A Power Struggle[Semi-lit apocalyptic rp, accepting]

[Steine Sind Steine]

Welcome to oblivion.

It started with debt, and tons of it. For a long time, America and China kept going back and forth with how much debt was allowed. As America continued to buy and owe them more money, the more frustrated their 'ally' grew. The economy in both places just kept getting worse, and America kept trying to raise the max amount of money that they could spend. Tensions between both nations became more raw than an uncooked meal. Everyone, everywhere in the world, was having nuclear drills and building bomb shelters, just in case anything bad happened.
In the year 2030, China would not raise the debt ceiling anymore. They were sick of the debt that would never be paid, and the country across the sea knew it as well. Instead of making peace, China went to enslave America. Such a powerful place would be very nice for their ruined economy to have under their control. Other nations, having been allied with America, had forced themselves to boycott Chinese goods for the sake of sticking with them and had thus ruined most everything. So, it was decided that America would pay their debt in blood, sweat, and tears rather than money they would never get.
However, this had been anticipated for years before, and several countries had been creating more nukes in secret. China declared war on America, and all hell broke loose in every nation.
Of course, when the war started, America's allies sprang to action and so did China's. A nuclear war quickly broke out, and may nations fell to their knees, few people surviving and most of those who did were shot down by enemy soldiers. Only the biggest, most powerful cities were left so that the population would grow once more. The rest? Rubble and rotting corpses, nothing left but the interior of nuke shelters, no doubt full of decent goods. A smoggy sky nearly hides the sun, temperatures often escalating several degrees higher or lower than normal.
This takes place in the husk of what used to be America, with the war still going on with a new generation in the year 2035. People, those who stayed long enough in their respective bomb shelters, crawled out to see everything destroyed, everything they ever knew and loved destroyed. After wandering, some survivors found one another, banding together for the benefits that came with allies, but others had no such luck or interest and stayed alone. Everything is dangerous, what with the threats of a bomb at any time or a company of enemy soldiers killing off the survivors.
As an added 'benefit', there are rumors of the dead rising once more, a few corpses left out having mysterious bite marks, occasionally nothing left but a bit of flesh on bones. Mutated eyesores of creatures, prowling the streets and hoping for something good to eat. It's time to grab your guns and face this new menace... If you can.

[Steine Sind Steine]

Setting and Statuses:

Date:
September 12, 2035
Season:
Fall, which means that it is very, very cold outside already. What more do you expect from near nuclear winter?
Place:
The ruins of America, a sole city. There a large expanse of what used to be a forest to the east, west, and south, but to the north is a lake that no one drinks from because of radiation poisoning.
War Status:
Ongoing, but don't expect any troops around any time soon.
Zombie Status:
A few rogue groups have been spotted, but it's no real threat. For now...

Rules:

1. All CS rules apply.
2. Don't make your character perfect, as in Mary/Gary Sues. Or, for that matter, extremely flawed.
3. Use proper grammar and spelling! Although typos are acceptable, it is recommended that you preview your post before submitting.
4. A minimum of at least four lines is required for each post. This is a semi-lit roleplay, right?
5. Your characters cannot be in love with each other.
6. PM me before doing something huge, like fighting enemy troops.
7. Violence and romance are encouraged, but keep it PG-13.
8. No godmodding or powerplaying.
9. Keep track of your characters, four at most.
10. You're welcome to use your own form, so long as you have the basics of mine.
11. PM me your form and I'll accept it and post it on the thread.
12. Cussing is fine, just censor the vowels out of everything but hell, damn, and ass. I'd like it if it wasn't in excess, either.
13. If someone asks them for a recap, please don't deny them it.
14. Try to keep genders, or at least sexualities, even.

[Steine Sind Steine]

The Form

Code: Select all

Username:
Name:
Gender:
Age: [12-40]
Weapon of Choice:
Appearance:
Personality:
History: [Optional]
Romantic Interest?: [Optional]
Other:

Accepted Characters

The gentlemen

Username:
Polizei
Name:
Rainer August Wolff
Gender:
Male
Age:
Twenty-seven
Weapon of Choice:
A six-round shotgun, although he's handy with a dagger.
Appearance:

