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Dr. Izual Fenix

"Eat some watermelon and kick some ass."

0 · 1,013 views · located in Modern-day zombie apocalypse.

a character in “Dead Morning America”, as played by R.T.M.X.


Name: Izual Fenix
Nickname: Ghost
Age: (Finitely Ageless) Appears to be in his mid thirties
Species: Infected
Type: Unknown
Affiliation: CyberTech Corporation
Sex: Male
Height: 73"
Weight: 180lbs
Eyes: Neon Blue
Izual usually sports a black leather coat over a grayish hoodie and white button-up shirt, with the hood mostly covering his face. He wears a pair of black jeans most of the time, though he is also known wearing urban digital camo tactical trousers at times. He has a tanned skin tone, bald, and an old scar going along his right cheek, from his ear to an inch from his lower lip. Even though he is infected with the virus, he doesn't show any signs or symptoms. It is currently unknown to Izual if this is simply a mutation of the virus adhering to his DNA or if it's something much more. But whatever the case, it still doesn't prevent other infected from targeting him.

His skills (excluding his "mutation") include freerunning, being able to think two steps ahead of everybody else, and an innate ability to "sense" other infected.



SIG Sauer P228 Pistol w/ Streamlight TLR-1s weapon light
Standard issued, no modifications. Streamlight TLR-1s weapon light attached. Holstered on Izual's left thigh. 6 aftermarket magazines of 15 9×19mm Parabellum rounds. 3 are Full Metal Jacket, stored on the belt with one already loaded into the pistol. The other 3 magazines are Hallow-Point, stored on the belt. Each magazine is denoted with red or blue tape, with red for FMJ and blue for Hollow Point.


His background and upbringing remain a mystery, so Izual's life, in essence, was Tabula Rasa until he began working for the CyberTech Corporation, a private Research and Development company holding contracts with DARPA and the CDC. By trade, Izual is a virologist, researching the various viruses and diseases, while developing cures and treatments for such. Being an expert of his trade as well as a prodigy, he rose to the company's position of Lead Researcher within the first 2 years of employment.

He moved from Japan to New York a year ago, trying to settle down and live off from his career savings. A week prior to the infection, he had received a phone call warning about it, and without taking any chances, he scheduled a flight back to Japan, but he simply ran out of time when the inevitable came to be. On the way to the airport he was ambushed and was subsequently infected, via bite to his neck, and was dragged off. He managed to fight off his assailants, but he knew there was no hope for him. He had ideas what the infection was and where it came from.

So begins...

Dr. Izual Fenix's Story

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How long have I been out? What the hell attacked me? Where am I? What is with the rotting smell around here?

Izual thought to himself, silently mouthing the words of each question. He opened his eyes, then immediately sealed them again, the eyelids slamming closed to block out the sudden brightness of the sun gazing into his eyes. When he got adjusted to the sunlight, he removed his hood then proceeded to reach for the back of his neck, his hand rubbing the spine, as if he was trying to feel for something.

A sudden bolt of energy blasted through him, sending him upright on the cover of the dumpster he fainted on many hours ago, as if shocked to what he found... or what he didn't find, that is.

There was no bite mark, no scratch, no soreness to his neck, even though he was certain that he was bitten. He knows that he should be infected, but not feeling any symptoms? Is he imagining the bite, he doesn't know. He gazed at his watch, his eyes widened with some possible fear.


Twelve hours ago from when he thinks that he passed out in this destitute alleyway. He was in a hard place, that's for damn sure, as if after sunset was when the fun really began. How he managed to not be killed during the time he was unconscious is another question to ask. However, too many questions, too little time to have them all answered.

As he moved forward, pushing himself from the dumpster, his boots touched something below him, something that gave way as soon as he applied pressure. With a violent jerk of his right foot, shooting off from under his body, he lost what sort of balance he had, slipping towards the ground, landing on his ass.

After a few seconds to regain what posture he had, Izual set eyes on what was the cause: the remains of some poor soul, his pile of intestines no less, with a footprint partially smeared. His footprint. Nausea began to set in. The scene seemed familiar. Too familiar...

