Name: Silas Henderson
Age: 24, 25. Honestly, he’s not entirely sure anymore
Group: Survivors
Role: Leader
Personality: Pre-apocalypse, Silas was a pretty normal guy. He worked a normal job in a normal town; he took home a normal paycheck to a normal family (sans his alcoholic father). He got along with most people, and had a few close friends. If you'd ask someone to describe him before the outbreak, they probably wouldn't have had much to say. He was, for all intents and purposes, your average Joe. From kindergarten to freshman year of high school, the same note came home on his report cards: "Silas is a bright young man, but he does not apply himself". This was and is Silas' approach to most situations: put in the smallest amount of effort possible to produce the desired results. The greater the reward, the harder he works. These days, the "reward" comes int he form of finding a cure for the Z1-01 virus, and it's a goal he'll stop at nothing to achieve. Silas has risen to the occasion as the leader of the survivors, doing his best to keep the group of misfits together. Living under such intense pressure has a tendency to create tension, and most days it's all Silas can do to keep the group's more explosive personalities under control. He does his best to do right by the group, but it's hard to live by moral code when you're being attacked by the undead. The struggle of balancing morality and survival has taken it's toll on him, but he's doing his best, and he genuinely believes that if the group can make it to D.C., they'll find a cure.
History: Silas was born to Ray and Maggie Henderson in Crawford, Virginia, a small town named for the Crawford Cotton Mill. 90% of the town's residents worked at the mill, including Silas' father. Ray Henderson made a respectable living as a machinery operator at the mill and did his best to be good to his wife and children, but was susceptible to human vices. He liked to gamble, and liked to drink even more. As the oldest son, Silas was acutely aware of his father's habits, and resented him from a young age. The two butted heads frequently, which his mother attributed to the two of them being so alike. Silas, who wanted nothing more than to free himself of his father's influence, distanced himself from the family, throwing himself into his schoolwork.
When Silas was 17, his father was injured in an accident at the mill that left him physically disabled. Silas' plans of escaping Crawford to attend Virginia State University came to a grinding halt, and he began working at the mill to support the family. For months, Silas swore to himself that he'd make it out of Crawford, that he'd find a way to leave the crappy mill town, and his dead beat father, behind. But as months stretched into years, Silas began to lose hope, and settled into his position as the family provider. He resigned himself to being average- working 9-5 at the mill, paying the family's bills, and keeping his father (who seemed to have gotten into even more trouble since his accident) out of jail. The highlight of his week was grabbing a beer with the boys on a Friday night.
And then everything changed. Silas was in the break room at the mill when he first heard the news of a mysterious disease that had hit the west coast. California seemed a long ways away, and he didn't give the broadcast a second thought. But as weeks passed and broadcasts became more urgent, people in Crawford started to panic. The first person to die of the virus in Crawford was Peggy Larkin, who returned to the small Virginia town after visiting her sister in California. She died of an extremely high fever, baffling the town's doctor, then (to the hospital staff's surprise and horror) resurrected as a zombie, attacking 8 members of hospital staff. And that was all it took. Silas left the mill one night to find the town in chaos. His mother had run off with his siblings, leaving Silas a note to tell him where she'd gone. He took off after them, meeting his father (who had become a zombie) on the way out of town. With a shot to his father's head, Silas left Crawford for good.
Since that fateful night, he's been roaming Virginia, crossing paths with other survivors and adding those he trusts to their group. His current goal is to get the survivors to Washington D.C., where he believes there just may be hope for a cure.
Habits/Vices: Like his father before him, Silas is a chronic smoker. He knows it’s bad for him, but he doubts he’ll be around long enough to experience smoking’s ill effects. You’re unlikely to catch him without a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket or one dangling out of the corner of his mouth.
Silas is also incredibly superstitious (another trait he inherited from his father). Ray Henderson was always a betting man, and Silas accompanied him to many horse races, poker games, and other less-than-savory places. His father was easily enticed by the lure of easy money, and was known to show up anywhere he felt he could make a quick buck. He believed he could improve his chances of winning by keeping a lucky rabbit’s foot, avoiding the number thirteen, and any number of baseless good luck measures. His wife always thought him a fool, but Silas unconsciously inherited his father’s views of life and luck. In his mind, there is no fate, no destiny. Sometimes, shit just happens. The way he sees it, this whole zombie apocalypse is just the world being dealt a shitty hand. He’s not as superstitious as his father, but he still wears a small horseshoe on a chain around his neck, and if you check his belt loop, you’re likely to see a bedraggled rabbit’s foot hanging there.
Are people basically good, or basically evil?: Silas has never been the most trusting individual. He grew up watching his father make deals with shady individuals, and while he knew some of his father's actions were motivated by his desire to provide for the family, he couldn't overlook the underlying selfishness and greed of Ray's gambling habits. In general, he believes people are motivated by their own selfish needs. Everyone does what they have to do to survive, and at the end of the day, the only person really looking out for you is you. Even before the outbreak, Silas' friendships were few. He's fiercely loyal to and protective of those he knows, but he's wary of strangers and likely to keep people at arm's length. His dislike for outsiders has only increased since the apocalypse began, though, on some unconscious level, he realizes the only way to survive this disaster is with the help of others.
Weapon of choice: In the 3 years since the zombie apocalypse began, Silas has used everything from a machine gun to a sharpened toothbrush to kill zombies. Not all weapons are created equal, but you've got to use what's available, right? Somehow he's managed to hang onto to his .40 caliber pistol, a handy little weapon that's got just about everything you could want in a zombie-killing piece of machinery: portability, accuracy, and ease of maintenance. He keeps it on his person at all times, and it's definitely his go-to weapon when things get hairy. When the situation requires a quieter approach, he's partial to his hunting knife (though the tendency of the blade to lodge itself in the decaying skulls of the undead is less than ideal), which is generally strapped to his thigh. And, if all else fails, it's always good to have a crowbar on hand. Sometimes you just need to do a little skull-smashing to work out those zombie-enduced frustrations.
Physical Description: Standing 6'2" and weighing nearly 190 lbs, Silas is a big guy. He has his father's strong jaw and brown hair, but that's where the resemblance ends. He doesn't feel he looks much like either of his parents, really, though people used to say he had his mother's eyes. (Before she became a flesh-eating zombie, of course). His hair is generally unkempt, though he does his best to keep it cropped fairly short. He shaves his face when he has the time, but more often than not his jaw is covered by sandy scruff.
His wardrobe is limited, consisting of 2 plain grey t-shirts (both stained with sweat, blood, and god knows what a else), 1 pairs of jeans (equipped with plenty of pockets), a flannel shirt, and a light jacket. On his feet he wears a pair of brown work boots, which are falling apart. If he notices the numerous holes and tears in his clothing, he certainly doesn't let on. He wears the aforementioned miniature horseshoe on a length of chain around his neck, and keeps a rabbit's foot on his belt loop.
He's far more concerned with his weapons than his wardrobe, and is never without a knife and his gun, which he carries in a holster on his hip.
