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Collin Baytor

Once an antisocial grunt. After the outbreak Collin took up the mantle of radio personality.

0 · 325 views · located in Earth

a character in “When Darkness Falls: Bohmia”, as played by HorrorPunkOtaku


name: Collin Baytor

Picture: Image

150 lbs
dark hair
light complexion
Brown eyes

Age: 32

Skills: Silver tongue, tech savvy, organized, calculated

Inventory: basic tool kit, crowbar, one slingshot, one lighter, three cherry bomb firecrackers, and one handheld two way radio

Personality: Collin was a relatively reserved and conservative type with few friends and even fewer girlfriends over the course of his life. He rarely dressed casually if at all entirely and always seemed to find one way or another to keep himself busy. While not quiet he also wasn't all to social and never went out of his way to meet people. He also wasn't very open even to the few friends he did have all of which probably couldn't even give his first name if asked let alone his birthday. Most people classified him as either asocial or a workaholic. Although, his female co-workers usually classified him as either lonely or just awkward.

Likes: Conversation, Debate, Reading

Dislikes: Running, fighting, bugs, getting wet, mud

History: "If you want to give a man something to live for give him someone to love, If you can't do that give him something to hope for, and If you can't give him that give him something to do". Collin was a tech guy at the local radio station. Doing his job, keeping to himself, earning his living, and living alone was what took up most of his attention before the outbreak. After the outbreak the entire staff fled the radio station to be with their families or try to find somewhere safe to be. Not having anywhere to go or anything better to do Collin moved his belongings from his apartment to the station and fortified it. After fortifications were complete he found himself without his much needed workload and gave the broadcast system a try and after a while took on the full load of running the station and putting out whatever content he could think of to whoever was listening only leaving the station to restock on supplies.

After some time of this and countless awkward broadcasts with plenty of Umms and Aahs Collin eventually got used to the microphone and started putting out progressively better content. This including regular updates on whatever information he could put together. Whatever music he could find laying around that wasn't absolute garbage and personal first hand reports of his supply runs as well as whatever tips and tricks for survival he had learned along the way.He did all of this without ever knowing if anyone was listening for one reason or another. Even though he had no way to know if he was helping he kept broadcasting. Burning more and more fuel to run the generator to power the studio until he could find a more permanent solution.

So begins...

Collin Baytor's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Isaac "Ares" Edgeston Character Portrait: Collin Baytor Character Portrait: Haytham Davis
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Almost without thinking, Haytham dropped down onto his stomach, gun out off to the side, careful to keep his limbs out of reach of these hungry groupies. Something black had darted across his peripheral vision. Something that didn't shuffle about like the other mindless husks that currently filled the streets. No, this was something else.

From his prone position, he carefully scanned the scene before him, wiping sweat from his brow at steady intervals. There were several shamblers in the distance, as well as innumerable crawlers roving about like possums, slinking along the ground, snapping at anything that moved. Maybe they really were possums or some other type of vermin since they were too far away for Haytham to properly discern.

Between him atop the sedan and those distant zombies were several downed or inactive vehicles. He could just make out the front of some black army vehicle, its front-end smashed in by a rusted green station wagon. Closer still were the remains of a bright yellow Hummer, most of its wheels missing. Haytham never liked hummers anyway, so seeing one in such a dilapidated state brought a short-lived grin to his face. Still, nothing seemed amiss—well, nothing that wasn't already amiss. Just a bunch of zombies ambling about. The usual.

As his eyes came to rest upon the emergency vehicle that had cratered itself a dozen or so meters behind creatures that tore at him, he became more and more convinced that what he had witnessed earlier was nothing more than simple pareidolia.

Haytham pushed himself up, sitting crosslegged, temporarily placing his gun on his lap. His shirt was sopping wet with sweat, which was only made worse when he wiped his hands on it. Baking atop the sizzling roof of a sedan under the afternoon sun certainly wasn't his idea of a fun day out. Then again, neither was being eaten alive.

Haytham took up the gun in his lap, taking a few moments to gather his resolve.

