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Work slave!
*Cracks cat'o'nine tails*
*Cracks cat'o'nine tails*
Age of the End Times: Recruitment
- Thread starter Pureblood-Sin
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Cameron/Doctor Schwartzelunge
Age
41
Appearance
Cam's reddish-brown hair has grown white around the temples, both due to stress and to advancing age. He keeps on top of shaving when he can, though he generally leaves a bit of stubble, which has gone somewhat grey. His hair has the deep widow's peak he's always had. He is missing part of his left earlobe due to a gunshot. A scar runs across his chest from a knife. He has fair skin and a tattoo on his left arm with the Roman 'SPQR' senate logo that has been burned with a hot poker. Beneath it reads 'MEDICUS' in bold letters.
Health and Wellbeing
Cam's breathing isn't the best, especially due to the volcanic winter, though he rarely sees trouble up close. Mentally, he is very depressed over the loss of his wife and daughter and has resorted to alcohol at times to overcome it. His breathing is raspy and he often uses a gas mask to breath.
Skills
Before everything went to hell, Cameron was trained in first aid and mediation, able to solve many problems with either a bandage or a kind word. He was a natural leader and brought all kinds of people together. And, of course, he was trained in plenty of theoretical topics, such as chemistry, biology and mathematics. He was very familiar with human anatomy and physiology, which saved many lives when the eruptions started. Over the years, he has honed his knowledge of medicine and anatomy to become a doctor in several settlements. He knew how to clean and operate a firearm before eruptions, though he became a bit more well-versed in this art afterwards. Lying and thinking on his feet came naturally to him, which he was able to hone in order to get him and his family out of sticky situations.
Languages spoken
As an American, Cam spoke English at a native level. He was somewhat familiar with Spanish and took three years of German in college before the eruptions began. He became much more familiar with German during the years. He is familiar with the Nordic languages, though it is still obvious he is not a native speaker.
Equipment
Cam is a doctor and always carries a first aid kit and a wide assortment of pills he's managed to find over the years. He carries a blowtorch and medical tools wrapped in gauze in a hiking backpack. In a separate pouch, when he's traveling, is a bedroll, tent, and spare clothes with rations and a knife. Strapped to a belt is a weaponized bonesaw that has been fashioned into more of an axe with teeth than a saw. He carries scissor blades in pouches in his wrist-wrappings.
He generally wears a black lab coat while at work, with a warm, black, woolen cloak covering it. It has been torn in many places and repaired hastily linen. Due to his time in the US, he has developed lung problems and wears a breather built into a gas mask. However, most times, he wears a plague doctor mask with the breather built in. He has a warm hood over his head, with a brimmed hat on top of his head. Underneath his medical coat is a warm shirt and white undershirt. He has dark pants with combat boots and knee protectors.
Personality
Cameron's sense of humor has always been one of his greatest allies. He keeps spirits bright when people are around and can turn any bad situation into a good situation. Unfortunately, when alone he turns to self-loathing. He isn't an extrovert by any means, however, and prefers to work in solitude if at all possible. He does not enjoy being threatened and will push back if pushed. He cares deeply for the people he befriends, a bond that grows even deeper now that survival is at stake. He does what he can to exercise his mind and will carry books around when at all possible, reading them in his down-time.
After the death of his family, Cameron's depression got much worse. While he was always somewhat cranky and gruff, he is a much more so after their deaths. He can be distant, preferring not to make allies he know will die, nor will he get close to his patients if at all possible.
2016. The year it all went to shit.
It's hard to believe it was all twenty years ago. That life as we all knew it ended. One minute, I was living in an apartment in North Carolina with three of my best friends. The next, I was fighting for my life. I remember coming out of my organic chemistry class, talking with my friend. We were talking underneath the dining hall when my phone started going apeshit. You know those horrible tones they played during tornado warnings? That started playing on my phone. We could hear hundreds of phones do the same thing above us, all at once. I checked my phone to see what was going on and it displayed THAT message. You know, the one that said, "Sorry, man, life's over." Yellowstone had erupted. I could hear everyone above us shouting and yelling.
