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Paul Julius Holmes

"Even this is better than home."

0 · 440 views · located in New York City, The Apocalypse

a character in “Virus”, as played by Erik7622

Description

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Full Name: Paul Julius Holmes

Nicknames: He often insists that Julius, not Paul, is his given name. Sometimes he does not insist. He's inconsistent like that.

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Role: Immune

Physical Description: Paul stands about 5 feet ten inches tall, and weighs 134 pounds. His hair was cut rather short when he lived in the Citadel, but it's grown out some since his incarceration and escape. He tries his best to keep it out of his face, with reasonable success. His fingernails are cut short, and his hands are callused from training in his childhood. He wears a light-colored canvas jacket over a long-sleeved shirt, along with dark jeans and all-weather boots. His jacket is rigged with a kind of webbing to facilitate storage of his canteen, food, and ammunition. His sword hangs from a thick cloth belt in a plain leather scabbard. Over his empty left eye socket he has a simple black patch.

Personality: Paul Holmes is not the most mentally stable character. His upbringing scarred him mentally from what can be described as his true nature, thus causing no end of confusion with people he meets.

As his true self, Paul is a consummate altruist and, though sometimes (that is, often) cynical, a grudging optimist. He may always keep his eye on a stranger, but he doesn't like that he has to. He tries to assume the best of people, and will give most people the benefit of the doubt. He's a somewhat solitary person, however, afraid to get too close to someone and lose them. In spite of this fear, he does yearn for a friend.

Sometimes, he can change, however, becoming more reminiscent of how he was in the citadel. This side of him is taciturn, emotionless, and to all appearances remorseless: the perfect freelance killer. He will tell you up-front that he sticks his neck out for nobody else. Unlike his usual self, he understands and welcomes the paranoia associated with his solitary life, and will not hesitate to kill.

What triggers these dramatic changes is irregular and unpredictable: sometimes he seems to change after sleeping and waking up, other times he changes in specific situations of danger, and he changes spontaneously.

Likes: Solitude (usually), Freedom (that is, being away from the Citadel), his sword, camaraderie (in doses), running

Dislikes: The Citadel, Alarms, Hordes, "Useless people"

Fears: Being betrayed, Caring for someone and losing them, going back to the Citadel

Weapon: The main boon of growing up the way Paul did was the access to weaponry. When he left the Citadel, he took with him some weapons he had used before for self-defense:

CZ 527 carbine:
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Ruger Light Compact Revolver:
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The weapon he considers uniquely "his," a katzbalger (short sword):
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Inventory: A canteen of water and a small collection of food bars, which he's jerry-rigged to be held in his jacket easily. Also in his jacket are spare bullets and two extra magazines (both are 5-round and full) for his rifle and pistol.

Skills: Paul knows how to use both of his weapons with a somewhat frightening level of skill, thanks to his upbringing in the Citadel. He's also a remarkably good runner, climber, and traceur, enabling him to get places where the undead often cannot.

Weaknesses: Poor depth perception and peripheral vision, bad upper-body strength, unpredictable mental state

History: Paul Holmes had a strange and rather traumatic childhood. He grew up in a place called the Citadel, a right-wing extremist compound/fortress. His parents virtually raised him to become a militiaman like them, training him in shooting from his youth and treating him like a grunt. Physical and mental abuse from those in charge of the Citadel was common, under the guise of "toughening exercises". These "exercises" at one point cost the boy his eye, but he was told to deal with his disability. At some point, though, he changed, becoming almost a model fighter, bordering on a sociopathic mercilessness.

The Citadel was greatly impressed with the young soldier, though a few were disturbed by his ruthlessness. Some suspected he had snapped mentally, which was partly true. The boy was not totally gone, though: he knew that the way he was would eventually consume him and render him an unfeeling monster. He refused to let that happen, but gradually his struggle became apparent to those around him. He was put into their infirmary, and while there suffered a mental breakdown, though in the process he finally attained a type of stability. The Citadel regarded him as a danger now, however, and put him through more painful abuse to get back their stone-cold killer.

Unlike before, he resisted vehemently, and found himself put into the Citadel's jail. When the undead came, the Citadel understaffed the jail to have more people fighting. With only one guard, Paul was able to escape easily, and took his leave, uncaring of the danger outside. All he wanted was to get away from the Citadel, away from the pain and fear. However, he did realize the danger outside, and took a rifle along with his favorite short-sword. Of course, he does realize that his ammunition won't last forever, and just hopes he can find other living people and more supplies before it's too late. His conditioned side has had no trouble adjusting, and may prefer to remain alone.