"I think I'll take sunburn over death by zombie," he muttered, standing. It was another moment before he realized that was not the best idea. Coming to his feet so quickly made him light headed, and he almost stumbled off the car and into the claws and teeth of his new friends below. Haytham was twirling his arms, attempting to keep his balance, the legs of his sweat-drenched pants clinging uncomfortably to his calves and thighs, when something unexpected happened.

The vehicle off by the sidewalk came to life in a furious explosion of lights and sounds. At the same time, Haytham noticed that same black blur—a man?—dart into the alleyway with several walkers following suit, apparently finding the man more interesting than a wailing siren.

For Haytham's part, he was taken completely off guard and, in an almost-amusing attempt to both aim his weapon and regain his footing, fell forward off the sedan and into the miniature horde below.

He could feel the various jagged instruments and heavy objects in his bag digging into his back as he lay face up on the ground, head still spinning, ears ringing. It took him a second to realize that the ringing had a familiar rhythm to it.

Like the annoyingly loud bellow of an ambulance.

What was an ambulance doing here? Or maybe it was the police, finally here to save him. Or maybe it was his brother. Or his father. Or his mother—even her. Anything, anyone.


And then Haytham felt a pressure on his arm. He slowly looked over to his side, the scene before him slowing its dazzling twirl. There he spied a naked foot oddly variegated, as if brownish mold had taken over most of the appendage. Of course, it was attached to a similarly rotted leg, which itself was attached to...

Haytham inhaled sharply, shucking off his grogginess like a thick blanket.

He'd fallen off the car.

He'd fallen off the car!

Panicking, Haytham attempted to pull his arm out from underneath the creature's foot, but the weight of its rotting body was too much. The zombie, on the other hand, seemed to be focused on the blaring siren. Looking around, the kid noticed most of the horde that had surrounded him earlier making its way towards the emergency van. Those already close to it were ripping at it with an inhuman ferocity, rocking the entire vehicle.

Unfortunately, Haytham's continued struggles gave the zombie a reason to look down at what it was trampling underfoot. For what seemed like an eternity, Haytham locked eyes with the thing. It was the creature that moved first. It purposely fell to its knees, further pinning Haytham's arm under its weight. It could smell his flesh, and not even the siren could distract it now.

"No!" Haytham screamed, punching and kicking at his attacker. Of course, as his luck would have it, the hand that was pinned also happened to be the hand that held the gun. If the zombie was affected by being repeatedly punched and kicked in the face, it wasn't showing. Haytham cocked his hand back, preparing to deliver the punch of his life, but as he swung, the creature caught his arm and opened its mouth. It was gonna take a chunk out of his fist.

Alarmed, Haytham snatched his hand back with as much force as he could muster, which brought the zombie's decaying body down upon him like a ton of bricks. Haytham rolled immediately, determined with every ounce of his being to keep from being bitten. One full summersault untangled him from the zombie, who seemed to be confused as to where its prey had gone. Haytham kept rolling until he bumped against the tire of the sedan about a meter away.

The zombie turned its head towards him, locking onto its target. Haytham flexed the fingers of each hand—something was missing. Looking down, he realized.

He dropped the gun.

"Fuck!" He stammered, breathing heavily. As the zombie crawled towards him, he looked around frantically. First left then right before his eyes finally landed upon the shimmering black metal that was his weapon. The pistol. He must've let go of it when he was tossing and tumbling with the zombie. Only thing standing between him and his firepower was, well, said zombie.

Haytham righted himself, something akin to a plan forming in his head. He got atop the hood of the sedan as the zombie reached his earlier position. Without pause, he leapt straight over the zombie's outstretched hands and snapping teeth, landing in a crouch directly behind it. In one fluid motion he snatched up the pistol, stood, turned, and aimed, both hands pointing the weapon at the zombie's head.

He pulled the trigger, the pop! barely audible over the siren.

Thanks to the recoil, however, he missed, making a hole in the sedan instead. It took two more tries before he marked the zombie square between the eyes, downing it once and for all.

