Snippet #1787898

"Well... I was born here in Chicago to a family of War veterans on both sides. My Dad was currently serving in the Army, and my mom was a former Air Force pilot. My uncles served in Vietnam, and my grandparents fought in WWII and Korea, and that pattern repeats all the way to the American Revolution. My father taught me how to shoot when I was little, and my mother taught me how to fly planes when I got to be older."

He than pulls a set of dogtags out from under his fatigue shirt, the two pieces of stamped metal shining in the dying light of the day as he holds them up for Kitana to see. "In July of 2009, my Father's Humvee was hit by an RPG-7 outside of Kabul, Afghanistan. He was killed in the blast, along with another soldier." Oan pauses, collecting himself. "After he was killed, I was accepted into UCSF and moved here. After I lost my job due to the bad economy, I was desperate for money to pay for my room and food, I went to illegal work. I joined the Latin Kings as a hitman, and used my training to knock off the leaders of other gangs and anyone who knew too much."

He pauses for a minute to let that sink in, than continues "I wasn't proud of it, but they're the reason I'm alive today. When the Infection hit, I was on campus when the zombies started coming through the gates. Me and a few others realized the situation, and armed ourselves to defend the other students. We somehow managed to push the Infected outside of the gated campus, and held the walls until the horde got bored and continued on. I was promoted to General of our new mini-state, and I trained other people how to fight and gave them weapons I stole from abandoned gang armories."