Post by Zoey Black on Apr 9, 2009 23:36:45 GMT -5
ID INFORMATION
Name; Zoey Black
Age; 24
Gender; Female
Location; The Underground
Affiliation; Delta Seven
Viral Stats; Immune
Organization; Delta Seven
APPEARANCE
Zoey is a fairly attractive girl. She has short-cut black hair, with what look like dark pink highlights. She has dark brown eyes, similar to that of her late mother's. She stands at nearly five foot ten inches tall, considerably taller than her mother, who stood at five foot five inches tall. She has a slender but strong figure, what some would call "buff" but not muscular, possibly from the genetic experimentation that was done to her when she was chosen for the Delta Seven project.
Her choice in clothing varies. She does wear female clothing, skirts mostly, but prefers to wear jeans, and black SWAT fatigues. She doesn't enjoy wearing heels, although she doesn't mind wearing boots with chunky heels. She usually has on either a denim jacket, or a long black duster coat.
She usually wears an over shoulder holster.
PERSONAL
Attitude;
Zoey is a fairly decent girl. She's easy to get along with. She enjoys guns. She loves collecting vintage weaponry and antique typewriters. She got that little typewriter habit from her mother, who used to be a secretary, and as a gift for a job well done, her boss gave her a vintage Royal Model 10, a gorgeous-looking typewriter with glass keys and beveled glass on the sides, allowing her to see the inner mechanisms.
She is caring to some. Sarcastic to others. But she will never be a downright bitch. She tries to avoid that. She doesn't enjoy alcohol, nor does she like smoking. After Wheeler (whom she never saw again after her mother's funeral) she grew to like boys with blue eyes.
Likes;
- Guns
- Big Dogs
- Guys with blue eyes
- Delta Seven
- Antiques (Typewriters and Vintage Firepower mostly)
Dislikes;
- Lost Heaven
- Her father (deceased)
- Whiners
Fears;
- Arachnophobia - Fear of Spiders
- Losing any Delta Seven member
- Her father returning as an infected
Flaws;
- Highly confident
- Will put self in harms way if it means saving someone else
Talents;
- Highly trained in hand to hand combat
- Highly trained in use of firearms
COMBAT
Group; Delta Seven
Position; Marksman
Specialty; Lock-Picking, Hotwiring, Hand-to-hand combat, Marksman, Sniping
Gear;
- Tactical Vest
- Shoulder Holster
- Silver Pendant Locket (The lock is stuck and she cant get it open, it was a gift from her mother)
- Brass Knuckles
Weapons;
- .357 SIG Sauer P226
- Standard Ka-Bar
- Brass Knuckles
- Boots (her boots have a lining of particularly hard steel along the toe, for additional kick-damage)
- Unrelenting determination
BACKGROUND
Past;
She was born into the household of Carrietta and Fred Black. Carrietta worked several jobs, including, but not limited to, waitress at J's Diner, a secretary, and a housekeeper. Fred was....always in between jobs. He had grown up in the military. He was a good, strong soldier. Sadly, he was a bit of a ladies man. Or so he described himself. More like, he would get women drunk, drag them into some out of the way room, bend them over the nearest available surface, and then have his fun. Sometimes he wore a condom. Sometimes he didnt. So, there was some chance that Zoey had a sister or brother somewhere out there, and maybe they were still alive.
Ultimately, he met Zoey's mother. He had just come back from a tour in Iraq, and apparently after being there for several months, seeing Zoey's mother in her white waitress uniform was enough to get his gun going. The courting process was simple. They dated, for a few days. He pretended to be interested. And then the big night came.
It was much to his shock, that Carrietta had gotten pregnant. And, in order to appease her screaming parents, he had to marry her. And thus, Zoey was born. He was released from the army with an honorable discharge, although he never told Zoey the exact reasons why. All he told her, is that everything was her fault.
Fred hated Zoey. And over time, Zoey began to hate Fred. Fred began to drink. Fred became abusive. It was the simple pattern of abuse and neglect. Her mother tried to help, and every time, wound up explaining how she got a black eye or a busted lip to her co-workers, "I fell and hit the doorknob," that one worked a few times, "I tripped down the stairs." That one only worked once.
By the age of fifteen, Zoey had become distant from her father. She loved her mother dearly, but her father could have burst into flames, and she wouldn't have cared. It was around that time, that she met Wheeler. Wheeler, that was his nickname, his real name was Francis, was a punk. He had black spiky short-cut hair, big, baby blue eyes, and, as she put it, "the cutest ass."