He suppressed the image, climbing back up, using the dumpster as support. As his feet stayed soundly in place this time, he looked towards the alley entrance, nothing in sight. Running his hands over his pockets, checking himself for his belongings, he let out a slight sigh of relief, for that he still held ownership to his belongings. His P228, still holstered on his left thigh. He still had five magazines on him, stored neatly on his belt, out of view, three marked blue and two marked red. He checked his hind pockets, and removed his wallet from the right side. After carefully searching it, he returned it back to its pocket. Nobody searched him when he was cold, as he still had fifty dollars in a combination of two twenties, one five, and five one dollar bills. His IDs were still there, including his work ID for CyberTech.

As he removed his handgun from its holster, its light off, he inched closer to the entrance, holding the weapon out in front of him, before he took a couple minutes to peek around the corners, surveying the road, taking mental notes on how the layout was, noting down how a couple of police cruisers formed a makeshift blockade, with a number of conveniently placed corpses scattered around it. Best not to go that way, I reckon.

As he turned his head to look the other direction, he spotted a police station not too far away, perhaps forty or so feet away, on the other side. More makeshift barricades made from cruisers, though he didn't know how many there exactly were. He glanced behind his shoulder, in case there wasn't anything prowling or stumbling from behind. However, he didn't notice the hunter hiding on the rooftops watching him from above.

As Izual returned his sight back towards the police station, he flipped his hood over his head, and began to take careful but quickened steps, at a reasonable pace, towards the building, staying observant of his surroundings.

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Run. Just run.

That was all Liz could think about with a single runner close behind her. Close enough that it could grab her if it only knew how to lunge. She didn't want to die like this, or worse, become like one of them. No, she refused to become one. She could see the intersection before her, maybe ten yards away.

She had a sliver of hope give her another chance to push on, giving her renewed energy to continue running, but when will this boost end, she did not know. Within seconds, with the runner a few feet still behind her, she had reached the intersection and made a sharp left turn, hoping to slow down the beast at least. But it was to no avail.

Police cruisers littered the street, forming failed makeshift barricades. She had reached the police station, however, she had also spotted a man in black, hood covering his face, handgun in hand, slinking towards the building. As she ran further towards him, that one runner determined to get its next meal out of her, the man stopped and spotted her.

He raised his gun and started to fire at her. A total of four shots rang out, but she didn't know if the man was firing at her or where those rounds ended up at. She ran faster, past the man, and tried to jump over a corpse, but tripped over it instead.

She had no weapon to defend herself, especially against some gunman. As she tripped, she threw out her left arm, bracing her fall as well as keeping her up enough not to go completely face first into the pavement. As her hand scraped across the concrete, she bounced forward, her momentum allowing her to keep going. And thus, she kept running.

And running.

And running.


Izual was treading carefully across the road to the police station, cautiously watching his surroundings in case anything comes his way. P228 in hand, it had reminded him of his times at the "firing range" at CyberTech Corp.

There, he had been introduced to Captain Arguil, head of the Security Service's "Alpha Team", a five-man SWAT team, with an impressive 100% success rate in their operations. Whether it was retrieval of people of special interests, destruction of prior CyberTech property, escorting VIPs like himself and the like, these guys were hands down the best. It was rumored that each one was former Special Forces, brought in from Delta Force, SEALs, Rangers. It showed in their training, in their absolute precision of getting the job done, to the absolute lettering, down to the crossing of T's and the dotting of I's. To have an opportunity to see them at the range was a sight to behold.

Each one, perfect marks on their firing, and they were each trying to be better than the others.

He wondered if they're in New York, waiting to get him off the ground and out of the country. The thought gave him hope, hope to survive this hellish nightmare.

But then something caught his eye. No, not something, someone. And they were running fast towards him, with a runner right behind them.

She was young, perhaps teen years, give or take a couple years. White and brown waiter's uniform, he had easily recognized it. This person had worked at the diner that he loved to eat at. FRANK'S, or something like that, he couldn't think of the name right now. Right now there's a girl running towards him and she's in danger.

"You, stop!"

He yelled, but it seemed that the runner was too busy at getting its next meal.

"Get on the ground!"

Again, they didn't respond to what he said, too busy running, as if it was some chase scene from Tom and Jerry. He raised his pistol, and aimed down the iron sights.


He missed, and fired again, this time three shots rang out, the last two hitting on course.

One round hit the creature squarely in the left shoulder, moving back a bit, the impact was obvious, but the runner was still moving quickly after her. The second round to hit dropped the runner, hitting in the center of the eyes, the right side of the back of the head blew out, brains sprawling from the round traveling through its target, exiting and continuing to travel in the direction he fired.

But she kept running, obviously thinking that he was firing at her. Past the police cruiser, tripping and recovering from her fall. Out of sight.