Themes: "Guardian" - Fates Warning || "The Ides of March/Wrathchild" - Iron Maiden

So begins...

Paul Julius Holmes's Story

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Character Portrait: Lara Olivia Pierce Character Portrait: Paul Julius Holmes
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This may have been a godawful idea.

For once, Julius had to admit he had probably blundered. True, the undead would likely be unable to reach him up here, but on the other hand, falling off and hurting himself was a very real possibility. Out here, on his own, that would be as good as signing his own death warrant. The solution was simple enough, of course: don't fall. Easier said than done. He tried to position himself as close to the peak of the roof as he could, without straddling it. He had enough sense to realize that was a sure way to lose his balance, not to mention a sure way to be seen. He had already evaded some gangs, and knew the basics of remaining unseen. Fortunately for him, they had a disturbing, yet hilarious, tendency not to look in certain not-very-obvious places. He had passed up several opportunities for parting shots in such positions, reasoning that if the virus were ever eradicated, even the ruthless deserved a chance. Of course, sometimes he had really wanted to kill them, but he hadn't. Not yet.

He started, noticing a young woman hastily enter the house across the street. She didn't seem like the kind of person who would have survived the initial waves of chaos. Not that Julius could really tell from so far away. He pulled his rifle back into position, and scanned the area with his good eye. Nobody else seemed nearby. She could be a scout. Hell, she could be a fugitive, on the run from some gang for whatever reason. Perhaps he could...deliver her to her searchers, and earn a place in their ranks as a scout and marksman. Then again, what were the odds of that? Not likely. So no reason to bother considering the morality of the action.

On the other hand...who were these four? They emerged rather suddenly from the same place the woman had, and seemed to have the house the woman had entered as their destination. Julius couldn't hear their conversation very well, but their gestures seemed clear enough: they were following the woman, and had traced her thus far. Julius kept his eye on them as they closed on the house. One of them, clearly a leader of sorts, struck the door with his fist. Julius heard the resulting noise from his perch, and cringed at the display of strength. For all of his abilities, Julius totally lacked in the brute strength category. He would hate to go toe-to-toe with that man.

He strained to listen as the man then yelled, clearly addressed to the woman inside, "We know you're in there, girlie. Come out!" He continued saying things Julius couldn't quite catch, but in a tone that he could catch, and one that chilled him. They weren't after her for anything...significant, or important. No stolen supplies, no revenge. They just wanted some easy, carnal fun. What bastards.

The boy hooked his arm over the peak of the roof, stabilized his rifle, and focussed his eye on the sights, carefully aiming at the large man. What are you doing, you imbecile, a voice inside asked. You can't afford to do this. This will be your undoing. Think. Don't shoot.

"Fuck you," he whispered at the voice, and pulled the trigger.

The report was honestly a bit louder than he had expected, and once again he cursed his lack of hearing protection, though he had adapted years ago to the loud cracks of gunfire. The sniper dropped back quickly so as not to expose himself, and heard the men shout in confusion and fear. The shot was a perfect center-of-mass hit. The bastard was probably dead before he hit the ground. Julius licked his lips, musing that he was now a killer. For all his upbringing, he had never had to kill a human before now. Did that make him like the undead he sought to evade? Or like the lecherous man he had killed? He shrugged it away, remembering his upbringing. No time to worry, no time for empathy. Simply do, or die.

After a minute or two of breathless waiting, Julius poked his head up and looked. The men were gone. Everything was quiet. Perhaps he could descend now? No undead seemed to wander nearby; he might have safety for a while yet. He chose to take the risk, and slung his rifle before carefully shuffling to the edge. He saw a small lawn below him, enough to cushion his fall some. It would be even better if he could roll to break his fall, but that could also break his rifle. He would have to settle for a bit of a hard landing. He gritted his teeth and jumped.

As he predicted, he landed hard, but his legs withstood the jump. He drew his revolver and cautiously crossed the street, watching for any movement. He saw none, and relaxed a little as he approached the door, which had cracked and splintered noticeably from their assault. He wondered if he could break it down. Supposing it worth a try, he braced himself and rammed his shoulder into it. It cracked, but not much. How else could he get in? Perhaps a window?

Wait a second. Why hadn't he called inside? Julius smacked his forehead, pocketed his revolver, then cupped his hands to the door. "I don't know who you are, but whoever was after you just now, they're gone. You're okay." He supposed there wasn't much else he could say. He turned around as he waited for a response.

