty by reason of clinical disorder, Adrián was released of charges and sent to court-ordered therapy.

Ajay Today

Adrián’s “skill” proved itself useful to him after D-Day, when theft and pilfering were more or less the key to survival. And, when his infection kicked in, his limits understandably became far fewer. For about six months, he survived in the remains of his work (Staples Canada, one of the few places willing to hire him after his stint in the news), with a few other wastelanders. But when he was found stealing other people’s fair share, the small group rallied against him and forced him to leave.

He only had to survive on his own for a couple of months, looting from small camps in the middle of the night and travelling South towards warmer climate, before he was picked up by some Crusaders from Colony 9 in California. Though he was registered with them immediately, he begged to be transferred overseas to look for his parents, who had been holidaying in Scotland when D-Day hit. When the Crusaders found his parents already registered in Colony 4, they agreed to get Ajay onto a Merchant ship from where they found him in Seattle.

When he arrived at Colony 4 several weeks later, he was relieved to be reunited with his family, but the structure and regime of the Colony, not to mention the constant temptations of supplies and possessions he could get his hands on, proved to be a much more challenging environment for him. At the Colony there were rules and margins and people there to enforce them. Ajay had never been great at keeping within the lines—but after nearly a year of living the life of a transient wastelander, he’d almost forgotten how to even try. It became a daily obsession to loiter around the trading tents and merchant docks, taking everything he could, sometimes keeping things for himself, other times selling them to the needy and desperate buyers of the Colony.

He was caught multiple times, his reputation with the Colony Officials getting increasingly worse. After a handful of warnings, his security was increased, his privileges stripped, and he spent more than a few nights in Col4′s version of containment. Finally, they’d had enough and they sent him off to Colony 22, separating him from his parents and claiming that the smaller colony would have “better means to regulate him.” This of course, wasn’t necessarily true, but 22 took him in, sorted him into a house and slapped him with a class 3 security.

TAKEN

[the-colony-roleplay]

Josephine Parker | Twenty Six;  Survivor

House: Calyset Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: Teacher Teaches: History and Literature, ages 10-13 Alignment: New Age Rebels

History

For all intents and purposes, Jo was born with a book in her hand. Her mother was a historical archivist and her father was an english professor at the University of Washington, so Jo grew up surrounded by paper, ink, and words. She was reading by the age of three, and by six she was helping her mother in the archive. Her parents chose to homeschool her by teaching her whatever came to mind, whenever they had time. As a result, Jo learned quite a bit about literature, poetry, and history, and not much about science, math, or how to socialize with other people her own age. By the time she joined public school at age twelve, she was well-read and intelligent, but more than a little socially stunted. Needless to say, she did not make many friends. 

She spent more time in the school’s library than on the playground and rarely spoke up in class, especially after she learned the definition of ‘teacher’s pet’ the hard way.  In high school she found some of her people in the debate team and the academic decathlon— none of them close friends, but the closest thing she could get. She dated a bit, but it never went anywhere. Either they didn’t click or they went too fast or she went too slow. At least until her senior year, when she met Rosalind. Jo had gone to a meeting of the art club for a lecture on renaissance techniques, and the two hit it off almost instantly. Or, rather, Rosalind hit it off instantly. It took Jo almost two months to realize their study sessions, impromptu movie nights, and walks around Seattle were actually dates, and even then Rosalind had to kiss her before she figured it out. 

They made an unlikely pair. Rosalind was loud and confident to Jo’s quiet thoughtfulness. While Jo wanted a big family with loads of kids, Rosalind’s idea of a family was a household of pets. Jo preferred the quiet of books while Rosalind relished bold, colourful art. And yet, opposites attracted. Jo majored in literature and history with a minor in education, while Rosalind took as many of the college’s night art classes as she could juggle. On their off days they wandered the city, sketching at the piers or widow shopping at Pike Place. As the days stretched into months, that stretched into years, they began to think about the future. Graduating, adopting a dog, maybe, and teasingly, where they might honeymoon. The night before D-Day, Rosalind had tried to subtly ask what kind of ring Jo liked. The next day, their knuckles turned white as they held onto each other, watching the news while a storm tore the world apart outside.

