Nickname: There's not a lot of nicknames you can give to Jesse. You're welcome to try, though!
Age: Twenty.
Gender: I'm male, through and through.
Role: Thank God, I'm immune. I'll never stop thanking the gods for that.
Physical Description I'm a decent-looking guy. My hair's brown, and so are my eyes. Well, my eyes are a little darker than my hair. They're a lot darker, actually, but in the light, you can see the brown, and a few golden tints. I am the typical Asian boy, with 'yellow' skin, and the typical hairstyle. The one thing that separates me from other Asians is my height. I stand at 6'2, a height that doesn't seem so startling until I stand in front of you. I look tall too, with a long, lean figure and legs that go on for miles. It sounds nice for a girl, but I'm a guy. Because my figure is a little feminine at times (my hands are extremely pretty, you wouldn't believe it), I work hard to gain muscle mass. They don't exactly bulge... They lie underneath the surface. And I can confidently say that my six pack is not 'my skinniness,' it's the product of a lot of hard work. I'm a lot stronger than I look, and anyone who thinks otherwise is bound to be proven wrong, in public. A lot of things about me (physically, at least) surprise people, besides my strength. Take, for example, my tattoos. I have two small ones: an eagle on my right shoulder, and a fish on my left shoulder. Sounds weird, right? Let me explain. Until I was twelve, I went to Sunday school every week. What stood out to me the most was the relationship between the sun and the sky. I liked how they were one, but God separated them to be separate. It became a personal mantra of mine: separate but equal. Not in the racist way! More like, we may be different, but we are one. The eagle represents the sky, and the fish represents the ocean. The one who wants to fly, and the one who stays below; the one chasing the sun, and the other content to remain beneath it. You can look down on other people as much as you want, but in the end, you are the same being.
Personality: I've been told that I'm easy to like. I mean, I can see why - not to sound cocky, or anything. I'm just nice, and funny, and chivalrous. I was brought up with a strong sense of what a man should be: a strong, capable gentleman. I'm the guy who opens doors for strangers who are coming from ten feet away like an idiot. It's a habit I'm slowly breaking out of now, especially after Parker punched me in the gut for letting our safehouse at the time be ransacked by zombies because I opened the door for them out of habit. It sounds stupid, right? That's how deeply ingrained that behavior is in me. I'm usually not so foolish. I've always been smarter than most of the guys around me; maybe because I'm Asian. Regardless, I've always been clever, at the top of my class. In fact, I was valedictorian. I'm an overachiever too, I guess. I've always liked being brilliant, or at least the idea of being brilliant. Not so much to brag, but more as a quiet affirmation of my own worth. Otherwise, I'm confident, without being too conceited. I'm a bright child, with lit up eyes and a broad grin ready for every stranger, ready or not. Fun is something that I seek on a daily basis. I'm kind of a daydreamer, always with my head in the clouds, always off in some adventure in a faraway land. I try to be attentive and alert, but... well, I'm grateful for the people around me to do that for me sometimes. I try to be reliable and useful, but other than my physical aptitude and my brain, I'm not good for anything. Well, except for a good conversation. I think I was fit for the pre-virus days, when we would focus on each other and our relationships. I was great with people, and relationships, and bonding. But now it's about survival, and I've lived so comfortably that it's a little crazy to think about me being in this situation. Parker tells me I'm plenty useful, but if it wasn't for my genes, I wouldn't be here. But that's the insecurities talking. Other than that, I'm a good guy. Despite a few bouts of down-in-the-dumps moments, I'm a guy who can keep a conversation going and keep the atmosphere upbeat. I'm very open and honest, with nothing to hide. If anyone asked, I'd be willing to spill my entire guts out; but of course, no one really asks. It's usually me who does the asking and probing. Some guys think I'm a pussy, but I'm not. I'm as manly as the rest of them; I just like to talk to people sometimes. It's fun, to learn secrets about another. You see them in a whole new light, and I find that awesome. I'm easy to read, honestly. I don't mind often; who cares what people think of me? Who cares what they know? So what, I get sad sometimes. Get over it.
Weapons: I tend to use everything around me as a weapon. Like, a rock. Whatever I can find. I do carry a gun with me, I'm not a complete weirdo. My revolver's name is Waldo, because somehow I can never find it unless I absolutely need it. I can't help it, I'm forgetful! I have a baseball bat I carry around with me, and a pocketknife. Three weapons, and my surroundings - the best set I'm ever going to have for a long time, I'm guessing.
Inventory: This huge beast of a backpack I own holds everything I could ever need. Extra bullets, a blanket, a canteen, and a sleeping bag. There's a bit of food in there, things like granola bars, chips... simple junk food that I'm saving for a celebration of some sort. There's some money in there too; my mom probably stuffed that in without thinking when I wasn't looking. I have a small first-aids kit with the most basic things, but it's going to get us pretty far, I'm thinking. I don't know, my mom decided to pack this stuff; what were you expecting, condoms and drugs and beer?
History: Jung and Kia Youn are probably the strangest couple, ever. Kia is self-sufficient, smart, completely level-headed and cool. Jung, on the other hand, is always out of sorts, drunk or lying or shouting about something that pisses him off. He's a forceful guy, with strong ideas and an even stronger addiction to alcohol, and Kia... Well, I don't know why my mom married him. I think he was a charmer for the first couple of months, and after they actually got married, he began drinking. She always told me it was just him trying to cope with his ex-wife's death, but I think it was just him being bored. And after that, it escalated. My mom never minded, though. Instead, she began to direct all of her life towards me and her work. She was a scientist, you see. She was always stressed, so I never noticed any change in her behavior. Actually, she did start to get strange at one point. She began talking to herself and crying when she thought she was alone and making all these survival kits. I thought she was just freaking out about nothing, or being paranoid, or going through one of those womanly phases. I think I even credited it to her period at one point. But anyway, she was always the only one I cared about. My father, on the other hand... He was always lecturing me about what a man truly was. He emphasized brute strength, while my mother tried her hardest to instill a deep sense of integrity and character in me. Both of them won, actually. I became some weird hybrid of both, though I tended to lean towards my mom's teachings, just because I loved her more.
And I still love her, even though she was the one who dropped the damn virus. That's how she figured out she was immune. She freaked out after she dropped it, though, and started running. She told me later that it was stupid, but it was the first reaction she had. She ran to our home, and it took a good three hours before she realized she wasn't changing. At all. So she went out and found me sleeping. I bet she put her hand to her heart and began to breathe deeply, standing there and staring at me. She woke me up and began explaining everything to me. I nodded, being sleepy and in desperate need of a nap after a long day of studying for a test coming up in a few days. But then my dad came in, moaning and looking just terrible and ugly. It was disgusting, and I nearly vomited, but my mom jumped up and began to keep him away form me. Or try, at least. Then Parker came in, and started screaming, "What the hell is going on!?" Thank God it was only the beginning of the virus, before it began to spread through the air. She wasn't immune; that gene came from my mother, I suppose. Well, my mother screamed at me to grab Parker and go, so I did. I ran like hell. I grabbed her and ran until I felt we were safe. And after that, I began explaining. And she was pretty pissed at me for a good few days, but she forgave me when she realized she probably wasn't immune. Since then, we've been closer than ever. And we promised each other we would make it out alive, together.