"Well, you're welcome, you ungrateful bitch!"

Izual took a glance at his watch. 18:00. Sun should be going down soon. With a less-than-full mag in his pistol, he began walking towards the station again.

As he stood in front of the station, he could imagine that this might make a decent shelter for the night, and to see if anybody had some answers to his questions.

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The Police Station stood magnificent during these times of need. The place where one of the very hearts of Order resided, and people to carry out the heartbeat to the chaos outside of its doors. Standing three stories tall and taking up over half a block, it didn't ask for attention; it demanded it. It demanded respect. The parking lot was a quarter full, with nothing but Crown Victorias, the police interceptors built by Ford, and of couple Lenco BearCats. BearCats...

After glancing at the SWAT vans through the closed gate, Izual noticed the generators and radio transmission antenna, perhaps a good forty, fifty feet tall. Sweeping his glance towards the windows and glass doors, he noticed that all but a couple were boarded up, which aroused the question of why to him. Keeping his hood over his head, he silently dashed across the side of the fence, keeping his profile as concealed and low as he could afford. Within a minute or so, he had easily approached the entrance.

It was slightly ajar.

As he slid the door open enough for him to slip through without placing attention on himself, he noticed the rotten smell, similar to what's outside but not as strong. Lights were off, and some barricades were formed inside the building, made from chairs and tables, as if they were there to keep something from getting in. Power's out, gut's telling me not to flip the switches though. Better switch to the flashlight, as the scientist slid his hand for the power switch on the light attached to his gun. Once inside, he crouched, silently closing the door behind him, until he heard the...


The door was closed, and fortunately the clicking sound of the door's latch falling in place onto the frame was loud enough for only Izual to hear. However, it was dead silent. No sounds, no moans, nothing. Venturing further in, sliding over one of the barricades, he decided to skip out on the jail cells, seeing that he had already had a fair share of what-the-fuckness for the day. He had two ways to go: take the stairs, or search the first floor.

He decided to take the stairs, knowing that in a station this size, an armory would be on one of the upper floors, away from access of the general public. Taking cautious step after step up the stairs, he reached the second floor. "The armory is the first place to check, then securing down the place for the night," he said to himself, careful enough not to alert anyone, or anything, lurking in the shadows. Slowing down for a second, he glanced at his watch...


Since when has time started slowing down? It had begun to feel like an eternity has passed. he crept up against the wall, rounded the corner and...

"Don't even fucking move, or so help you God that I don't blow your fucking brains out." A 8-gauge double-barreled shotgun was aimed directly at him, 10 inches away from his head.

"First, why don't you tell me exactly what the hell is going on?" Izual slowly raised his hands, both hands in sight, pistol in hand. In front of him stood a blonde female, a head shorter than him, heavily tanned skin, almost orange. She was new to the force.

"What the hell is going on is that the world is eating itself out there, and I'm trying to keep myself alive and keep order inside this building. Now tell me why you're here, and give me the gun," she barked at him, shotgun still in hand and aimed at him. He quickly grabbed the barrel with his open hand, taking notice that the safety on her weapon was still on.

"If you are going to threaten to shoot me, do it then, or else give me the gun." Izual dared her to pull the trigger.


He snatched the shotgun, pulling the grip from her hands. "You had the guts, but you forgot that your safety was on." Izual, glancing at the young woman, shocked at what had just happened, then returned his attention to the shotgun, breaking open the breach. "Both are loaded. I'm willing to bet that you're new." He let out a quick chuckle.

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Izual lowered the shotgun to the ground, holding it in one hand.

"Look, it's getting dark outside, there are people running around attacking people, and I was looking for a place to stay for the night. Name's Doctor Fenix."

Izual quickly holstered his handgun, then reached out with the shotgun in the other hand, barrel in hand. As the police officer retrieved her weapon, she quickly checked him over for any scratches or bites.

"Alright, you seem clean to me. You need to talk to the captain, and see what he says."

He nodded in acceptance, then followed her past another set of barricades. Another police officer, whom Izual assumed was SWAT by how his appearance was, stood watch over the barricade, with a FN P90 in hand.

"Captain, we have a survivor! Sending him over to you now," the young woman called out, with a reply that sounded like the words "Okay."

As he came up to another set of stairs, he could see that the lower access was blocked off, with it leading up the third floor. As Izual started to ascend, he was greeted by the captain.