Like the rest of the city, their instinct was to run to the docks. They managed to secure the last places on board a cargo ship and watched from the deck as Seattle flooded and crumbled. No one knew what was happening or where they’d go next. Every port they radioed for contact either reported severe flooding or just didn’t reply at all. And then other news came in, about what was happening to the inland countries, about the meteors that had apparently decimated the population. The more they heard, the more it seemed like mankind faced its end. Everyone dealt with it in different ways; some sailors drank, Rosalind sketched her parents over and over, and Jo reread the books they’d brought, trying to memorize every last trace of rapidly disappearing humanity.

After nearly a month of drifting, they made port in northern Mexico. The few survivors they found were wary, but allowed the ship to stay long enough to resupply. Jo started chatting with them in the best broken, mixed Spanglish she could muster—and then she started writing. It was just little things at first; who ran the crumbling bakery, whose son had died in the flood. The small things gradually grew into stories. By the time the ship was ready to leave, Jo had filled an entire book with the history of the town, cramming her own notes between the lines. More importantly, she and Rosalind made a decision. Jo replaced her books with empty journals and Rosalind scrounged for any blank paper she could get her hands on. Hand in hand, they waved goodbye to the survivors and set out to document what was left of the world.

The next four years were a blur. Jo collected stories from every survivor they found. Rosalind filled one sketchbook after another with eyes, hands, broken cities, and faces. Somewhere along the way, Rosalind found, then traded an old polaroid for passage on a ship across the Atlantic. They were married, as officially as possible, on the voyage. The couple travelled across Africa, all the way up to Arabia. The intense destruction from the Asian meteor turned them back west into Europe, where they thought they might find more hope.

News was hard to come by in the new world, but the uprising was hard to miss. Jo and Rosalind had their first encounter with the New Wave in the French countryside. A young girl and her father, terrified and starving: they’d been running for days, from what Rosalind could translate. Some people had taken over their camp. It hadn’t been so bad, until they caught one of the boys lifting rocks with his mind. The people beat him badly, and they told the rest of the camp in no uncertain terms that any other “unnatural acts” would be punished. Rosalind had started getting headaches about a month before their encounter, and they’d been getting worse. Both she and Jo knew what came next. And now they knew to be afraid.

After that, they travelled more cautiously. Jo scouted ahead, making first contact with any clans to make sure they were safe before Rosalind joined her. As they travelled down the Iberian peninsula, they started hearing other stories about Crusade groups. Clans disappearing. Bigger colonies being taken over by the Reformists. More than once Jo tried convincing Rosalind to turn back, to find a clan with other Infected. Safety was in numbers, and Jo was terrified of what would happen if they were caught unawares. Rosalind, if she was afraid, didn’t show it. She wanted to keep travelling, to document as much as possible. Those were some of their only fights but Rosalind always convinced her to keep going.

 Jo Today

Of course, Jo’s worst nightmare eventually came to pass. The New Wave crusaders found them by surprise. They’d been camping with a small group; a dozen people, maybe two or three Infected. One minute they were laughing over weak coffee and taking down the tents, the next minute everyone was screaming, running. Someone grabbed Jo, and was instantly thrown back with a wave of Rosalind’s hand. A crusader tackled Rosalind to the ground, another pointed a gun at her head. Jo watched, wide-eyed, as Rosalind reached for her. And then she ran.

Jo didn’t see a single soul for weeks, not until she reached the English channel. Every time she stopped, she heard Rosalind’s voice ringing in her ears, begging her to run. She managed to evade the crusaders twice more, before her luck ran out. They told her she was being rescued by the New Wave and it was best not to resist. They gave her good food, a warm bed, even a classroom of children to teach and nurture and love. It was everything she could want, everything she’d begged Rosalind for. She felt horrible.

Five weeks after her capture, Jo tried to organize an escape. Some of her children were Infected; She knew what it would be like for them when they got older and she wouldn’t let that happen. She’d planned well: supplies, lists of guard movements and rotations, a map of the grounds. But she’d never attempted anything this bold, and one small slip was all it took to raise the alarm. Even then, she tried to get the children over the wall. The first one was halfway up when a soldier grabbed Jo from behind. She remembered hitting him back, grabbing for his gun, and then nothing.

After her recapture, Jo was confined to the correctional ward for a month and given a spare. Her little stunt should’ve earned her much worse, but the Head of her House vouched for her, and teachers were already in short supply. Her punishment she could deal with, but the threat that cut her to the core was the possibility of having her students taken away. As much as she couldn’t stand the colony, teaching was the bright spot in her life, and the children were probably the closest she’d ever get to the big family she always dreamed of. The idea of being stuck there without even that was unbearable. Maybe if she were Rosalind, she would have defied the order. Maybe she would’ve rebelled again, tried to run as soon as she was released. But she’d left Rosalind behind, so Jo kept her head down and performed as expected, all the while compiling her stories.

