User:Jason Bryce

Jason Bryce Urban Dead ID: Jason Bryce Class: Scientist Joined: January 8th, 2012 Affiliation: None Urban Dead This user plays Urban Dead. Wow, what are the odds? "Jason" Real Name: Jason Bryce Date of Birth: Sometime in '78 Hair Color: Brown Place of Birth: United States Eyes: Green Height: 6'0" Weight: Around 200 lbs. Gender: Male Race: American "The hanged man will kick at anything when the noose starts to tighten around his neck." Jason's Story: Jason was once a soldier who protected the borders of Malton. He made sure nothing escaped the walls of Malton. He had had the job for years, seeing what he thought was everything. He grew cold and hard to the world. He saw that most of the survivors were merely parasites sucking from the strong and prosperous. Many slept most of the day away while the strong worked themselves to death trying to make sure the others survived. He saw men turned to animals and killed someone he called friend a second before. Some even managed to clone themselves using the machines left in the Necrotech labs. Then one day he snapped. He pointed a gun at one of the others guarding the wall and shot him. The man fell to the ground before Jason attacked him with a knife. As he got up to attack another he was shot and fell off the wall. Jason made his injured way to Havercroft where he resides to learn the ways to kill in Malton. They watch the windows. They man lookout points. They maintain the barricades. They count down the night-time hours. They prime their weapons and ration their supplies and wait for the strike. It comes from behind. Go for the important ones first. The leader, the alpha male. Loud-mouthed egotistical tosser, thinks he's got a plan. Well, here's the plan. The shotgun that some poor blonde kid loaded for me just two hours back is emptied in seconds. Discard it, dead weight. Pistol shots scare the rest of them behind cover, and the big lad's gurgling blood. I watch for a few seconds, hovering over him, and laugh. I laugh at his pathetic beliefs, his structure and his rigmarole and his lust for glory, and I laugh. Then a heavy stomp ends it. Why? Not for the love of violence, or the feeling of playing God. No. Just for shits and giggles. Just because I can. Scream. Thhhhhht. Pant. Tudt. Splash. Groan. Drip. Drip. Drip. Pant. Drip pant drip drip dripdripdripdripdripdriptrickle. Sigh. I'm savouring the kill now, breathing in the acrid copper fumes of hot blood and bile. The knife handle is slick with the wet effluence of what used to be a life, and it slips, begrudgingly, from my hand, and I watch it fall. It makes a little splash in the growing puddle beneath me, and I can't help but think of how Bret Easton Ellis might describe this scene, but then I tense up, fearful, at the sound of many footsteps. Maybe they'll actually get me this time, maybe they'll catch me and I'll find out the hard way how this feels from the other side. The noise rushes past below the window, and peering out, I see it's only the horde. Nothing I actually need to worry about, so I retrieve my weapon, and relief washes over me in an awesome wave. My Brothers in Arms: All the people and places I have killed. People who are going to die: PK Count Jason has PKed 0 people. Report Me! This user is an evil PKer. To punish me: report my kills on the Rogues Gallery! ‎ Player Killer "One kills a man, one is an assassin; one kills millions, one is a conqueror; one kills everybody, one is a god." This user is a PKer and supports the act of Player Killing.