He turned then, back to the sedan. The horde that previously had him pinned was completely gone now, having chosen instead to surround and brutalize the vacant ambulance.

Haytham exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders and using his shirt, bespeckled with dirt and small rocks, to wipe the sweat from his face. He was totally exhausted, and his bag felt like a lead weight pulling down at him with all the force of a second gravity. He'd also scuffed his hands and knees while tussling on the ground with the zombie. A particularly nasty scrape along his forearm started to bleed, the blood welling up and rolling down his skin.

He felt sick, like he was going to vomit, but managed to hold it back. The siren was beginning to die down, and now was his best chance to make it back to the lab before sun down, or before he ran into someone he shouldn't have.

Haytham's legs preempted his conscious mind, as he was already running towards the nearest intersection when something stopped him mid-step.

Right. He'd seen someone escape from the ambulance after activating its siren. Haytham turned, looking back over at the ambulance and the zombies that surrounded it.

If the guy wanted to kill him, he could have just shot him, or waited for the horde to finish him, or just let him rot in the sun, but no. He activated the siren.

The man had done that to save his life. He could think of no other reason. But then, where did he go?

Haytham looked towards the alleyway that led between two buildings, one of them being the abandoned office complex that the military so kindly dropped a supply crate on top of. He was sure he'd seen the guy run off in that direction, but it was currently full of the undead, so no bueno. Haytham had spotted that alley when he was first making his way towards this location and knew it ended in a dead end. If the guy survived, he would have had to enter the office building through a side door or something. Or maybe he didn't survive.


He chewed on his lower lip, deliberating.

What if he knows who took Max? His imagination did him one better. What if he's the one who took Max?!

Then this was most certainly a cleverly devised trap, meant to get him to—

Haytham shook his head, dismissing the conspiracy theory. This entire situation was far too variable for it to have been controlled like that. Still, the guy did save him, and he could have information about his little brother.

The kid didn't want to acknowledge that he was also desperate for human contact—that being away from his father, mother, and, now, Max, was having a negative psychological effect on him. He was scared of the zombies. Scared of the night. Scared of the gangs. Scared of being eaten or beaten or tortured or worse... but he was also scared of being alone. Positively terrified, to be exact.

And that terror began to invade his thought process until he could think of nothing else.

He didn't want to make the run back to the lab unaccompanied, especially with everyone and their grandmother headed towards this exact location. Getting here had been hard enough.

The street Haytham was on, a boulevard, ran north-south and stretched for many blocks straight in either direction. Far off, maybe a mile down, Haytham descried a humvee clad in digital-camo barreling down the road, smashing through overturned cars and any zombie that happened to be in its way. Atop it flew what looked like a flag, but it was much too far away for Haytham to make out with any accuracy.

But that settled it. He was out of time. The others were coming.

Turning back to towards the ambulance, Haytham began sprinting, heading for a busted window that lead into the total darkness that was the 30-story office building's ground floor.

If that guy survived, he'd be in the office building somewhere.

Shortly after making his way into the building, Haytham realized he'd made a mistake by not packing a flashlight. The lab had fifty million of them lying around, yet the notion totally slipped his mind. He stopped for a moment, taking in the scene. Thanks to the light that filtered in from the windows, he could make out his surroundings in the form of transient adumbrations. He was definitely in what remained of an office building of some kind, complete with overturned desks and bloody papers shrewn everywhere. It looked like a tornado came through.

Haytham was careful to make as little noise as possible while trekking through the mess, every crunch of paper or squeak of floor tiling sending shivers up the kid's spine. Soon, he made it far away enough from the light of the windows that he was faced with a wall of blackness.

An odd sensation settled in his stomach, causing his to pause. He'd had the feeling ever since entering through the window, but now it dropped in him like a rock, coalescing in the middle of his abdomen.

Back at the lab, he and his brother would pass the time by doing all sorts of stuff, but it was the near-daily pirate radio broadcasts from Collin Baytor that kept them sane.

Collin Baytor. If that's his real name.