Jo is constantly battling between her shy, non-confrontational attitude and her desire to do what’s right. She has a strong desire to protect the people she loves, but she’s also terrified of losing everything. Most of the time she finds it easier to just keep her head down and focus on getting through one day at a time. She ignores everything else to the best of her ability— the NWRF’s blatant prejudices, her own guilt, the ever-increasing anxiety that she’s not doing enough and, at the same time, doing everything wrong.

RELATED BIOS: ROSALIND STEIN

TAKEN; Original Character

[the-colony-roleplay]

Annie Perrault | Twenty Three;  Survivor

House: Delma Security Class: 2 Status: Deluded

History

Anxiety has always been an issue for Annie Perrault, so you can imagine that in the wake of the ‘end of the world’ she’s not exactly sure-footed.

As a child, Annie was nothing out of the ordinary. She was well-behaved and excitable, close with her older sister, sweet with her parents, and confident in her gender identity from a young age. But she’d always been a shadow of the personality her sister boasted and though this had never posed an issue in her younger years, everything changed when she entered middle school.

Not only were kids more competitive and more judgmental, but her parents had also removed her from the private school environment, enrolling her into public instead, which was really a whole other ball game. Annie had been looking forward to it, as the idea of meeting new people that had only ever known her as female presenting seemed thrilling, but as it would turn out, if students weren’t teasing her for her shy and quiet behaviour, it was her gangly height that made her a target, or how often she put up her hand in class.  They goaded Annie to the point of tears, insecurity, and a sudden unwillingness to participate in school. She didn’t dare raise her hand anymore, because she couldn’t stand the looks her bullies would shoot her, the things they’d whisper behind binders when the teachers weren’t listening.

The bullying escalated over the years to constant emotional torture and even violence, and eventually Annie became scared to leave the house or encounter people at all. When her family moved to a new city a couple years later, she hoped to get a fresh start. And though the move allowed her to escape the worst of her bullying, years of anxiety and fear of social situations, couldn’t simply be erased overnight.

Annie became determined to be a stronger person, but her desperation for it had her throwing herself somewhat blindly into her responsibilities and school work. It made it challenging to handle her stress levels because she wouldn’t give herself a moment to relax, a moment to unclench, because everything was a fight and she was constantly on the edge of panic. This was not helped when she was finally old enough to start HRT—the early stages of hormone therapy increasing her anxiety at times and making her moods unpredictable. 

Graduating year was an especially hard one, with preparation for college now a factor. She developed a rather severe addiction to caffeine, one that had been ebbing its way into problematic over the past year or so, but flared dangerously in her 12th year. She began avoiding sleep—first it was an inability to turn off her brain—the constant worrying and anxiety making it almost impossible, not to mention the caffeine—but over the months, her decreased mental health twisted it into a confused fear of sleep. Like if she slept, she would be wasting time, or if she slept, she might not wake up.

A wrought mess of anxiety and stress, Annie began having serious panic attacks at school. Even just having her shoulder inadvertently knocked in the hall would make her flinch, her throat tighten. Presentations and anticipation for tests could cause her to hyperventilate, and it got to the point that simply the fear of having another attack could bring one on—a cruel irony.

Eventually, Annie’s parents withdrew her from school to complete the rest of her final year from home. When she graduated, her mother took her to London as a reward, thinking that the holiday would be good for her, and that they might get some quality time together.

That was when the world ended, and Annie was left alone.

Annie Today

Infections of the apocalypse touched Annie and her fear of sleep with cruel, ironic fingers. After the End of the world, Annie woke believing that she’d simply fallen asleep again—but for the last time. She was convinced she was living in a nightmare, stuck here as punishment, for not being strong enough, good enough, smart enough.

Six years have passed, and though she still believes herself to be a permanent resident of a dream world, she is much the same person she used to be. The loss of her family and her classified delusion has put her on a very slow track of recovery, and she spends several hours a week in therapy—partially because it’s where she goes when she doesn’t know where else to. Though this nightmare has been hellish, she’s found that there are some kind people here, and the therapist’s chair has become a sort of comfort for her. Something that feels a little more connected with the real world she’d left behind, perhaps because it’s familiar—not unlike the therapists chairs she’d sat in week after week while she was in school and suffering debilitating anxiety.

