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No one is just evil. They work from their own point of view. Your job is to create an “evil character” but you have to explain why they are that way. What happened to turn them into the person they are and why do they find that “evil” lifestyle so appealing?

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Day 12

 

The Pandora virus spread so far and so fast that horrific numbers of people died before we even knew what was happening. It was chaos spreading exponentially.

 

No one knows for sure whether it was terrorist attack or a lab accident. In the end it didn't matter that much. Nothing could stand in its way.

 

The government's response was worse than useless. FEMA and Homeland security had a universal playbook for every sort of disaster with the exception of a highly contagious virus that turned its victims into raging killing machines. In the key early hours of the outbreak, bureaucrats that had the answers were hamstrung by Cold War era secrecy. By the time they were talking, it was too late.

 

Here in Pima Country, the survivors of local law enforcement, the military, National Guard and other had set up a fortress around the campuses of an old complex that had once held a junior high and high school. The schools had long since been abandoned but had the one thing that made them tenable: tall cyclone fences and gates so that the grounds could be secured.

 

My job was to patrol the fences. If there were any concentration of the walking dead that might threaten the fence, I would call for help and we would gun them down.

 

Another part of my job was to help the right survivors get inside and make sure that the infected were redacted.

 

Redacted. It a nice sterile word for murder but I had done it so often by now that I had become numb to the concept. If one of the infected got inside, the thousands of survivors in here were done. It was a numbers game and for every one we lost, our enemy gained. Usually, they gained several.

 

Today had been rough. For every survivor that made it to the wall, a dozen walkers came in. The day was segmented into long boring hours punctuated by brief moments of abject terror.

 

When it started turning dark, I got some chow and checked in with the watch officer. I checked my weapons and ammo and started walking the fence line.

 

Every so often, I would hear the "pop" of a nine millimeter round dispatching one of the walkers that wandered in too close to the fence.

 

As I was walking my post, one saw me and ran right for me but collided with the fence. I pulled my side arm, and put a round in his forehead. When I looked at his face, I recognized him as the sports anchor for one of the local TV stations.

 

That's how it went for many hours but I stood my post. It was funny how protect and serve had grotesquely morphed into mass killing.

 

Around eight there was a surge of activity. A hunting pack of about thirty of the walking dead chased a civilian toward the wire. He didn't make it. We hosed down the pack with heavy machine gun fire from one of the towers and M-16 fire from the wire. We were really going to have to set up some claymores out there. If one of these surges made it to the wire and took down the fence, we were done.

 

After the pack was disposed of, things got quiet for a while. Our snipers were busy taking out walkers on the distant perimeter but they weren't testing the wire.

 

Around eleven o'clock as I was walking my post, I heard something growling. I thought it was an animal. It was coming from a grove of bushes about twenty yards from the wire.

 

I shouldered my M-16 and switched it to semi-automatic.

 

"Who goes there?", I challenged. As if one of the dead would answer- it's just us geeks.

 

A young woman carrying a baby came out of the bushes and said, "Don't shoot. I'm hiding from them."

 

"Mam, you need to go north to the gate. They can get you inside and safe."

 

She said, "No. It's my baby. He's..." The bundle that she was carrying moved and gave a feral growl.

 

"Are you all right? Has he bitten you."

 

She just shook her head sadly. "We were trying to get inside. Now..."

 

She looked at me and said, "Will it hurt?"

 

I said, "No Mam." I took careful aim at her head and squeezed the trigger. After she fell, the little horror that had one been her baby escaped from the blankets and came after me. I put one round in his head.

 

I threw up and continued walking my post. How had things gotten so fucked up? How could any of us ever be OK again?

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  • 2 weeks later...

I can only come up with Lord James Thomas.

He was brought up when slaves were rife all over the world. Mix that with a BDSM lifestyle and you have a pretty awful character. The house where he was born is the true evil.It has cruelty and evil built into each brick.

He lived there as a boy and then the family moved to a rubber plantation in Malaya. But the house was waiting until he came of age and took his place there after his father's demise. I know you already hate him Comic :) So do a few others. But there are a few who love him for being him. Including me :P

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