It was only then that he noticed the four forms shuffling in his direction from across the street. Shit. Time for plan B. B, for Breaking in, Julius abruptly decided, taking his rifle and holding it stock-forward. He dashed over to the nearest window, and started pounding the window with the butt of the rifle. The glass cracked. He pounded again, and a large hole appeared. He continued his assault, clearing out as much of the glass as he could before dropping the rifle in and climbing inside. He felt the glass cut into his palms, ignored the pain in the interest of getting inside, then dropped onto the floor and turned to face his pursuers. They had closed significantly. He drew his revolver again, and aimed for one head.

Bang.

Another head.

Bang.

Another.

Bang.

Last one.

Bang.

Simple. He exhaled, only then realizing he had held his breath while shooting. Probably not the best habit for his long-term health, one he should probably break. He contemplated this as he slowly reloaded the revolver, removing used casings and replacing them with fresh bullets. He snapped the cylinder back in, then pocketed the revolver a second time. He left his rifle leaning on a table before setting out to find whomever he had just saved. Though he doubted she would hurt him, he kept one hand on his sword. One couldn't be too careful, after all.

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Character Portrait: Lara Olivia Pierce Character Portrait: Paul Julius Holmes
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Lara glanced round desperately for an escape route. She didn't have a key to the back door, and even if she were able to force it, she was certain they'd be zombies out there. She could try jumping from one of the back windows, but they were high up off the ground and her body was much too weak now. She was always of a very tiny build and kept her body in perfect condition to dance, and after nearly a month living hand to mouth, she weighed very little and her muscles were wasting away. So, even if the fall didn't kill her, if she hurt her ankle upon landing, she'd no longer be able to run as fast as she had to and she would almost certainly be torn to shreds by hoards of zombies.

Bang

Lara wasn't usually one for screaming, finding it usually caused her more danger than what she was actually screaming about, but the sudden shot took her so much by surprise that she couldn't help but let out a tiny scream. At first, she assumed the men were shooting out the lock on the door to get to her, but when she was able to level her breathing, she caught snippets of what they were saying, which told her otherwise.

"Shit! He's fucking dead, dude!"

"When I get my hands on the bastard who did it-"

"We've got to get the hell out of here!"

"What about the little bitch inside?"

"Screw her, I'm getting out of here."


Lara listened closely to their exchange, and was able to deduce that someone had shot one of the men... She released a breath in utter relief as they decided to leave and hurried away, back into the city. But as soon as one threat vanished, another arose. One of the men outside was shot, but zombies didn't shoot, which meant there was someone else outside too. Someone else with their own agenda and motivations, someone else, who, as far as Lara knew, offered as much, if not more, of a threat as the men. And he'd obviously taken them out for a reason. Maybe the shooter wanted her dead. Yes, that was it, he wanted to kill her. She was about to die. After all this, she was going to die. She felt paranoia sweep over her once more, getting the better of her and allowing her mind to race wildly through the horrendous possibilities as it created more and more elaborate ways she was going to be murdered.

The bang that suddenly sounded as a body collided with the door, splintering it further, only confirmed her fears. This was it. Perhaps the assailant would be kind and just shoot her, killing her quickly and relatively painlessly. Although, Lara doubted he'd gone through all this to get to her, just to let her die quickly. He probably wanted to hurt her, rape her, and then kill her slowly. Images of her own agony flashed across her mind, each little sequence in which she was tortured played over and over on high-speed, in vivid, gruesome colour.

Lara froze at the slightly muffled sound of a voice, right behind the door.

"I don't know who you are, but whoever was after you just now, they're gone. You're okay."

It was a male voice... But, it didn't sound threatening... In fact, it sounded quite young, no older than twenty. His voice was gentle, and reassuring, and almost friendly. And... Maybe the reason he'd got rid of those men wasn't so he could hurt her himself, but maybe to save her.

Deciding to be brave, for once in her recent life, she responded softly, although just audibly to the man on the other side of the door, "Thank you..." Her voice trembled with fear and she stumbled a bit over the words, but she managed to speak them. Maybe, even if he did want to hurt her, she could appease him by being nice. At least then he might only rape her and torture her before letting her go, alive.

But no sooner had the words left her lips, there was an almighty crash from the near by window. Lara's head spun towards the source of the sound faster than she'd ever moved before. She leapt back as she saw the the glass shatter in, scattering across the wooden floor in sharp shards. Her arms instantly slipped around her midriff in a totally unconscious movement. The moment she realised what she was doing, protecting something she was trying her very best to deny the existence of, her arms slipped away with a shudder of disgust for herself.