She has fewer panic attacks than she used to, and having gotten accustomed to her surroundings, her generalized anxiety is a little less prominent. Finally being able to get an implant that keeps her hormone levels consistent has done wonders for her happiness as she feels more secure in her body than ever. But there are times that she will still stay awake for days, sometimes weeks, because going to sleep in her nightmare has done nothing in the past 300 some-odd weeks to get her back to the real world—so maybe by some backwards logic, the trick is to stay awake. To not be rested in this universe, because as long as she’s sustaining life here, here is where she’ll stay.

Unfortunately, neither of these theories have paid off, and at the tail end of these insomniac phases, which are fuelled on fear and as much caffeine as she can get off the black market, she’ll reliably crash hard, find some kind of normalcy for a week or two, and then cycle back.

Obviously her mental condition and lack of sleep don’t make her the best candidate for training and the games. But she finds, despite her obvious disadvantages, she wants to do well. These people of her living nightmare have grown to mean something to her, especially those in her dorm, and she doesn’t like the idea of disappointing them, real or not. Some days she’ll make it all the way through training without too much incident, others the pressure will be too much, and she’ll crack under it.

She excels most in the area of archery, however, because it is a sport that requires silence, patience, and even breathing. In fact, it works a bit like meditation for her, and though she isn’t known for her performances in endurance or direct competition scenarios, she will actually spend some of her free time doing target practice. It helps to clear her head, and give her some sense of peace of mind.

TAKEN

[the-colony-roleplay]

Lissy McCall | Twenty;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 1 Status: Uninfected

tw: cannibalism 

History

Some are born leaders, but Lissy isn’t one of them. She was always entirely content to follow the pack. In school reports, teachers suggested that she was perhaps weak willed, appearing to simply follow orders without question. The trouble was that her gentleness was confused with weakness: in actuality, she was a confident young woman. She followed because she saw no problem with it. If, however, any of her friends had a cruel word to say then Lissy would be the first to tell them to shut up.

Though she wasn’t necessarily the brightest in her group, she was a fierce friend and had time to talk to everyone. If the world hadn’t ended, she would have grown into a wonderful woman. But, when she was only fifteen, her world was flipped upside down.

Having lost both of her parents, Lissy wandered for a few weeks until she was found by a group of looters. Rather than killing her or robbing her, they took her in: loose as their morals turned out to be, they drew the line at murdering a child. At first they kept things private from her— she stayed on the sidelines and had no idea what they did. She was full of questions, but they were inevitably brushed away. One looter in particular, introducing herself as Orla, became a friend to Lissy.

Looking back, Lissy has realised that Orla was telepathic and had mastered its use in manipulation. She had such a trusting voice that when it made its way through one’s head, they couldn’t help but trust her. For weeks the two girls would spend evenings closeted away together talking and laughing and learning to trust one another— and it was almost no surprise when she was told of the reason that they had such a plentiful supply of food; particularly meat.

Lissy had been kept away from lootings. Her unease with them was obvious, and the looters were right to do this. Had she found out any earlier, Lissy would have run. One of the most dangerous gangs of looters, they would drag solitary wanderers into their group and eat them. It was the easiest way to find food, and when Orla reasoned with her, Lissy began to see why they did it.

She even tentatively began to help, using her sweet, naïve appearance to gain the trust of others.

Lissy Today

When one of Colony 22’s crusades found the ragtag pack of cannibals, most escaped. Not Lissy. She hadn’t run fast enough, and was questioned. Dragged back to the Colony and growing further away from Orla, the manipulative blanket that had been wound tight around her, loosened. It was obvious that she wasn’t a threat to anyone when the reality of the past four years of her life became apparent to her, and she sobbed for two weeks at how cruel she had been, and how easy to fool, how stupid.

There was talk of putting her on high security due to her tangles with looters and cannibalism, but in the end they decided she meant no harm. The shock had in fact driven her to declare that she was a vegetarian, making her something of a nuisance to those on kitchen duty as she refused meals. When it comes to the Games, she can also be… a nuisance. She’s petrified of hurting someone, and despite the fact that her tiny stature makes her unlikely to cause any harm, she regularly tries to refuse to participate in the Games.

Lissy is still as gentle as a breeze, but her experiences have left her paranoid and distrustful. She had never considered herself naïve, but now she has a deep distrust of those with telepathy, and doesn’t want to get too close to anyone. A girl with as much love to share as Lissy is an easy target, and she’s rapidly coming to terms with that.