Rainer is often mistaken for being older than he is, maybe on account of his height, how he carries himself, or the general appearance of his face and body type. The last time he measured his height was when he was twenty-two, and he was six foot six, towering over those around him, though now he's pretty sure he's that same height and has stopped growing. He has a muscular body type from lots of hands-on work as well as running, lean all the same, and weighs about a hundred eighty pounds. Rainer has a strong jawline and high cheekbones, thankfully not taking after his mom and ending up with a thin face. His hair is a light shade of blond, but people often think it's darker because he rarely lets it grow out past a couple of sparing inches. Rainer has cold blue eyes with a darker rim, a vertical scar through his right eye that sometimes impairs his vision. He also has deep scars on his chest and stomach, all jagged and crude, as if a toddler took a knife and sliced his flesh. He has this tattoo between his shoulder blades. Most of the time, you can find him in a rather dirty, white T-shirt, jeans, and some sort of boots.
Personality:
Rainer is the ideal young man in the eyes of anyone that might possibly be watching him, for several reasons. As he no longer cares much about his family, has been able to dedicate his entire life to his work. It would be hard to find a person more loyal or dedicated to his country, ready to die because he has absolutely nothing left. He knows this, too, and is constantly working long hours and refusing to build a social life because of this, an excuse to put up a wall and only further isolate himself.
On top of that, he is extremely intelligent. Although he may not be the strongest guy about, Rainer has wit and a sharp tongue that has earned him the respect of the younger peers, and into the pockets of those higher up in the social circle than him. If you'd like an argument, then he could probably put up a pretty good one. If you can get him to talk to you other than a polite 'Guten Morgen', that is. The odd thing about him is that he stays extremely detached from others, never bothering to make friends and just following orders. His history has a large part to do with such things.
He is a strong leader, always at the very head of the pack and never being left behind, going for the high stakes and taking on challenges that he might not be able to complete. If there's an unruly group that needs to be pulled into shape, call Rainer, because he'll get them into a hexagon or a circle or whatever the shape you need them to be in. Rainer maybe does that because he has a large fault of being extremely dominating of people, as shown in few and previous relationships. On top of that, he is very possessive.
History:
Rainer was born to an upper-middle class family with parents that were usually at work. He didn't think that he was appreciated by his parents, and from there he decided to get their attention. Rainer worked hard in school from his first day in kindergarten, working extensively to try and impress his mother and father. Little did he know, he astonished his parents with how he learned things so quickly and his intelligence at a young age. He didn't cause a lot of trouble, and when he did, it was usually a minor scuffle. Rainer was a good kid, and his problems didn't really start until he turned twelve.
There was a Neo-Nazi gang in his neighborhood that had often asked him to join, what with his good leadership skills and obviously Caucasian descent. Over and over, he had refused, but when he was thirteen, he relented and finally joined. Years passed and he became the kid that his parents had never wanted him to be but knew would come out someday. He started staying out later and later, and his grades started to slip. Rainer always managed to keep them up, but they were lower than they had ever been. Drinking and smoking were some of his favorite activities, urged on by many of his brand-new and very bad friends.
Rainer went on a raid of a store that was run by some Japanese immigrants when he was fifteen, beating up the people there alongside his creed brothers. That was when he started to realize that what he was doing was very, very wrong. How did he realize it? There was a girl that he was given the honor of killing. He accepted. It was horrific, and he hadn't actually seen anyone get killed before, but he had heard stories of it. Little by little, he started to return to his old self, upsetting the gang that had so graciously accepted him into their ranks.
The final straw was when he stood up for a boy that a group had started to beat, telling them that what they were doing was very wrong and that they should stop. After that, he was hurt along with the boy and then left for dead. Rainer was found by the police and hospitalized for a broken leg and multiple stab wounds. When he left, he avoided the gang and saw no more of it.
When he was twenty-two, the war started. His home was bombed and he was forced to leave, nothing left but a husk. Rainer's fiancé died in the explosion, but he survived because he had been studying in the bomb shelter when it happened. Over the past five years, he's pulled himself together and managed to stay alone, for the most part.
Romantic Interest?:
Maybe another time.
Other:
He's fluent in German and bisexual.

