Corpse
Group: Members
Posts: 2
Member No.: 178
Joined: 28-May 09
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Name: Scott Bruhn
Sex: Male
Age: 27
Height: 187.96cm
Weight: 125.81kg
Physical Description: Scott has a build of most Marines, stocky and well muscled. His tight jaw line shows he means business in severe circumstances. For this former Marine old habits die hard, hence why his hair is always cut in a fade style and he has no facial hair. He keeps himself well groomed and his clothes tightly pressed. His grey eyes, from what other's have told him, turn a solid demon-like black when he is enraged. During his only tour in Iraq he was captured and tortured, he still has the scars the machete left across his torso. He wears his "lucky" desert camo pants with a hip holster, along with an olive-green T-shirt. For footwear he prefers his light brown combat boots. He has two tattoos, one across his upper back saying "Semper Fidelis" and another on his left shoulder; which is a skull over two M-16's with the words, "U.S. Marines, Mess With The Best, Die Like The Rest."
Personality: Due to the fall out with his parents, Scott distanced himself from everyone he cared about. He is a loner and does not like the company of others. His former Corpsmen dubbed him "lone-wolf" due to the fact he always disappeared on missions to complete the objectives on his own. Don't let his rough exterior fool you though, he still cares about people enough to help them long enough for them to leave him alone.
Occupation: Former USMC Gunnery Sergeant. He lives off the money he obtained during his time in the Corps and the income from working as a guncleaner at the RPD.
History: Scott had an argument with his parents about joining the armed forces. Both his parents told him it was a stupid idea and that the government was brainwashing him to do this, then after his mother died, his father became an alcoholic and abused him. His brother was 19 and decided to leave his brother for all the beatings. Scott made the decision to runaway and live his dream. He was lucky enough to find a recruiter that welcomed him and let him enlist.
Graduating near the top of his group, Scott became instantly recognized during the Crucible, the last fifty-six hours of boot camp, as one of the team's leaders. However he did not accept the responsibility of team leader and therefore was demoted. He served one tour in Iraq during the Gulf War and was captured and tortured. He carries the scars as a reminder of the horrors and pain he has seen and felt. He was with one William Coen on the mission in the African jungle. He followed orders to help frame Lieutenant Coen for what had happened. He was later court-martialed and found innocent of the charges, due to the fact that he was following orders from his superior. After he was Dishonorably Discharged, he felt guilty for having set-up the only person that showed him an ounce of caring, so he dropped off the radar and moved to Raccoon City. Scott never looked up his family after he moved, nor did he care to, he has no clue as what has happened to them all he cares about is rescuing his former superior, even if it gets him killed. Hearing from a reliable source that Billy was to be transferred to a military base for execution in September, Scott started to come up with a plan to save his friend, not knowing that Intel was false or that the vehicle transporting Billy had already passed through the mountains in July. Then before he could hike into the forest to intercept the vehicle, that had already been ambushed months before, the outbreak occurs. . .
MEDICAL HISTORY:
-Scott had to have major surgery to replace parts of his lungs and liver after being rescued.
-Also he seems to suffer from nightmares dealing with his final tour in Iraq, quite possibly a sign of Scott developing Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
SCARS: Across torso from being tortured in Fallujah.
Sample RP:
Baghdad, Iraq
22.07.1990
1531 hours
“God I hate this place,” Makerson said.
“I’d rather be here than back in the states, believe it or not,” Lone-Wolf told his companion.
“Why, I thought you were gonna find a girl or somethin’?” Makerson asked.
“I would, but there mostly all stuck-up bi-,” Lone-Wolf was cut off by an explosion that sent him flying backwards.
Looking up he didn’t see Makerson, “Tommy, where are you man?” he shouted.
Then as if in slow-motion, a swarm of insurgents started to fire at the group. Grabbing his M4A1, he aimed at the nearest and squeezed the trigger, nothing happened. He looked down at it to see a piece of shrapnel was lodged in magazine. Cursing under his breath, he drew his Colt 1911 and fired three shots at the nearest insurgent. He hit him, twice in the chest, once in the head. Getting up to locate the rest of his squad, he collapsed and shouted in pain. Looking at his leg, he saw a piece of one sticking out and his pant legs were bloody.
Crawling his way to a wall to lean against he heard a burst of fire right behind him, he quickly flipped over and aimed. An Iraqi was on the ground right behind him with a knife in hand and a figure standing above him. Luckily it was one of his squad mates that he had befriended.
Lowering his weapon, he asked, “Where’s the others?”
Before the soldier could reply, a long stream of gunfire erupted, he fell dead.
Raccoon ity
02.09.1998
0651 hours
“NOOOOOO!!!!!!” Lone-Wolf shouted sitting straight up with his pistol raised.
Great the nightmares are back, just what I need.
He was about to try to go back to sleep when he heard a scream. Reacting upon instinct he jumped out of bed and ran towards the sound. Another scream pierced the air, followed by multiple gunshots. This got him to rush over to one of the windows and peer outside. What greeted his eyes was like something out of a B-rated horror movie. There were multiple police officers firing into a crowd of advancing people to no avail. But what surprised him the most was the fact that the crowd consisted of people that were actually missing limbs and/or covered in blood. Plus the fact that they were feasting upon anybody that was too slow to escape their grasp. Scott's mind quickly registered the creatures for what they were, zombies.
There's only a couple ways to kill them, fuck were they, yes, of course break their necks or blow their brains out. He thought to himself.
Before he could relay his message to the few cops that were still alive, there was a pounding on his door. Not just any pounding, but a slow rhythmic pounding that he knew from the nights he stayed up late to watch those horror movies he loved so much.
Shit they're inside the building, extra mags. Need to grab some extra mags. Tell the cops to aim for the heads first. He scolded himself.
"Hey, aim for their heads!" He shouted down at the last three cops. They looked up at him for a split second then nodded their heads accepting his input and started firing again. Acting quickly, Scott pushed his couch in front of the apartment door to try and delay the zombies while he quickly got dressed. Pulling on his desert cammies and his combat boots, he rushed to his nightstand and withdrew the three extra mags for his weapon and ran out to the living room. Only then did he notice the silence, he peered out the window once again to see that cops were all dead, but they managed to take some of the zombies along with them.
He backed away from the window at the sound of crunching wood. He looked over at the door and saw that one zombie was crawling over the door fragments and fell to the ground. The zombie slowly stood up and stumbled over towards Scott reaching out for him with bloodied hands. Dodging the zombies grasp, Scott ran behind it and grasped it's head. Breaking it's neck with the greatest of ease thanks to his combat training. He looked back at the door to see two more zombies falling on the floor of his apartment.
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Scott Bruhn