Over the past year or so, Lissy has grown quite close with her roommates, Annie, Mira and Maisie. All very close in age, they have formed a rather strong bond, and are pretty much inseparable. They (sort of) jokingly call themselves the ‘CalGals’ and all bringing something a little different to the group, they balance each other out nicely and try to look out for each other in their own unique ways. 

As the only one of the four of them who’s Uninfected, Lissy has grown quite protective of them. She may not be Infected (which sometimes leaves her feeling a little left out) but she would do anything to protect her friends, because they have so protected her, and they have become her family. They’ve also made her realize just how alone she was while she was with the Clan in the wastes. Those had not been friends. Orla had never been her friend, and that has never been as clear as it now, that she has people who really matter in her life. 

RELATED BIOS: ANNIE PERRAULT, MIRA SIGAR, MAISIE PACE

TAKEN

[the-colony-roleplay]

Anaya Dolmen | Twenty Nine;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Infected - Telekinesis

History

Anaya had always been a homebody, quiet and easily stressed. She liked books and flowers and oversized knitwear. She disliked pressure, and raised voices, and really hated travel. It was as much to her surprise as it was to anyone else’s, that when D-Day hit she was aboard the International Space Station.

Space travel was never something that had appealed to her; she’d never even considered it. She was a botanist, someone with her feet firmly on the ground. Plants were something she had grown up with a passion for, with her mother, a florist, teaching her about flowers and what they represented and how they could thrive. And her father, a landscaper, taught her about the earth, and the beauty in it. She studied botany at university, keen to follow in her parent’s footsteps - her life was unsurprising, unremarkable, uninteresting. Soft spoken as Anaya was, she was often overshadowed by her more outgoing classmates. While they went out to parties, she stayed in her dorm and sang to her plants and read old books.

But one teacher saw something in her, and her work. Anaya’s final thesis focused on farming, and the potential for growth in space allowing the ever-growing population access to a wider pool of foodstuff. That teacher put Anaya in touch with the British space programme, who thought she might have some valuable insights. After several months of training, she was sent to the ISS bearing seeds and cuttings and fertiliser to carry out her experiments. It was every bit as overwhelming as she’d feared, and she was intimidated by the others aboard. They were all highly trained, highly intelligent, several of them military - and she was just a soft spoken countryside girl with a bleeding heart.

Just as she was beginning to settle in, after several months on board, the asteroids came. Anaya could do nothing but sit and watch along with the other astronauts as Earth, the home they all shared, was obliterated. She hid in her room, unable to bear the grief, when one of the asteroids tore through the ISS. It was all Anaya could do to hold on, watching from her window as great chunks of the station were torn away, and her own quarters almost went with them. The passage connecting her quarters to the rest of the station was badly damaged, and she knew she couldn’t open the airlock without risking her life. Face pressed against the window, she saw one of her colleagues staring back at her. Constantin, the quiet engineer. He had frightened her at first, but now he might be her only hope. His face was white; he looked as terrified as she felt.

Trapped in the confined space of her room, Anaya struggled each day. There was enough rations stored there to last her a month, or more if she was careful, and then… what? She came to terms with the fact that she would die there. Constantin pressed notes up against the windows, written in large block capitals, telling her that he was trying to fix things, but she had little hope. That was, until their Infections manifested. Hearing his voice in her head after such a long time in silence, she felt hope for the first time since the asteroids.

She had only been eating one ration pack a day, rapidly losing weight, but even so her supplies were dangerously low. She learned to control her own Infection, telekinesis, and it was a great relief - her body grew weaker every day, but with her mind she could move what needed to be moved. Eventually Constantin presented the idea of Anaya using that power to repair the passageway. It was a terrifying thought, but no more terrifying than the idea of dying alone in her tiny cube of a room. He was the engineer, after all, and he coached her through it. With no gravity to resist, it was surprisingly easy to move large sections of the ship. She had been stuck in her quarters for almost six months by the time the passageway was repaired to Constantin’s satisfaction. Her rations had run out a week before, and prior to that she had been eating only half a pack a day, and then half a pack every two days. If this didn’t work, she would die anyway. Opening the airlock, they both held their breath - but it had worked. She could finally return to the rest of the ship. Sobbing in Constantin’s arms, it took weeks of careful eating and exercise before she felt like she might actually survive this.