Username:
Grammatik-Polizei
Name:
John Tristan Blake
Gender:
Male
Age:
Twenty-two
Weapon of Choice:
His beloved M1911
Appearance:
John looks like a typical guy who would be found in the military. Mostly on account of going on a four-year tour. Before that, he was a scrawny eighteen year old who barely knew how to shoot a gun. Anyway, he just gives off the military vibe. Muscled, rugged, not short on the stuff. Or maybe that's just what the guys in Call of Duty tend to look like, and Polizei's vision of such a thing that's slightly warped. Anyway, John is all of those things aforementioned. His hair is short and fine, dark brown in color, not particularly long but spiked up in the front. He has hazel-green eyes that often change to light brown when his emotions vary. John stands at five eleven, average height and probably excelling what he would've been if he'd stayed in his hometown. He weighs about one hundred forty pounds, somewhere in the middle of being ectomorphic and mesomorphic. Over the years, he's developed a tan, though some parts of his skin are scarred and for that reason stand out in contrast. He has a rough, gravelly sort of voice from a lot of smoking.
Personality:
John is a brave man, as all military men should be, with a knack for taking risks. He really just can't stay away from them, the allure of danger that might not even be worth that much drawing him in like some sort of five-eleven bug. If there's something ahead, like an unexplored bunker that might contain supplies, you can bet your buttons that he'll go traipsing down in there without a doubt. Don't assume he doesn't think things through, though, because that's one of the things he does best. John is quick-witted, mostly on account of having to improvise some sort of cover up for his fellow company men back when he served. He often can easily come up with a solution for a relatively simple problem.
He's a good-natured young man, unlike some of the survivors who just let themselves go, stealing and pillaging wherever they choose to go. He will help someone in need, even if it ends with him getting screwed over, simply because he couldn't possibly say no to a person. That would have to be his fatal flaw, which can either end with him agreeing to help the wrong guy or suffocating himself with the things that he said he would do. John is friendly and can often be loud, prepared to voice his opinion and have a little fun. He's not the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he makes up for it in his other skills. He looks for the approval of no one, comfortable with himself and his actions.
Despite being easy to befriend and wrap around your finger, he's surprisingly good at faking emotions. He's conned one or two people in his life because he has to and has felt horrible afterwards, but he knows he has the skill to do so and is prepared to use it on an occasion where it might come in handy. To his close friends, he is insanely loyal, on the border of complete craziness depending on the situation. John is an open book about almost everything, and people often get to tread on the surface of it or get into the first few pages, but his closest friends are the people who he has let get to the pages he might have ripped out and stored in a lockbox.
John might seem like a happy-go-lucky guy, although in reality, he's quite damaged. From his tour on the battlefield, he has developed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, causing him to have random flashbacks that either leave him hysterical or violent afterwards. Sometimes, if you're particularly unlucky, then he'll be a mixture of both. He is friendly and kind to others, of course, but you never can know for sure when he might snap and stab you in the throat because he thought you were the enemy. John is a completely different person if you provoke him too much and he is enraged. Although he tries to keep his anger down, when he actually gets mad, he goes on a complete destructive, usually murderous rampage which tends to involve ending the life of whoever made him made. Such an occurrence is rare, and John remains the smiling, not-so-bright guy that everyone he has met enjoys the company of.
History:
His history will probably be revealed in the series of flashbacks he'll have.
Romantic Interest?:
It's just been him this far, but that doesn't stop him from looking into guys and gals alike.
Other:
He's a smoker, but he's still trying to quit.

Username: -Ghostfire-
Name: William
Gender: Male
Age: 13 years
Weapon of Choice: small knife, Not much
Appearance:
Personality: He's kind of a fun, and outgoing, But not much on talking to older people that are about 16 and up. He now is scared a lot jumping at every noise if he's outside. He's not much on talking anymore, but he will talk now to older ones cause he may have to.

