Jamie Alycia Reyes
Lieu: Traitement des survivants
Jamie s'est jetée et a couvert la tête au moment où elle a vu le grand gars en haut produire quelques grenades; un profond bouffon de honte lui a frappé fort, quand elle a réalisé qu'il semblait qu'elle allait mieux se protéger, que Kahleen. Elle s'est approchée les yeux fermés, essayant frénétiquement de saisir l'éclat familier des poignets de sa petite amie.
"Babe?" Elle a crié, "ba-"
Le rugissement assourdissant d'un fusil d'assaut automatique de grade militaire a tout effacé; la rage de l'arme rebondit du mur au mur, créant une tempête parfaite de tonnerre éclatant l'oreille. Les oreilles sonnent, elle ouvre les yeux et regarde autour.
Un homme à l'air brouillé, grand et lanky tenait un fusil fumant - avec l'aimable autorisation du soldat qui s'était fait frapper de la passerelle. Il agita sur le corps immobile de leur ancien garde, suggérant qu'il pourrait ouvrir la porte pour eux. Mais elle n'était pas intéressée par le tireur, ou le garde, et donc elle a tourné la tête à gauche et à droite à la recherche de quelque chose de plus précieux que la vie chère elle-même.
Oh mon Dieu, s'il te plaît, laisse-la aller!
Kahleen se leva du chaos, un couteau partiellement obscurci dans la paume de sa main. Jamie était sur ses pieds en un instant, et courut vers elle.
« Dieu merci, tu vas bien », a-t-elle dit, jetant ses bras autour de Kahleen. "Ne refais pas ça, je pensais t'avoir perdu!" Au-dessus de l'épaule de Kahleen, Jamie a vu la porte de la pièce s'ouvrir lentement, son cadre lourd grincant légèrement, et ce qui ressemblait à une muselière de fusil ponçant à travers l'espace.
Ses yeux s'élargissaient, "la porte!"


Caporal Steven Baxter, Corps des Marines des États-Unis.
Lieu : Traitement des survivants à l'extérieur
Steven laissa tomber la radio à l'étage, après avoir entendu tout l'échange par l'intermédiaire du micro de la PFC Corville. Ses ordres dictaient qu'il devait y aller, et faire le travail lui-même; tirer sur tous les civils, s'assurer qu'ils ne pouvaient pas poser une menace. Des ordres difficiles, sans aucun doute, mais il avait déjà dû tuer des innocents.
Il l'avait fait à Washington, à New York, et il le ferait ici aussi.
Mais les choses avaient changé pour le jeune caporal au cours des dernières minutes; un couteau de combat ensanglanté se trouvait à ses pieds, le long du corps du PFC Rickinson. Il y a une heure, les deux hommes avaient été les meilleurs amis, et il y a quelques minutes, des ennemis jurés. Rickinson était mort, et le caporal Baxter devait porter la torche de folie de son ami.
Soudain, l'idée de tuer des tas de gens semblait être non seulement la bonne chose à faire, mais la chose vraiment, vraiment géniale à faire. Sa bouche arrosait à l'idée d'un groupe de gens, courant et criant, le suppliant pour leur vie. Comme ce serait drôle!
Il a atteint le boulon qui a verrouillé la porte à Survivor Processing, et l'a tiré en arrière, puis s'est penché doucement contre le métal épais. Il a légèrement crû, et il a poussé le museau de son M4A1 Assault Rifle à travers la brèche. Il a aligné les vues avec la première personne qui est venue en vue, et souriant glorieusement que son doigt a trouvé la gâchette.
"SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, Il a crié.
Les survivants auraient moins d'une seconde pour réagir. Pour eux, cela signifiait plonger pour couvrir ou pulvériser la position de Baxter dans l'espoir de le frapper.