Her time in isolation changed her. Where before she’d been quiet and gentle, but still confident, she was now frightened of everything. She clung to Constantin, depending on him to tell her what to do. They tried to live their lives as best as they could aboard the ISS, and over the years Anaya thought she might remember what it was like to be happy. To be not terrified of everything. But the second shower of asteroids changed everything - it filled Constantin with a desire to return home, while Anaya begged him to stay. They were safe here, for now. Returning to Earth would risk everything they had built here.

But eventually, he talked her round. Better to die trying to achieve something than to live a few sad, meager years in space. She helped as much as she could, working diligently under Constantin’s guidance to help repair the escape vessels, and collecting up all of the research they had done over the years. Climbing into that escape vessel and watching the ISS grow small as they returned to earth was a fear Anaya hadn’t known since D-Day. She passed out on reentry, but when she awoke, they were in the ocean. They were home.

Anaya Today

Adjusting to life back on Earth has been a challenge. They returned in September of 2162, and ill health has plagued them both. Anaya feels weak, sick, as though gravity is trying to kill her. Nobody should spend so many years in space, and her body reminds her of that every day. To her dismay, her telekinesis is also less easy back on earth. In space, she could give something a gentle nudge with her mind and it would move easily. Now, she has to fight gravity for control of the object, and it’s a steep learning curve.

Having only been at Colony 22 since December, she is struggling to trust anyone but Constantin. She relies on him absolutely, and grows anxious and fretful whenever they have to be apart for any length of time. When they first arrived, Anaya asked for access to the labs - she felt as though she could help, since it has been nearly impossible to grow anything in the last few years and that is precisely what she studied throughout university - but was denied. She’s been told that when she is a little more emotionally stable she might be allowed access to the labs, but for now it’s very apparent that the Elites distrust her about as much as she distrusts them.

It’s left her feeling adrift. Being in a separate house from Constantin makes it hard for her to see the one person she trusts and she’s never been a very physical person, so she struggles with the Games and all the training, held back further by her body’s struggle to readjust to living with gravity. While Constantin seems delighted to be living among humanity once more, Anaya is constantly trying to figure out how they can run away from the Colony. She misses the days of being the last two people alive.

As a passionate academic, Anaya was feeling especially frustrated by being denied access to the one thing she ever felt confident in—her education in botany. So when she heard the initial rumours about the Greenhouse Project coming to Colony 22, she leapt at the opportunity, stepping outside her comfort zone to make her case to an Elite in her house who didn’t seem too horrible: Alexander Donovan. Though she is still denied lab access, she was surprised to find that the Elites were happy to have an experienced volunteer to take on the task of overseeing the project. The greenhouse itself is still under construction, but once it is complete she will be supervising the work that goes on inside; it is a task she is thoroughly looking forward to, even if she won’t admit it. Resentful as she is of being back on Earth, it will be incredibly satisfying to get her hands dirty again.

RELATED BIOS: CONSTANSTIN LUPEI

TAKEN

[the-colony-roleplay]

Alois van Asch | Twenty Five;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 2 Status: Infected - Increased Hearing

History

By the dawn of the 22nd century, the van Asch family was already notorious for their role in bringing about several major medical advancements during the technological boom that changed the world. In addition to helping develop the Medipack system, the van Aschs were credited with inventions like digital-blade surgical implements, do-it-yourself cosmetic lasers, and lastly and most famously, fiberglass-encased prosthetic limbs that could be surgically grafted onto the nerves to restore almost total mobility to amputees. That last one, Alois knew well.

Their publicist later argued that Alois falling to the rocks of the Patalpani waterfall during a vacation to India was the best thing that ever happened to the family. Before then, demand for Asch prosthetics was low because of the incredibly expensive cost to build, the surgery, and the lengthy rehabilitation period.  But when the story of what had happened to the van Asch’s own eight year-old son hit the media, news traveled worldwide, and the opportunity was not lost on their investors. For three years, various media outlets followed Alois’ recovery extremely closely, from the amputation of his left arm to the careful creation of his new one. The entire world had access to the process; lengthy clips detailing the careful and individual creation of each Asch product, reassuring statistics to take the stigma away from the surgery, and of course, emotional updates with Alois himself as he went from a broken child with dead nerves up to his shoulder, to a beautiful young boy with a brilliant white arm, once again able to put his clothes on all by himself.

The product was minimalist, sexy, and effective. The advertisement was endearing, seamless, perfect. The reviews, all but unified in praise. In the first financial period after the final update with Alois, sales for the Asch-brand prosthetics increased to legendary proportions, both in their home country of Belgium and in various nations across the planet.