Username: BavarianSoul
Name: He calls himself Sanguine and keeps his real name a secret.
Gender: Male
Age: Twenty-eight [28]
Weapon of Choice: Mostly daggers and knives. Basically everything sharp that can be used to stab and slice, so you might just stumble across a humming man cutting open something (or maybe even someone) with a sharpened stone like a mad , pre-historic caveman.
Appearance: Sanguine is a fairly tall and strong build man, standing roughly 6 feet 11. He weighs around 230 pounds, but most of his weight are muscles from fighting with ohers and lifting heavy objects. His body build causes him to be slower and less flexible than smaller and more slender males, but his strenght and combat skills makes definitely up for that.
His skin is lightly tanned, but became rather pale due to lack of sun, and a few parts of his body are covered with scars, some barely noticeable, others clearely obvious. Most of his smaller scars are on his chest and arms, but the most visible ones are on his back. Roughly eight, not very deep but long scars littered all across his skin.
His hair is black and used to shine in the sun like a raven's feathers,but with the sun gone it simply looks like coal. Sanguine hasn't bothered to cut it for a while, so it now reaches down roughly to his chin at the front and down to his shoulders on the back, but it still looks like it actually is cut that way. His eyes are his most striking feature; while on of it is of a light, grey-blue the other one is completely black, besides the white part, of course. He jokingly says that they belong to the two different souls trapped inside his body, but some actually believe that he speaks the truth.
The number 12 is tattoed on the right side of his neck and most of the time he tries to cover it up somehow. If asked about it he will, much to most people's surprise, feel obviously uncomfortable and tell them to just drop the question, sounding rather nervous.
Sanguine usually wears a white tank top and black, baggy jeans together with a pair of dark brown boots and a bandana which seems to resemble the Prussian flag to cover up his neck. It isn't rare that his clothes are stained with blood and dirty, either.
Personality:Sanguine is the kind of person one would best describe as... odd, different or just plain weird. The cause of this mainly is his strange behavior and his quirks. For example, he's obsessed with sharp objects like knives, loves the smell and taste of blood and is fascinated with death. He's not much of a talker, but can memorize and repeat every little thing you said word for word weeks after you've said it. He sometimes seems to have no morals at all and will happily blackmail and take advantage of others if possible. The only persons he will actually take care of are either one's that could be useful later on (however, as soon as they aren't of any help anymore they'll be dropped just like others), or one's that have proven themself 'worthy' to be added to his tiny circle of friends. Do not expect that flattery will help you win him over though, since he's not impressed by a few compliments, and there's Nothing more than he despise than bragging people. Looks do not seems to work on him, either. Only actions count for him, since you can say a lot of things you don't mean or would never even dare to actually do.
If one hasn't seen this corrupted and twisted side of him, Sanguine appears to be very laid back and humourous, but at the same time can act like an authority figure when needed. Whenever he actually does talk it is done in a warm, kind type of voice, but most of the time he will just joke around or tease others, enjoying to see them uncomfortable or angered. As soon as he gets serious and raises his voice, thought, it's better to just do what he says. That is when he's most dangerous.
Other then when he gets serious Sanguine never seems to be enraged at all, constantly smiling and even laughing when someone threathens or yells at him. He often times just breaks down in laughter for no apparent reason as well. If asked what he's laughing at he'll just return to his usual smiling self and reply with: "Nothing in particular."
Sanguine has a nickname for anyone, wether it is something embarrassing and stupid or just some shorter version of someone's name, which he will constantly use. Don't even bother asking him to stop, for he won't. He'll just use it even more frequently.
Despises his strenght and the fact that he is indeed pretty smart, Sanguine tends to let others lead, preferring to give advice or make sure everything goes as planned. He does indeed enjoy company, as long as others accept that he won't talk much nor just offer his help for free if he doesn't need to. He also tends to retreat to a silent place to be alone after sime time, especially if it gets too loud and too happy around him.
Sanguine loves challenges and is very competetive, especially if it comes to comparing his strenght or combat skills, or playing cards with others. Don't expect him to ever go easy on you, even if you are obviously weaker or younger then him. Not even friends get a special, more careful treatment. Also remember that he mightnot always play fair, too...
In short, Sanguine might as well have escaped from a mental ward. Maybe he's always been that way, or maybe the war just drove him insane? He might just tell you one day... If you stay alive around him long enough, that is...
History: Just like his name, this remains a well kept secret... for now.
Romantic Interest?: No one yet, and he never really seems to be interested in any kind of relationship. However, if there ever were someone to catch his interest I'd be most likely a guy.
Other: He likes to drink a whole lot, is fluent in both German and Dutch, understands Russian (but only can speak the basics of it) and likes to keep almost everything about him and his past a secret.


The ladies

Username: Mysaren
Name: Mysaren Theodore
Gender: Female
Age: 21
Weapon of Choice: Baseball Bat
Appearance: Mysaren is pretty short for her age. She is barely taller than some 11 year olds. She has short, blonde-ish brown hair with deep blue eyes. She has a scar above her left eyelid, thanks to a fight with a rabid dog. She usually wears a blue hoodie, with a red long-sleeved shirt under it. She wears just some jogging pants, and blue sneakers.
Personality: Mysaren is what one might call a Killjoy. She dislikes alot of playing in situations like, say, an apocolypse and cares quite deeply about survival. She is selfless, and will often save others, even if she is risking her own life. She enjoys being alone, and typically is a bit snarky. She really dislikes interacting with people, and just wants to make friends. She doesn't enjoy being that snarky, and wants to desperately make friends, but ends up pushing them away.
Other: None