Unfortunately, and fortunately, Wheeler began to teach her a few things. She learned how to pick locks from Wheeler, as well as how to hotwire vehicles. She was soon able to hotwire almost any car she set her mind to.
He took her to shooting ranges and he taught her how to shoot. And there she learned her love for guns. Guns gave her power. It made her feel strong. She fired smaller weapons at first, 9mm handguns. Then larger, stronger weapons.
By the age of seventeen, she was an almost perfect marksman, almost.
At the funeral of her mother, who "fell down the stairs," a man in black approached Zoey, gave her a card, told her to call him in case she wanted to join something special. Something that would get her far away from her father. Which let her to wonder how did he know that.
That night, was particularly bad. Her father had come home, drunk. He broke into Zoey's bedroom, and pounced on her as she sat up in bed. He tore at her shirt, and she managed to crack him over the head with the bedside lamp. Running from the room, she locked herself in the master bedroom. She called the number,having memorized it. And was shocked when less than ten minutes later, she heard the front door smash open. Peering out into the hall, several armed men, clad in full on SWAT uniforms barreled in, one of which coldcocked her father with the butt of a large assault rifle, knocking him flat on the ground, and possibly breaking his nose.
She left with them. Zoey's training began. She trained with a group of men, candidates for the Delta Seven project. It was rigorous. The experimentation. The simulations. They were things that would make men cringe, and in fact many of them quit. They did not go easy on her because she was a girl. At the age of 24, she became one of the best marksman in the group.
On the day of her 24th birthday, is when the infection began to spread, and she heard her father was gone. She didnt shed a bitter tear.
Sample Post;
It was a routine mission. Go out. Hunt for supplies, and survivors. The cities were death traps but thats what the Delta Seven were for. They were the bodyguards for the UPD, who on occasion went with them.
Zoey remembers the first time the UPD were introduced to the Delta Seven. They were a bit shocked to know that Zoey would be the marksman of the team. Aside from the fact that she's a woman, she was only twenty-four years old, about to turn twenty-five. But she proved herself on her first recovery mission.
And thats what they were on now. A recovery mission. Zoey had separated from the others. Normally, not a good idea. But she had thought she saw a human being, something ran, and she followed it. She kept her distance however. And moved as slowly as she possibly could. She stopped at the corner, slowly peeking around.
She was in an alleyway. Dark. Reeked of rotten meat. Then again, a lot of the city did, now anyway. The trash cans not far away were over turned, and flies buzzed over them, greedily sucking up the food supply that was there for them. She slowly turned the corner...
Smash! She leaped out of the way. The corner smashed apart, as a massive fist slammed into the wall. Boomer! She had moved, thankfully due to her incredible reflexes, backflipping away from the immense monstrosity. Landing on her feet she turned and ran. It followed after her, lumbering after her, letting loose a loud roar.
Bob's Good's Store. She knew of it. It sold tanks for gas grills, the grills themselves, and a few other things. Good a place as any to run from it. She kicked off the ground and smashed through the front glass door, getting a few cuts and scratches but nothing major. The creature was still following. She ran forward, away from the door, and ducked behind the counter as it smashed through the front doors, causing a long diagonal crack to run down the side of the display window but it stayed in tact.
It staggered inside, not paying attention to the glass under its feet.
She picked up a small roll of quarters and tossed it towards the corner. The creature roared, and went for the darkened corner, and of course, stopped, seeing nothing.
"Yo." It turned and saw her. Zoey stood across the store. "See ya...." She shot it a wink, then leapt backwards, as she pulled the trigger. The bullet shot from the end of her barrel. It moved in slow motion. As she leapt through the air, also in slow motion. It felt like a movie. Like a crowning moment of awesome in a movie where the protagonist is about to kill the dastardly villain. She could almost see the air ripple around the bullet as it plowed forward. And then, it sped up. It all sped up. She struck the glass, as the bullet struck the tipped propane tank, which was atop two others.
Pss-kaBOOM! The explosive blast sends large chunks of metal, a lot of it from the shattered tanks, through the boomer, tearing through flesh and bone, one of them leaving a huge gaping hole in its stomach. The force of the explosion helped, her anyway. It shoved her back harder against the glass, and caused the glass to shatter into billions upon billions of tiny pieces as she flew out of the store. Landing, unceremoniously, on the hood of a parked car. Her back slammed into the windshield, causing a massive spiderweb crack. The store was burning now. It would go out soon, the sprinklers had kicked on.