As the hole in the glass became larger, Lara became more and more terrified. With complete fear gripping every fibre of her body, she ran from the front room, away from the destruction, into the room that lead directly off from the first room. Glancing around desperately, she knew she didn't have long before he was inside, and in blind panic she slid her little frame into one of the least inventive hiding places in the whole house; under the small dinning table.

No sooner was she under there did she hear feet touch down in the front room, the glass under his shoes crunching and breaking into even finer shards. Lara heard gunshots from inside the house, fired out. She couldn't tell if he was taking out people or the undead. Four shots, each fired precisely and individually, not in a wild hail of panicked bullets, as most of her shots were.

She saw his footsteps approaching the table and as he neared her, she finally got a good look at the man. Seeing him confirmed her suspicions regarding his age; Lara quickly placed him in his late teens. He was reasonably tall too, significantly higher than her own five foot four. His dark hair, that had been allowed to grow out round his face, stood out in stark contrast to his reasonably pale features. Lara flinched at the sight of the eye patch, and though good manners taught by her sweet parents, she stared at him, wondering what had happened.

He lay his gun down right next to her, and she wondered, just for a second, if she reached out and grabbed it, if she had the nerve to threaten him. But that thought was curtailed when she saw his hand resting on a large sword.

The ballet dancer sat perfectly still, unmoving, drawing in the shallowest of breathes. She was horribly aware that if he stepped round the other side of the table, he would be able to see her clearly, her hiding place no longer safe. She prayed he'd move on to another room without finding her, although she really doubted the likelihood of that. Her whole body began to tremble slightly with fear and, in utter panic, she realised she'd left her bag in the basement with her weapon. If he wanted to hurt her, she would be virtually powerless to defend herself.

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Character Portrait: Lara Olivia Pierce Character Portrait: Paul Julius Holmes
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Two possibilites, each with two sub-possibilites, occurred to Julius as he scanned the room steadily. One, there was nobody in the house. If that was true, it meant that either the thugs had been chasing a false trail or the woman had escaped. Two, the woman was still here, and she was hiding, either out of a desire to kill him or out of fear. Fear seemed likely, given that she had been chased here. Julius knew fear well. He had virtually lived with it from when he was 6 until...well, up to now, though how much fear was with him at any one time could change. Right now, he was a little bit afraid the thugs would come back, a little bit afraid more undead would show up, and a little bit afraid the woman was hiding in wait to kill him.

Julius stood perfectly still for a moment, and listened. Nobody could be perfectly still and make no noise, unless they had extensive training as he had had. Training. The very word nearly made him break his freeze in a disgusted shudder. What the Citadel had called "training" meant little more than abuse, if his glimpses of the world outside had been any indication. He certainly could see no use for tasing as an incentive, and he was still more than a little bitter over his eye. He batted at the black patch with his thumb idly, then decided to check another room. He crossed to the door and passed into what looked like a sitting-room of sorts. He wandered around the room, weaving among the chairs, snorting at the strange colors, checking behind each one, finding nothing. He sighed, then looked back towards the room from whence he had come.

He blinked, then let out a short laugh. Duh, a little voice said in his mind. Always check under the table, you dummy. He crossed back to the other room, then knelt by the woman who crouched under the table. "It's alright, you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm just a kid." Ordinarily he would take some issue with being thought of as a kid (though legally he still was...not that the law really existed anymore), but he had to admit he was, and if it would get her to stop being so damn scared of him, then he could swallow his pride. For a bit anyway.

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Character Portrait: Lara Olivia Pierce Character Portrait: Paul Julius Holmes
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Lara watched the boy as he scanned the room. Then, he stood perfectly still, listening out for her, like a hunter. Lara held her breath, desperate not to make a sound and be found. It seemed like hours he was stood still for. Lara's lungs were burning, the desire for oxygen becoming almost unbearable. The lack of oxygen, combined with her current...medical condition, meant she was already becoming lightheaded. She was terrified she'd lose consciousness and drop to the floor with a crash, a sound that would allow the man to find her instantly, and almost certain spell out her death. By the time he finally left for the sitting room, she was sure she was just seconds from passing out. Lara was finally able to draw in a shaky breath. Though she wanted to do was drag in as much oxygen as she possibly could, she forced herself to still breath quietly.