Username: -Ghostfire-
Name: Autumn
Gender: Female
Age: 16 years
Weapon of Choice: She usually holds onto a pistol and a knife.
Appearance: She's a short girl, with short brown hair that goes about to her neck. She has amber eyes and she's quite skinny. She's fast and quick moving.
Personality: She's a stubborn, quiet girl. She isn't much on talking and if she does, She's quite snappy. She is sometimes a brat and can be nice when she chooses to be. She does have a sharp-tongue as I just said she can be snappy. But she doesn't like the complimented. She is one of those girls who doesn't care about how they look or how they have their hair.



Username: .Airy.
Name: Airy Electra Diante.
Gender: Female.
Age: 17.
Weapon of Choice: Crossbow.
Appearance:Hullo there, lets face it I'm me. Anyway I stand at 5 foot, with my combat boots I'm probably 5'1 ish. Yeah, I'm short, but that just makes it easier for me to hide, or run away. I have straight light brown hair. I have storm gray eyes, that seem to change color at the various different times of the day. I have a fairly smooth complexion, thus prior to the Apocalypse people called me doll face, charming ain't it? I have pearl pink lips, that I tend to bite whenever I get nervous, I can't help it. I have a small athletic frame, so I'm not some twig if that's what your suggesting. I have a nervous habit of playing with my hair, like I said I really can't help it just happens. Although I'm usually pretty calm and relax, and I'm quite funny plus I love to dance because it makes me laugh. I'm really not afraid to stand up for what I believe in, I feel like sometimes I'm pretty headstrong but that will pass. I way in the general range of 85-90 pounds, yeah I'm skinny I understand that but its genetics, my whole family is generally pretty small. Oh well, guess ya'll have to deal with a quirky rebellious little dork. Can I insert a winky face here? No okay than...carry on than.
Personality: Airy is pretty stubborn, she likes having things her way. She's used to being a loner, so she's not afraid to make brash decisions in order to save herself or someone else. She's a little bit of a rebel, basically she likes to take a stand even if it means her life to save something. She's not afraid to get in a fight at all, quite frankly she enjoys the challenge and the combat. Too most people, she's very tough and odd, but in reality Airy just wants to survive.
Romantic Interest?: None.

Relations

Crush: < or >
They like one another: =
Dating: +
Married/Promised: <3

[Steine Sind Steine]

Reserved.

[Steine Sind Steine]

Reserved.

[Steine Sind Steine]

Bump. c:

[Steine Sind Steine]

Bump. ^^

[Steine Sind Steine]

Bump. c:

[Steine Sind Steine]

Bump.

[Steine Sind Steine]

Rainer August Wolff was standing on some rubble, surveying the smoggy purple sky as the sun began its descent before night took over, filling his surroundings with an oddly comforting blackness. He knew hat he would have to return to his bomb shelter at some point, because he had things to do at night. With a lamp, you could find more supplies than in the sharp nip of wind during the day. At night, most things calmed down. However, he knew that when November came, all times of day would be cold. After all, nuclear winter was much worse than nuclear late fall. The man ran his fingers through what he had of his blond hair, sighing quietly and wondering if he had a chance to survive. With no other survivors around that he'd found in the past years, everything seemed quite hopeless. On a couple of occasions, he'd looked longingly at his six-round shotgun and wondered if he should just end everything.

This city was now in ruins, he knew that. However, their enemies had left enough to sustain life once more. Barely any, for that matter. Technology like iPads no longer were around, other than charging in some shelters, wasting precious electricity in generators numerous. If there was anyone else out there, they'd need to completely begin anew. Now he had arisen where others had fallen, and with a few people to turn up, he hoped that they could get more survivors to find out that they weren't alone and join their ranks. Rainer had seen it all fall, and he couldn't help but be ashamed of this land. With an ongoing war, more nukes could be released and even more people would die. Maybe this time, he would not be lucky enough to survive. However, he hoped he would be because of the fact that this place would be in an even worse state, and it'd be beyond difficult to start over then. People would grow feral and civilization would be forced to completely restart. Well, that was what he feared, in the least.