Name: Jamie Alycia Reyes
Job before all this: Michelin Chef
Location: USA, NY, Ohio
Age: 23
Appearance: Blonde long hair, sparlking blue eyes, heart warming smile, sporty
Personality: kind to everyone, super protective, badass on the street, loyal and honest, lies make her go mad, not afraid to say what has to be said, or do what has to be done, her father was a surgeon there she got her medical knowledge from, but he died of cancer when she was 19, she loves animals and is vegetarian.
Lover: Kahleen Cuthald (for 3 years), lesbian
Background: Jamie has never been one to care much for the opinions of others, and has spent the better part of her life trying to stand firmly away from the crowd. Her parent's expectations of her life meant little, and although she had always loved them, something inside her detested everything they had in store for their "little princess".
She was a smart kid, an A grade student, but with a taste for life's more colorful endevours. She would always be found hanging out with kids much older than her, and drugs became a favorite past time of her teenage-self. Not the heavy stuff though, she put the red line firmly at cocaine.
At the age of 14, she started to figure out that she wasn't quite like your average girl. Whilst her female friends doted over the class hotties, she found herself doting over aforementioned female friends. There was something that appealed to her more when it came to members of her own gender, than boys. Girls were beautiful, they had curves and oh-so-kissable skin. Men in comparison were rugged and rigid, their frames leaving little for the imagination to truly explore. The young Jamie would take a nice pair of feminine thighs over a hardened and chiseled male abdomen any day.
Her parents caught on to her quickly arising sexual orientation early, after stumbling upon her internet search history. Her mother thought it was just a phase, and her father was oddly delighted at the prospect of not having to worry about Jamie getting involved with the "wrong boy". However, when Jamie realized her secret had been uncovered, she tried desperately hard to cover her tracks. She started dating guys, and suppressing her homosexual tendencies.
This went on, until she was 19, sitting aside her father's hospital bed. Her father was a good man, kind and caring; his energy knew no bounds when it came to helping others. Yet now, there he was, riddled with cancer and undergoing a painful and undignified death. Jamie cried harder than she ever had, during this dark period of her life, but her father managed to bring this to end with the kind of advice one only reserves for his daughter.
"Jamie," he said weakly. "You're not you. You're not my daughter. The Jamie I knew was chaotic, nothing ever got her down; she spent most of her time giving me a heart attack with all those morons you kept bringing home. When she wasn't doing that, she was making her mom's life a misery by doing the exact opposite of what she was told. She didn't sit there brooding about the cards she was dealt, no, she eagerly picked up the deck and played the game. You're your own woman, and as a father's dying wish, I would have you carry on living as one. The world is your oyster, and your freedom is limited only by how much you value the opinions of others. If what they say or think doesn't fit your picture, then do away with them. Better that, than to sit in your death bed, years from now, and regret everything."
Her father passed a few hours later, and Jamie walked out of the hospital a changed woman. Or rather, a reverted woman. Her facade was set to crumble; the last few years of trying to be someone she wasn't, quickly became a bad memory.
She ended up in a cell that night, after beating her boyfriend to pulp when he touched her inappropriately at an inappropriate time. Her mother secured her bail, and the judge threw the subsequent case out, given the emotional circumstances (her father's recent death). But that was it, she was done with men, she was going back to where she came from.
With a kiss on her mom's cheek, she hopped a plane to New York, and threw herself into a simple yet ever present passion: cooking. She bounced from restaurant to restaurant, slowly acquiring qualifications and references, working her way up the culinary ladder, until BAM: she got herself a job at Jean-Georges, a Michelin star French-style restaurant. The work was hard, and the pay could've been better, but she was moments from hitting fame, and she knew it.
It was during this time that she met Kahleen, a brown haired German beauty with that kind of feminine perfection that Jamie lusted after. Their meeting was a chance one, at some bus stop on some street that she didn't remember, but they hit it off immediately. Three years of romantic bliss later, and they had themselves their own home, Jamie had gained the position of Head Cheff, and two young women were looking towards a bright future.
... Until T-1C hit the streets, and everything became a nightmare.