John lui a finalement donné un coup de pied et a pu traiter ce qui se passait. D'abord, il s'est rendu compte qu'il était maintenant couvert de sang... infecté. "Oh mon Dieu, oh merde." Il lui a tiré un os sur la poitrine. "Mon Dieu." Il a continué à murmurer des obscénités pour lui-même. Pas encore conscient que tous les yeux de la pièce le regardent directement. Son murmure non sensoriel ne fait qu'ajouter à la suspicion d'être infecté.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Une femme blonde paniquait, tout en se tenant debout. À en juger par la façon dont les deux se tenaient, John s'est rendu compte qu'elle connaissait probablement la fille à côté d'elle. "Il est infecté, tout le monde s'éloigne de lui!" Les mots ne semblaient pas déranger son amie, cependant, car elle avait déjà commencé à fouiller dans les poches de la marine morte à seulement quelques pieds de là. En prenant tout ce qu'elle jugeait utile, ce qui était surtout tout. Le sang ne semblait pas la déranger.
"Je ne suis pas infecté. J'ai juste -- quoi?" La panique a commencé à planter dans la colonne vertébrale de John. Certains des autres survivants l'écoutaient, et avaient déjà commencé à se retirer. Leur peur brouillait les esprits avait déjà décidé. "Je, euh, non." La petite femme brune à cheveux qui avait pris presque tout de la marine morte était partie aussi vite qu'elle venait.
Je peux prendre ça? Ou comptez-vous l'utiliser?" Une voix demandé de derrière lui, il ne pouvait pas placer l'accent, mais ça ne sonnait pas américain. Russe peut-être? Il a filé pour voir sa main sur la rafale. Le fusil! John l'a arraché sous sa main, craignant que les autres survivants ne l'attaquent. Il pourrait en avoir besoin pour se protéger.
La décision de s'armer n'était pas bonne avec les autres, une femme avait même commencé à pleurer. Tout ce qu'ils ont vu, c'était un homme couvert de sang infecté, et des fragments d'os blancs, qui se tenaient là tenant une arme. Ceux qui étaient sur la clôture à propos de lui étant qu'il infectait étaient maintenant complètement sûrs de cela. "Regarde ici..."
"Demandez-lui une question de maths," Une voix a appelé du catwalk, "l'infecté ne peut pas logiquer pour la merde." John ne voyait pas très bien qui l'avait dit.
7 fois 7!L'étranger a vite exigé.
"Shit, euh..." Cela faisait un moment qu'il n'avait pas fait de multiplication, et le stress de la situation n'a pas aidé son cas. "Pour... quarante-neuf!" Il a enfin répondu. "Vous voyez? Je ne suis pas infectée!" Il a revendiqué triomphalement. Certains des survivants semblaient soupirer d'un soulagement, mais il pouvait dire que tout le monde n'était pas convaincu. -- Vous me croyez, n'est-ce pas? Il a demandé à la fille à côté de lui, celui qu'il a empêché de prendre le fusil.
Name: John Hemmy
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Nationality: United States/White
Surviving Family: Sister and Niece
Former Occupation: Fry Cook/was looking into college
Backstory: The doctor motioned with his right hand for John to look at the camera as he spoke. He took a deep breath, and slowly let it out before before speaking. “Well, uh, I was working the first night that it hit my town. No one had really expected it, we were led to believe that the virus hadn’t made it down that far south yet. It was around eleven at night when I first encountered someone who was infected.
“My boss was going over some paperwork, and I was counting the inventory. I was in the walk in cooler when I heard the commotion coming from his office. Sounded like he, uh, smashed his window. I didn’t want to go in there, ‘cause I thought he was mad again. He had an awful temper, did shit like that all the time. But I had to run in there when he started screaming my name. When I rounded the corner to his office, I saw him, uh, fighting off what I thought was a pissed off customer. The customer was flailing a bat around, and my boss was using his barstool to keep him at a distance.
“I didn’t really have time to think about it, so I just tackled the customer, and kept him pinned to the floor while my boss called the police. I didn’t realize it at the time, you know, that he was infected, but it clicked once my boss told me that he was trying to spit on him. I had heard that they can spread the virus with bodily fluids, is that true?” John asked, the doctor nodded his head yes.
John cleared his throat and began again, “The next couple of days were pretty weird. No one was allowed to leave their house, complete lockdown. Such a stupid idea, people were practically trapped in their homes. Didn’t, uh, take long for the infected to start ripping the city apart. I tried going to my parents house to get them out, wanted to get everyone in the family out alive. When I got there…” John’s voice trailed off, “Well...you know. I tried my sister next, I was happy to find them alive. Her and my niece hopped in my truck, and we left town through the, uh, backroads. No particular destination in mind.
“We stayed together for a few weeks, scavenging for food and fuel. I’d go into the towns, and she would watch the truck. Until about a month ago when we got separated. I was on my way back to the truck, when I saw the infected around the two of them; they were creeping up on the truck. I yelled for her to start the truck and drive away, then I got the attention of the all the infected and made them chase me. I don’t, uh, know how long I ran. It was definitely the longer than I ever had before. The infected were screaming and shouting the entire time they were chasing. I don’t know if I lost them, or if they just got bored and quit following. But about two hours after that, I collapsed in some woods and fell asleep. Woke up a few hours later, I was lost but still alive. And then for a month, I was alone.
“Only saw two other sane people, but they didn’t last long. I was hiding in a, uh, dumpster while the two strangers got beat to death by a group of the infected. I’m sure the marines here would have jumped in to save those people, but I was scared. Fear keeps you alive out there,” John cleared his throat, “Anyway, uh, that’s pretty much my whole story. I found you guys two days ago, almost got shot introducing myself, and now I’m here.” John sighed, happy to have the interview done with. The doctor gave a gentle nod and shut the camera off.

Appearance: John is 6 feet tall, and weighs around 125. Before the outbreak he had a healthier weight, and a slim athletic build, but the lack of food has thinned him out a little. Without any barbers around to have taken care of him, John’s hair has become uncharacteristically long; stopping just at his shoulders. His once full face, is now sunken and bruised. The overall rugged appearance makes his hazel eye color seem to pop.
((The appearance is a bit a rough, but it's four in the morning so it'll have to do for now.))