The guy would talk about all sorts of interesting survival-related topics between intermittent bursts of music, and one of those topics was, of course, the darkness. More specifically, the darkness within buildings, and what manner of creature might be hiding within it. Maybe even the same types of creatures that come out during the night around here.

It was Collin's warnings that weighed heavily against the kid this day. He was entering the darkness now. The unknown.

Haytham bit his lower lip, holding his breath.

Not good.

To his right, he spied a light switch dangling out of a hole in the wall. Even if it did work and he managed to turn the lights on, he was certain he wouldn't like what he'd see. And it probably wouldn't like seeing him all that much, either.

Haytham gulped, gripping his gun a bit tighter, electing to move towards the switch. Next to it was a door that was slightly ajar. Haytham peeked through the gap and into the room, but before he could analyze what he saw, something went bump! behind him.

The kid froze, hackles raised. He didn't dare move a single muscle.

Bump! Bu-thump!

Something fell to the floor. Very slowly, Haytham turned his head, looking over his shoulder. Behind him was the simple impenetrable nothingness that is the dark. A wall of blackness that his eyes could not pierce. He simply stared into it, all the while feeling as if it were staring back into him.

Haytham turned, back to the door, and aimed his weapon blindly at the darkness before him. His hands were shaking so much that the gun was rattling in his hands.

Something was there. Things don't just move on their own, right?

And then a low-pitched hissing sound reached Haytham's ears. After a moment, he recognized it, his eyes growing big.

Something was being dragged across the floor. Leisurely. Gradually. The disembodied sound seemed to be coming from every corner of the darkness, yet nowhere at all—both at the same time.

With a horrified yelp, Haytham pushed backwards into the door behind him, slamming it closed and twisting the locking mechanism on the knob. He then pressed his back against the door, fully anticipating an attack.

But it never came. Just silence.

After a tense couple of minutes, he finally relaxed his posture, his back sliding down the front of the door until he was sitting on the floor. There he sat, shoulders hunched, shaking uncontrollably, his pistol gripped firmly in his hands. He didn't immediately notice the tears streaming down his face, using his shirt to wipe them away. He was scared out of his mind, in some scarcely illuminated room full of monsters that wanted to eat him, alone, with his brother out god-knows-where, and gangsters baring down on his position.

Why did he even come into this stupid place anyway?

That's when Haytham noticed him. The man. The guy who he'd seen running. The one who turned on the siren. Who saved his life. He was slumped against a door that Haytham presumed led out into the alleyway.

The kid sighed, relieved somewhat. At least he wasn't in this mess by himself. Some amount of time passed before he stopped shaking, but eventually he did, electing instead to simply stare at the body of the stranger from his position on the other side of the room.

He could see the man's chest moving up and down in steady rhythm. He wasn't dead, that's for sure.

Haytham gripped his gun even harder, putting his index finger on the trigger.

"Hey," he whispered to the man, but received no response. "Hey!" He whispered it a bit louder this time. Still, no response. After another moment of silence, Haytham spoke up one final time, artificially deepening his own voice.

"If you try anything funny," he began, gulping in between, "I'll, uh... shoot you."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Collin Baytor
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Collin rolled off of the couch of the employees lounge where he had been sleeping every night since the outbreak. He scratched his neck to notice he had neglected to shave this week and folded up the wool emergency blanket he had been using and left it on the couch. He meandered into the bathroom and fixed himself up a bit before going into the studio and flipping on the generator to sit down for his first broadcast of the day "Goooood mooooorning Bohmia!...Wow that was horrible. Anyways lets start the day with some tunes for now until it gets late enough for everyone to start thinking straight. Remember, your brain doesn't boot up all the way till about ten so here's some tasty ass jams till we're all charged up to learn something". Collin still wasn't so good at sounding cool so he just decided to play the dork and let things flow in his broadcasts. He reached into a box of records he found in some most likely very angry very dead kids bedroom on one of his reported supply runs and put the needle down on it Album and laid back in his chair and hit play. He liked to play entire albums mostly because they allowed him to take naps and read in between.