Once she'd managed to even her breathing, she looked up at the gun again. He'd just left it lying by the table. Lara reached out a trembling hand and brushed it lightly with the tips of her fingers. She could just pick it up. Just shoot him. Then she'd be free, and safe. She could go on her way without dying. But... He was just a child... Still a teenager. He was someone's son, even if they weren't still alive. She couldn't shoot him. He didn't deserve to die, not yet. Everyone deserved a chance at life. Very carefully she removed her hand from the gun, bringing it back to her body, brushing her lower abdomen lightly. It was a very simple gesture, almost unperceivable by others. But Lara understood the meaning, and she just couldn't shoot the boy.

Suddenly, she heard a sharp, short laugh from the other room and footsteps began approaching her again. Lara was truly terrified. She was going to die. Right here, right now. After all that had happened, this was it.

She watched the boy bend down before the table. As his face came directly into her line of vision she flinched, instantly lifting her arms up to protect her face, as if he were about to hit her.

But then, he spoke. "It's alright, you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm just a kid."

Lara looked at him for a few seconds, studying him carefully. Her mind was abuzz with thoughts. She didn't know what to do. He hasn't tried to hurt her yet, but maybe he just wanted to lure her out so she couldn't run before he killed her. But his voice sounded... Kind. He didn't sound like a killer. Then again, she didn't sound like a killer, but she was.

Ever so slowly, Lara lowered her arms, folding them back round herself, shoulders raised in a protective position.

Eventually, she nodded. "Okay," she said tentatively. Her voice trembled along the notes, only just able to get the words out. Her brow was furrowed with fear and worry as she looked up at him, her brown eyes wide. She may have said only a word but her whole body told of every thought and feeling in her mind.

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Character Portrait: Lara Olivia Pierce Character Portrait: Paul Julius Holmes
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The boy looked at her carefully as she slowly lowered her arms, shaking ever so slightly, and slowly said one word, the most recognized word in the world. And damned if he didn't recognize "okay" now. She didn't say anything after that, but just stared at him. The patch probably unnerved her. He would have been happy to take it off, but the largely empty, scarred socket underneath was incredibly disturbing to look at, and the last thing he needed to do was frighten her more. His smile faded a moment, as he felt more unsure of himself. He shifted his weight, felt a piece of glass crunch under his boot, and craned his neck to see the window.

The smile returned and he laughed sheepishly. "Sorry about breakin' in like that," he murmured, turning back to her. "I didn't have much of a choice. I shot the one man..." He trailed off a moment, then continued, "and the gunshot must have attracted a few of those things. You weren't answering the door, so I had to...well...improvise." He stood up, thinking a bit, then backed away from the table before removing his jacket and dropping it on a chair. "Interesting place here..." he mused. Outside, he heard a noise. People? Undead? Wind? Better to check.

He dashed over to the window and looked out, his hand ready on his revolver. He scanned the area. Nothing.

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Character Portrait: Lara Olivia Pierce Character Portrait: Paul Julius Holmes
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The boy shifted in front of her and Lara flinched at the sound of glass crunching under his foot. Then he smiled at her once more, laughing uncomfortably.

"Sorry about breakin' in like that. Didn't have much of a choice. I shot the one man... and the gunshot must have attracted a few of those things. You weren't answering the door, so I had to...well...improvise."

"Sorry..." she replied, still nervous. Then, her mind flashed back to her poor, sweet, dead parents. They'd brought her up to be a good girl, with manners. Someone they could really be proud of. And... Just because they were dead, she couldn't start letting them down now. "And... Thank you..." she added, acknowledging she was grateful for him rescuing her. Not that manners counted for a whole lot when you were a cold blooded murdered though, Lara thought bitterly.

The boy moved away from her, leaving his jacket on a chair. He had his back to her.

"Interesting place here..." the boy commented.

"It's... not mine..." Lara replied quietly.

She watched as her saviour rushed over to the window, in response to a sound outside. At his movement, Lara panicked. Was there something outside that wanted to kill her? Oh god, was it a Pouncer? The terrible type of zombie that would follow you for miles, hunting you down with the sole intention of ripping you to shreds. She leapt up from her hiding place, grabbing her gun from her bag.

She glanced at the boy, who seemed relatively calm, probably meaning he hadn't seen anything. But her paranoia was not going to loose it's grip on her racing heart that easily.

"W-What is is?" she asked nervously, her tone jumpy and fearful.

She was stood up now, instead of hiding under the table, body folded in round the gun, as if the tighter she clung onto it, the more likely it was of saving her. She stood back from the window, as if it might attack her itself if she got too close.