User:Atticus Rex/Atticus Rex

Character Data

File:Noimage.JPG
Profile:	#677376
Joined:	2006-10-08
Class:	Scientist
Current Level:	41
Group:	Malton Forensics Unit
Died:	40 times

Survivor Appearance

His shock of unruly brown hair, mischievous dark eyes, and sneakers make Dr. John Atticus look like a wayward history professor.
MFU #585, Head Coroner SW-1

Wearing: a dark brown tie, a blue long-sleeved shirt, a brown jacket, a tan coat, a pair of brown trousers and a pair of white trainers

Zombie Appearance

A gangly zombie with unruly brown hair, wearing sneakers and a jacket that looks like it came from a history professor's closet. Someone, probably Klairi, has taped a Stick Me sign to his back.

MFU: Atticus Rex's Ribbons

Backstory

	Doctor
	This user is a Doctor and is probably off healing someone.

Medicine was a late career change after half a dozen years in the practice of law, so at 39, Dr. John Atticus was the oldest second-year resident in emergency medicine at Maria General before the outbreak. In May 2005, just weeks before the city of Malton was quarantined, Atticus left to begin a six-month tour of duty in Cote d'Ivoire with the humanitarian group Doctors Without Borders. By the time news of the Malton incident reached Atticus, he had run afoul of a local warlord for his strong stance against the mistreatment of refugees and displaced persons. He spent several months in a prison camp, unable to treat the injuries and infirmities of his fellow prisoners without medical supplies, and was released only after the warlord was murdered in a roadside ambush.

Atticus returned to Malton to find that his ex-wife and his eight-year-old daughter were inside the quarantine zone. He became an outspoken critic of the quarantine policy while he exhausted every effort to get inside the city.

One night in late August 2006, Atticus was in a Washington hotel room, preparing to testify before a joint congressional committee investigating the Malton incident. He never heard his hotel room door open. There was a black bag over his head, there was a needle in his arm, and then there was nothing.

When he awoke, he was within the quarantine zone, less than a block from his old hospital. He still doesn't know how he got there, or what happened to him during the six weeks between his capture and awakening in Malton.

Somehow, hordes of zombies and chronic supply shortages don't seem like such a bad trade-off for abusive attending physicians, interminable mortality and morbidity conferences, outrageous malpractice premiums, and the constant pressure to publishpublishpublish.

He might suck at hand-to-hand combat, but he can stitch a bite wound one-handed without leaving a scar. Unless you really WANT a scar.