Despite their overwhelming cost, Alois’ story had profoundly influenced the market and Asch prosthetics rapidly became the new standard, singling out and stigmatizing more primitive models. It said something about you, if you couldn’t afford an Asch. That alone created demand—a whole new market of people choosing fully-functional limbs over houses, cars, schooling.

Alois, in the meantime, rode that train of success as far as it would go. With his rehabilitation complete, his parents started to groom him early to adopt their legacy, and he never looked back. By the time he was twelve, the van Asch name had elevated in status and notoriety, joining old families of money on massive piles of wealth that did nothing but grow and grow and grow as time went on. At seventeen, Alois joined the narrow number of youths said to be “sure to inherit the world”, primed to continue his parents’ legacy into the 23rd century. But thanks to D-Day, that dream was short-lived.

To this day, he can still clearly see the sky how it was that day, erupting with color as it rained Hell down upon the Earth while his family’s private jet was still desperately descending to the airport landing. The rest of it was a blur. Something heavy striking the tail, a crash, and blood. Sparks. Concrete. Only Alois and his youngest sister made it out of the wreckage.

From that point on, Alois adapted quickly to the world as it raged around them; he had to. For Lise. Despite only being nineteen, his sister was still a child and he was the only stable pillar she had left with their family and estate in ruins. He got to thinking, came up with a strategy, and after a few brutal weeks of navigating the ruins of Brussels, Alois managed to secure them a shelter within the partially-underground, reinforced warehouse still owned and operated by his family’s constituents. From there…it was easy.

Different clans and communities started to pop up one by one, and in the early days, Alois had one of his own. Former employees who had flocked there in the hopes of having access to the medical supplies inside because valued residents of the small settlement Alois built in and around the warehouse; keeping things running, keeping things replenished and working while he handled trade agreements, handing out large amounts of inventory to outside factions in return for a portion of scavenged food and clean water. It worked well. Until Lise, whose Deluded symptoms he had been fighting for years, finally got too out of hand.

When he finally left the warehouse, he left alone, with the doors to the supplies wide open for the taking.

Alois Today

Alois might still be walking alone to this day if he hadn’t happened upon Colony 22, and he’s still asking himself the same question he’s been asking since he got here a short time ago: why am I here? For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a clear path set out for him, or even a goal to work towards, and without one, he’s stagnant, occupying himself with carrying out his delegated responsibilities and drawn-out bouts of internal existential debates. He doesn’t quite know how to be an ordinary member of anything, always used to being exceptional and singular, and being part of the Colony’s relatively stable atmosphere has him regularly rethinking his own sense of identity.

He still thinks of himself as the golden child of this shining empire, now walking around with the rabble and trying to blend in. It’s impossible, he thinks, and sometimes he finds himself annoyed and bored by the thoughts and behaviors of the people around him. Alois is uptight and jaded, definitely, and has a hard time being anything other than objective about a lot of things. He constantly feels like he could do a lot of things better. Like he’d be better off if he were on his own. But he doesn’t leave and his reasons why aren’t exactly clear to him. He finds training tedious, and the Games beyond pointless, but doesn’t volunteer his opinions, performing the bare minimum as expected lest he have to deal with some kind of insufferable reprimand.

But that, at least, is difficult, because Alois’ gift for increased hearing is essentially a curse to him. The pain might not come around as often anymore, but he loathes his own sensitivity and aches for silence most times out of the day. He doesn’t tend to get much sleep because of how relieving the quiet nights are, and as a result, often moves at a rather slow and sleepy pace during the day. Being well rested is a thing of the past that Alois has bitterly accepted. As well as being content or happy. It’s still about survival for Alois, no matter what happens, and if that means he has to suffer through a tedious life as part of the flock, he’ll do it.

TAKEN

[the-colony-roleplay]

Xavier Crane | Twenty Six;  Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 1 Status: Uninfected

History

Xavier Crane always felt like he was wandering without direction. While everyone around him claimed there were paths beneath his feet that he could choose at any time, he couldn’t see them. As a child, living with his parents, sister, and grandmother in a series of cheap apartments in San Francisco, he felt like he was constantly disappointing them. School should’ve been easy enough, but his mind drifted and he found himself breaking rules as often as he was following them. Never maliciously, as he always tried to explain his behaviour to the principle, the teachers, or the kids he fought with. But no one understood his actions—or they didn’t take the time to.