Shifting his weight to his right foot, he watched the sunset and waited for the good time to try and revive his will to live for another day. There were people still making propaganda, or maybe he just forgot where some of them were, and who would trust some sort of poster on a wall? His mind wandered for a split second and he was reminded of the time he found a corpse, flies buzzing about the rotting flesh, leaned against a wall. If it was just a couple years ago, he would've retched and turned away, but instead, he went to investigate. Now dead bodies were just something to be curious about, something for him to try and discover the cause that killed them. There were large bite marks, chunks of missing flesh, and he'd reeled back, wondering if survivors around him were so starved that they were reduced to cannibalism. Forcing such thoughts from his mind, the currently surviving Wolff scrambled down from his perch that overlooked the city and flicked on the flashlight he had grown so accustomed to having at his hip.

It would take a while to get back to the bomb shelter. A half hour, at most, but that was a precious half hour that he was taking to travel and a half hour that he would be unable to get back when it was gone. He had wandered out into the city to find supplies, and it was a fruitless attempt. Such things like food were running low, but ironically, he had a surplus of fluid that would keep the generator running for months on end. Maybe another year and a half, if he was careful to conserve. Rainer looked back up to the sky and saw that inky blackness was coming, not only in the form of night, but in the form of clouds that warned of rain. Instead of being nervous, he was glad. This nuclear war had brought a drought, and if he could collect some water, he might be okay for a few days until he found another source of water other than the radiated lake that he could purify if he had purification tablets. This life was a busy one, but at least it kept his mind off his life before it, including his dead fiance.

—

John Tristan Blake would've loved to serve in the war, even now, when the troops really just marched through towns and looted the bomb shelters. Maybe it was his love of the uniform that he still wore, the steel toes still resounding proudly with each step despite the greasy, slightly tattered state of the rest of it. At least he would have some companions other than his M1911 and his own, very lonely mind. He missed the brotherhood and the sense of security that came with serving when he wasn't on the battlefield, fearing for his life. The lack of adrenaline and the constant flashbacks that reminded him of his duty were no help either. Just after he came back and this whole bunch of s**t was about to start, his doctor had diagnosed him with PTSD. Now he was stuck without help in an unforgiving, wounded America that no longer had recruitment offices to help the cause of him getting back to the military life that he loved so much.

Absentmindedly, he scratched the back of his neck. He was a young man, not the type to have to be living in this world, the one that old ladies pinched the cheeks of and thanked for their service to their country. A young man with the potential to rise in ranks, a man who was just months away from being enrolled in college. Instead of that life, he was flung into this one, a gritty life full of death and decay. John had no idea how he had survived so long, the depression nagging at him almost all the time on a daily basis like the acid in his stomach that was currently suffering from a lack of food. Speaking of that... The Army man clutched his stomach as it rumbled in a cry to be fed, feeling the aches and insufferable pains of what was close to starvation. If he really, really needed to, then he would force himself to it. Well, it would hardly be forcing, it would be him forcing himself to close the package of food that he had only taken a few bites of that wouldn't even satisfy a kitten.

Yes, he did have food, he was just too nervous to break into his stash and see what was there. He had been lucky enough to wander along a bomb shelter just in time, along with a few other military men just hanging around. After they left and had never come back, he was left completely alone with just his gun for company. It was a wonder that he hadn't gone insane. John occasionally ate, every few days or so, and the amount of canned food that the previous owner had stored was nothing to snort at. He'd be good for a long while, but his paranoia made him pack it all away and remain on the verge of dying because of his horrible hunger. The American sighed, breaking down, and rose from a rickety chair and crossed to the room where the previous owner had kept everything. In a few years, he'd barely gone through a dozen packages, just slicing open his thirteen a few days ago. It would've surprised most how he kept himself going on so little, but by now, it was second nature. John was starting to not mind the shocks of pain that came with hunger.

John ate a little bit of the non-perishable, then re-closing the package and retreating from the room before he couldn't restrain himself and would end up giving himself a full meal to eat. It wasn't just the packages of Army-issued MREs, there was plenty of canned things like fruits that he had yet to get to yet. He had become slightly paler, his scars standing out more, from spending almost all of his time in the dim light of his bomb shelter. If you weren't careful, you might've mistaken him for just another corpse, ribs sticking out from under his uniform and his face sunken slightly, as if the flesh was stretched too tight. It'd do him well to crack into some of those fruits and get some vitamins into his system, or maybe just eat more in general. There weren't any options to do that, or at least, he told himself that there weren't, and he thus stayed on the border of starvation throughout this hell.