See, the first part of a disaster is always a slew of phone calls. My parents called within a minute, with my friend's father calling her at the same time. We both headed for the bus back to our apartment. Even waiting for the bus, we could see the situation getting crazier and crazier. People were flooding out of the dining hall, out of the library and their classes. Police officers were arriving to keep everyone calm. I remained on the line with my parents for as long as I could. Reception started to go and the call was dropped after a few minutes. I didn't hear from my parents again. Nothing from my brother, my uncle, or any of my relatives. I don't know what happened to them and I don't want to know, frankly.
The bus back to our apartment was stopped at the edge of campus. Some jackass had crashed his car into the university's sign, blocking traffic. Police were trying to direct traffic to their credit, but people were already going crazy. We made it to our apartment as fast as we could and waited. My other two roommates made it home safely and we just sat in the living room, listening to the chaos around us. Car accidents, arguments, helicopters, and crying. Lots of crying. We turned on the news as it showed us what was happening. We only had to make it as far as a street over to grab as much food as we could. I spent every last dollar I had on my debit card trying to get food. It was a little crappy grocer, so most people were busy harassing Food Lion or the Teet for food, but this little crappy grocer was still packed. After we got everything, we just sat in our apartment. We filled up both tubs with water while we could and did what we could to survive. To stop from going insane. Internet was down, so we were in the dark ages already. I had a special brownie I'd been saving for after my exam in chem. Crammed the thing in my mouth and just sat there, staring at the wall for six hours. Hell, that's what I would have done without it.
The next morning, we awoke to the sound of sirens. There was an ambulance outside, carrying people out on stretchers. The city was still trying to keep itself together. A few of those people were alive. There had been a lot of attempted suicides that night. Hell, I can't say I wasn't tempted. My friends and I spent the day arguing. Do we stay or do we go? Where would we go? Outside, it had started raining. Black rain trickled down the window; water mixed with ash. It was only going to get worse...
We kept up with the news for as long as we could. The East Coast had seemed to be doing better than the West Coast, which had already lost power. Of course, there were already rioters and looters in our city, so we had to be ready for that. At night, we could hear gunshots. We started putting furniture against the door and avoiding leaving without necessity. To the city's credit, we didn't lose power for a while. In fact, we started running out of food before we ran out of power. We still had enough canned food to last us for another two weeks. The power had been shut off to 'non-essential parts of the city.' Hospitals, police stations, military bases. The rioting got even worse when the power went out.
The next morning, we awoke to find one of our roommates missing. On the table was a note. She'd overdosed on pills and went away from the apartment to die. I can't describe how horrible that was. Her boyfriend went off to find her, but he came back empty-handed. A few days later, we heard a knock on the door. We opened it, expecting it to be her, but it was a soldier instead, telling us about a mandatory evacuation. The city couldn't function anymore and we were to relocate to refugee camps in the Triangle region, where we'd be safe. I wouldn't have listened to this guy had it not been for one simple thing: the city we lived in was prone to flooding. It'd been raining on and off for quite some time and the streets were already flooded with sewage, rain and soot. It wasn't healthy anymore. We had to leave.
Two months and three weeks after the eruptions. That's how long we stayed in the old apartment. I put out some feelers a few years later to see what happened to the area. Whole place is a ghost town. Gas from the drains mixed with floodwater and some jackass started a gigantic fire. I doubt the old apartment is still there. Raleigh, unfortunately, was a mess. The refugee camps were crowded and we had to donate a third of our supplies to the camp. We had to keep the rest of the cans hidden. Guards patrolled the refugee camp, insisting on order. Everyone had to find something to do. My roommates and I worked on helping medics. We were all biology and chemistry majors, so it was all we could do.
2017-2023. The Refugee Camp.
There were a few things common in the refugee camps. Black rain pelting the tarps over our head. Occasional floods. Ashen mud. Crying. And fighting. Lots of fighting. First time I had to fight someone was over a can of corn. Had to keep hitting the guy until I got pulled off and sent into the brig for a few days. Lights drowned the camp at night, looking for troublemakers. Fighters. Beatings were pretty common in the Raleigh camp. Anything you did to piss off the guards was a beating. One of my old roommates got beaten pretty bad. I myself got a rifle butt in the head a few times for mouthing off. During these three years, I became more involved with the medics.