At eighteen, he decided to try a path that had already been outlined for him, one that could make his family proud—maybe even make him proud of himself. He followed in his grandmother’s footsteps and joined the military. And for a while it felt almost right—he excelled at the physical training, and learned that most disputes could be settled by simply obeying and adhering to procedure. He showed respect based on rank, and swiftly made friends in his down time.

In four short years, he was promoted repeatedly. Sergeant Crane was quick, decisive, and followed orders. He was a man who could be trusted to complete any task given to him with efficiency, intelligence, and good humour—and he was absolutely miserable, the entire time.

When D-Day happened, he was stationed overseas in Cairo. The asteroids claimed the majority of their unit, but not their Captain. When scattered reports came in and Crane realized that the event had occurred world-wide, what he felt most deeply—aside from concern about his family—was relief. As bad as it sounded, somewhere deep in his his gut, he appreciated the dramatic changing of the world as they all knew it, because now, all bets were off, so to speak. Old rules and expectations hardly applied anymore amongst the chaos, and so all the paths were reopened, and for the first time in a long time, Cane felt ready to choose one for himself.

The remaining soldiers organized themselves and began to gather in civilians to care for as well. But very quickly, the pressure to control the situation and stay obedient to a set of rules that no longer held meaning for him began to weigh on Crane. When they encountered another group—a smaller band who had been scavenging on the outskirts of the city—Crane made his move and defected, switching sides and protecting the looters. At first he justified it as fighting for free will over the ridiculous set of (now) self-imposed hierarchies that had stayed cemented with his peers. After a while though, living with no restrictions whatsoever also irritated him. His new clan had no sense of self-preservation, no long-term plan for survival beyond taking what they could from the surrounding ruins, and didn’t care about any others they might hurt in the process. So one night Crane took what supplies he could carry, and struck out on his own.

The next clan he encountered had food and supplies that he sorely needed. He made up his mind swiftly, and offered his services in exchange. He was a protector, a scavenger, a guard, and most importantly, never one of them. He hunted for them, and even killed their enemies for them, if the reward was good and their reasoning seemed sound to him. When he felt he’d earned all he could from them, he moved on again.

The next three years, Crane traveled the coast, moving slowly towards the Atlantic. When he couldn’t find what he needed to survive, he tracked down bands of survivors and offered his services, never staying with one group for longer than he needed to. His goal was to find some place that could potentially send him back home, but he ended up running into a group that was headed for a Colony in Lisbon. When he arrived he found they had developed a system that could communicate across oceans—and that his family had survived after all, safe and sound in California’s Colony 9.

Faced with a sudden and satisfying answer, he stayed in the Colony. Safety and community were a harsh adjustment, but he found relief in taking a break, not moving for a change. He was offered Elite status, in addition to a job as a correctional officer, both of which he politely turned down. In the computers, he was listed as a military Sergeant with an exemplary record—there was no indication whatsoever that he might’ve gotten his hands dirty in the Wastes, and he was happy not to correct them on that. Nonetheless, he still found opportunity here and there to offer a helping hand to individuals with something to offer him, resolving issues for a fee. When he heard of a small Colony off the coast of England, it sounded restful and he requested a transfer. Six months ago, he arrived by ship and began working as a bartender at Catch 22.

Crane Today

Crane has an easy-going disposition these days. He enjoys his work at the bar, especially their newly acquired karaoke machine, and word is slowly spreading to the right ears about his other talents. He’s honest and open to anyone who comes to him, with few social barriers—he has no issue with the NWRF, nor does he feel strongly about the Infected, or their so-called plight. Though he sometimes gets caught doing his own chores, it’s not a political statement of any kind—he just isn’t accustomed to not cleaning up after himself. In his mind, any strife between who does or doesn’t have powers, what they’ll be used for or capable of, is completely moot. Power structures change, and if the more revolutionary Infected want to upset the status quo, Crane will be waiting afterwards to collect their credits and serve drinks, just as he does now. He’s left any pretense of being a soldier for any cause far behind him.

The only evidence onlookers might witness that hints at his past is the way he behaves in the Games or in training. It’s disconcerting, the way his movements seem so casually brutal, contrasted with the apologies he mutters to his opponents for the bruises as he slips away. He transfers most of his earnings back to his family in California. The distance is a mixed blessing, as he’d rather they never find out where he gets his extra money. Except to those sketchy few who are in a position know him better, Crane’s just that bartender with a sweet smile and an unfailingly comforting word for them at the end of a long day.

OPEN