User:Trevor Gorge
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Anarchism |
| Trevor Gorge supports the concept and ideals of Anarchism, and will fight viciously against all forms of oppression and groups that want to establish the old capitalistic order. |
Current location :: Havercroft
Current Status :: Wandering, enjoying the chaos of "udisbroken".
Bio
Trevor Gorge has spent his entire life fighting zombies. That is to say, he doesn't remember anything about his life before the outbreak. He awoke in a deep ravine, with his head cracked open and blood trickling down a flat rock and dripping into a river. That is his first memory, that crimson streak down the black surface of a smooth cold rock, trickling into a much larger, crystal clear, flowing current. He lifted his head up from the cool surface carefully and looked around through a fog of pain and attempted recollection.
Something had gone wrong here. Whatever it was, it was bad. There was a dead man laying face down in the dirt in front of him, and another one with a stump where his head once was, a big dark red splash on the tree he was tied too. There was an empty briefcase and a few straggling hundred dollar bills, also with specks of blood.
The sound of the stream was deafening, more due to his serious head injury than anything else, but through its static he began to hear something else. He looked across the stream to see a man in a uniform, a blue uniform that immediately aroused a sense of caution.
The man was yelling something, and had drawn his sidearm. There was a look of smug authority on the mans face, like he had achieved some type of dominance over the situation. He was yelling and his face was red, but still nothing was audible over the throbbing pain and the sound of the brook.
Suddenly, the man opened fire. Ducking behind another large rock, and attempting to hold his brain in his head (or so he though at the time), he spotted a pistol next to the dead man on the ground. He reached for it, instinctively checking the clip and chamber. Cocking the gun, he found a gap in the rock formation and took aim.
But before he could put a bullet in his attacker, the situation changed quite drastically. There was a howl from the woods adjacent to the uniformed man, and someone else came barreling out of it at him. The man turned and fired two shots into this new enemy's chest, but the creature did not even flinch. It tackled the man, taking him down with its hands and mouth slashing and gnawing, natural weapons. The man's scream echoed through out the ravine. From behind the rock he couldn't help but feel relieved of one threat, and quite disturbed by this new one.
He watched as this 'man' clawed and ripped through the fat hidden under that blue uniform, and pulled out the intestines and feasted on the steaming organs and flesh. His stomach begin to churn, and he felt sick.
This scene in combination with the searing pain in his head forced him to vomit into the stream, and subsequently get the attention of this horrific attacker. The creature howled again, that same heart-stopping moan, and awkwardly rose to its feet from the blood buffet it had lain out for itself on the opposite bank. It shambled hurriedly into the stream, and its eyes locked onto his... He knew then, that this thing was determined to consume him.
And he wasn't about to get consumed. He'd just woke up.
He fired a surprisingly well aimed shot at the only part of the monstrosity in the stream that was visible, and its head popped with a mist of black ooze. The corpse was carried away by the current.
He glanced at his arm holding the gun, steady, unwavering. It was the first time he had been aware of his tangible body, other than the unrelenting pain in his head. His arm was covered in colors, vivid and patterned. Symbols too. Letters, signs, murals of all kinds flowing into one another and down his arm, like the stream, like the blood.
It was time to leave this place, stitch up his head and figure out what the hell was going on... the symbols on his arms would be helpful, he thought, and so would the gun he found. As he trekked out of the ravine, he walked past a scenic overlook with three cars, one of which was a fancy car with stripes and the words 'Malton Police Department' written down the side, and lights on top flashing blue and red. He looked inside its open door and saw two things of use just lying there, waiting for him. A shotgun and a first aid kit.
He looked at the sign at the parking space that read 'Trevor Gorge' and realized he had nothing to refer to himself as. "That'll work." He mumbled as he wandered down the street, South, toward the outline of a city that billowed plumes of black smoke, curling into the darkening skyline.
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Urban Guerilla |
| This user is part of ongoing the armed struggle in the streets of Malton and will fight the enemies of the people until the revolution is achieved. |
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Fascists |
| Trevor Gorge hates fascists and will do everything in their power to feed them to the zombies. |
Recently Crushed Fascists:
The Crabapple Estate of West Boundwood (all of them)[1]
Gianfranco Fini (level 41 fascist, no group) in a factory somewhere in Jensentown.
Trevor Gorge's Death Journal
Death #1 Got tagged fleeing from a junkyard I'd been held up in for 2 days. The suburb of Chancelwood had been remotely safe in comparison to the surrounding areas, but the tension was rising and on the day of April 3rd a legion of Zack broke off from their main force of The Dead in Raines Hills and Pashenton and shambled north, to Chancelwood. I woke up in the junkyard to the sounds of the last of our barricades crumbling, and a triumphant and hungry zed moaning in the doorway. I knew his friends wouldnt be long, so I told the others in the yard to kill the zed and repair the cades, while I swung by the neighboring firestation to check on my fellow survivors. The barricades had fallen and there were 3 zombies inside devouring the sleeping refugees. The streets were filled with the dead, and they seemed to be efficiently sweeping the city. I felt my best chance was to make my way to the Haslock Building, a local NecroTech Facility and revive point maintained by THEM, Teaching Haslock's Enemies Manners. I waded north, to St Louis' Hospital, and was not surprised to see it heavily under seige. The survivors were defending it with all their might, but i knew their efforts would be futile... in a suburb with no ready ammunition caches, the citizens relied on importing and scavaging bullets from the neighboring areas, and with Zack flooding in six-ways-from-sunday, the supply of bullets from neighboring 'burbs would quickly run dry, and soon cease until the horde moved on for fresher meals... I realized I'd picked up quite an audience while standing in the street, witnessing the defense of Curton Mansion ( a survivor stronghold adjacent to St Luis' Hospital ), and unfortunately, all the eyes I felt staring me down were far from human... I unhooked my ax from my back and spun around, to see a group of six zombies lurching toward me, their gazes fixed insatiably on my skull. They moved slowly, rigidly, but purposefully. With the screams of Curton Mansion at my back, I lunged at the lead ghoul, a mid twenties somethin college girl with a half eaten child's arm in her hand. My ax lopped of her own left arm, at the shoulder, and she howled ferociously and clawed at my coat. I side-stepped her and used the velocity of my first swing to lodge my blade squarely between the eyes of the nearest horror. With a thud my ax landed heavily in the brain of a very, very large man, vomit and blood and chunks of meat bubbling from his mouth. He made one last gurgle and dropped to the street. I grabbed my ax to prepare for the next couple of zed that were (not) breathin down my neck, and felt my stomach grow cold. I lodged my foot on the fat mans neck and tried to pull the blade from his skull, but it was stuck. Stuck. Like me. I put my boot through that fat fucks jaw for good measure, then turned around to face my demise... bare-fucking-handed. I figured my two fists could take out that one armed zombie bitch anyday, but by the time I had pummeled her brain into spongy little pieces of grey stuff, there were 3 more tearing me off of her. The one that got me, the last thing i saw, was that little punk kid with the skateboard...
Runemasteryx (Zombie) a zombie teenager with a ripped t-shirt saying Mindless self indulgence, he has a broken skate board on his back. his shoes where once vans but are now hanging off his feet.
Wearing: a torn and blood-soaked grey short-sleeved shirt, a blood-soaked black jacket, a torn and bloodstained black coat, a blood-soaked pair of black jeans and a bloodstained pair of black trainers Level: 7 XP: 74 Group: The Dawn Hunters (leader)
Death #2
After being stabbed in the chest repeatedly by a member of THEM inside Chancelwood's Curton Manner with a Necrotech Revivification Syringe, I was so thankful I decided to hang out and help them defend their headquarters, The Haslock Necro-Tech facility. Weeks of battle in the adjacent blocks led to some reclamation of territory, and I even set up shop in Bealey Boulevard School teaching Anarchy 101 night classes to anyone who stopped by. And after the NT fell again, a lot of people stopped by. Hoped they learned something.(4 parts sugar +6 parts saltpeter = smokebomb). The suburb took on multiple planned attacks from The Dead and Extinction, and once they started organizing they drove us back to the NT, where we revived as many comrades from the mansion as possible and held Haslock for a solid 4 days with few break ins and quick cleanups. Once the wandering feral zombies joined the organized hordes, however, we were heavily outnumbered and the barricades crumbled sunday night while most of the survivors were too tired to do much about it. I woke up to a room full of screams and darkness, then fell into the even deeper sleep of undeath at the fangs of the horde.
Spinal Remains (Zombie) "They all look the same to you." Level: 17 Group: Extinction