The government got kind of cocky by 2018. The refugees had stopped coming in and it seemed as if stuff had calmed down. They re-opened the old NC State campus. Anyone without practical knowledge was instructed to attend some form of class. Pass/fail. If you were not passing your classes, your rations were limited. I attended their medical classes with my old roommates for a few years. A semester in, one of my old roommates' grades dropped and his rations were cut. When he got cholera, he died pretty quickly. That just leaves my last roommate. He and I worked our asses off, trying to get 'A Provisional United States Doctorate of Medicine.'
People who died had their bodies donated to this school if at all possible as cadavers. No choice. I know a few people who had to operate on a friend of theirs. I thank my lucky stars that I didn't run into that. I earned my doctorate in 2023. By then, the population of the area had dwindled from over 730,000 people to little over 200,000. Disease, starvation, and other forms of brutal punishment had taken its course. Some people had been transferred to penal camps. Way I hear it, those were pretty close to concentration camps. People with good skills were sent wherever needed. In 2023, I was sent to Washington, DC with a few other people. Mostly soldiers. From what I've heard, conditions in the Raleigh camp got worse and worse. When a strain of influenza broke out and the population rioted, it was turned into a death camp before being disassembled.
I was put in an apartment in DC that had been cleaned and readied and given tools to work at MedStar Hospital, where I'd be healing the members of the Provisional United States. That's where I earned that damn lab coat I've been lugging around for the past two decades. And that's... where I met my wife.
2024. The year I met her.
Caitlin. Cait, for short. A nurse at MedStar. We met while patching up a provisional congressman after he'd been assaulted in an alleyway. I don't think I'll ever forget those brown eyes, her auburn hair, and goddamn. That smile. We were both new to the area; she'd come over from the Baltimore camp. From what I've heard, the Baltimore camp was even worse than the Raleigh camp. We hit it off very well. We made the end of the world... bearable for each other. We spent every morning together, listening to the riots outside the walls and tuning them out. We spent every minute of every day together, helping those in need. And we spent every rainy evening together, watching black raindrops roll in, turning the Potomac black.
We loved each other, with the kind of love I'd only known before the Cataclysm. It was something out of a movie. A very depressing, black and white movie. Over the past few years, I'd lost everyone I'd known. I lost contact with my family, I watched some of my friends die right before my eyes, and those that lived had been left in the Raleigh camp. For the first time in eight years, something had gone right. The people in DC were treating us like everyday citizens. Almost. We were able to go to the store with ration cards and purchase fresh food. We were able to purchase clothes with money. Actual furniture. The government was even happier with us when she moved in with me.
They weren't very happy when she got pregnant.
2025. Abigail.
Even before our daughter was born, we could feel the government frowning upon us. Bringing another mouth to feed into the camp was hard enough according to the government. We were actually offered money to abort and, I'm not going to lie, we were pretty tempted. But it was Cait's decision and she wanted to have the baby. On January 24th, 2025, my daughter was born. Abigail. At the risk of sounding like a cliche parent, I'm going to have to say that she was... beautiful. The most beautiful baby girl I'd ever seen.
The government imposed an offspring tax on us, of course. I had to work a double-shift at MedStar just to support us. We thought the government was just unhappy with us, but it turned out the provisional government was doing a lot worse than we thought... and we knew it was doing pretty poorly. They'd lost the West Coast and had just spent a bunch of resources in a failed attempt to reclaim it. A bunch of people in the Southeast had stormed the refugee camps and the government basically lost the Deep South. DC was beginning to hurt. Badly. They started allowing more and more refugees into DC to support it, but of course that didn't go well.
Have you ever been to the National Mall? If you have, you'd know it's a lot bigger in person. Imagine that giant park covered in tents. Imagine the reflecting pool being drained just for enough space for more tents. Imagine the memorials being used to house people, the Smithsonians being used to house people. In 2025, DC went from an illusory state of normalcy to chaos. Like Raleigh.
2026. One Decade Later.
If you'd asked me where I pictured myself in ten years when I was 21, I'd tell you that I expected to have a wife and kids, with a job in biotech and a decent place to live. To be honest, where I ended up wasn't far off. Granted, the world had ended and DC was on the brink of breakdown by this point, but I'd made it. I was a doctor at MedStar. