User:Flatliner: Difference between revisions

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[http://urbandead.com/profile.cgi?id=554355 Profile.]
[http://urbandead.com/profile.cgi?id=554355 Profile.]


He (and his group) charge to the thunderous, intimidating tune of Dschingis Khan - Moskau.
The strains of Credence Clearwater Revival seem to follow this man, wherever he goes...or at least, that's what he imagines.


The patriarchal figure of his small, but elite group; [[Shotguns At Dawn]]. Kind of like what Hannibal was to the A-Team. Except he can actually hit the target he's shooting at. He seems to be enjoying this zombie apocalypse far too much to be a remotely normal member of pre-outbreak society.
Flatliner seems to be enjoying this zombie apocalypse far too much to be a remotely normal member of pre-outbreak society. Then again, this comes as no surprise; this Brit was, for want of a better term, an absoloute space-case. Spending 75% of his time intoxicated on various "substances", Flatliner can occasionally be found holding intimate conversations with the nearest wall, or kicking a zombie to death in the street, screaming and raving about how the offending zed had murdered Smokey the Bear. But, for the large part, this man ''seems'' to be coherent, if not a little (or a lottle) strange.


Relatively young for a private eye, face a pale mask crafted by the hands of insomnia and multiple chronic hangovers. Clean shaven, with the most awesome fedora imaginable. A single playing card is tucked into the band of this wide-brimmed hat; a Jack of Hearts. Twin bandoliers bearing ammo for his Colt Python criss-cross the loose white shirt; accompanying this attire are pinstripe trousers, expensive-looking brogues, and a tan trenchcoat. (The shoes/fedora were "liberated" from Marven Mall...)
21 years of age, the (ex)-Muesli Inspector had jumped at the chance experience an actual zombie apocalypse; the rise of the voracious, rotting hordes, had freed him from his monotonous day-to-day existence.
Armed with nothing more than an expensive-looking revolver of some description (which he had looted from a dead trenchcoater), a plentiful supply of ammunition, and a huge lack of fear, the intrepid Brit embarked upon his pilgrimage into Malton. [UNDER CONSTRUCTION!]


Current mission: None. Hiatus time! I'll be leaving South Blythville for a while as I promised myself. Said I'd leave when the RRF/Marven Mall siege was over, however it would end.
Current mission: Evading the weasels. I can smell the ugly brutes, closing in...


''Disclaimer: Don't bother me with your whines about pro/anti-player killer, generator killer, or radio killer ethics. It's damn fun hunting these people, solely for the challenge it presents. If you don't like it, and wish to bombard me with some stupid, pargraph-long ethical rant about some text-based online game, feel free to use my talk page so I can laugh at you. And tear your argument apart. =)
''Disclaimer: Please, please, don't waste both my time and your own, giving me any kind of lecture about pro/anti PK ethics. Same principle applies to GK/RK. Occasionally, I'll have a fit of vigilante-ism and begin hunting wanted players or groups. This isn't me being self-righteous, or trying to "police" Malton. It's merely for the fun of the challenge it presents. That really is it.


==Other things==
==Other things==

Revision as of 16:22, 26 February 2009

Character

Profile.

The strains of Credence Clearwater Revival seem to follow this man, wherever he goes...or at least, that's what he imagines.

Flatliner seems to be enjoying this zombie apocalypse far too much to be a remotely normal member of pre-outbreak society. Then again, this comes as no surprise; this Brit was, for want of a better term, an absoloute space-case. Spending 75% of his time intoxicated on various "substances", Flatliner can occasionally be found holding intimate conversations with the nearest wall, or kicking a zombie to death in the street, screaming and raving about how the offending zed had murdered Smokey the Bear. But, for the large part, this man seems to be coherent, if not a little (or a lottle) strange.

21 years of age, the (ex)-Muesli Inspector had jumped at the chance experience an actual zombie apocalypse; the rise of the voracious, rotting hordes, had freed him from his monotonous day-to-day existence. Armed with nothing more than an expensive-looking revolver of some description (which he had looted from a dead trenchcoater), a plentiful supply of ammunition, and a huge lack of fear, the intrepid Brit embarked upon his pilgrimage into Malton. [UNDER CONSTRUCTION!]

Current mission: Evading the weasels. I can smell the ugly brutes, closing in...

Disclaimer: Please, please, don't waste both my time and your own, giving me any kind of lecture about pro/anti PK ethics. Same principle applies to GK/RK. Occasionally, I'll have a fit of vigilante-ism and begin hunting wanted players or groups. This isn't me being self-righteous, or trying to "police" Malton. It's merely for the fun of the challenge it presents. That really is it.

Other things

Trident.jpg Channel 4 News Team Affiliate
This user or group entered Glorious Battle beside the Channel 4 News Team. There were horses and a man on fire and this user or group killed a guy with a trident. Afterward, we could barely lift our arms because we killed so many zombies. I don't know if you heard us counting. We killed over 1,000.
GeorgeBush.jpg HURRRRRRRRR!!!1one!!1
Juggernaut.jpg Don't you know who the fuck I am?!
This user is the Juggernaut, bitch!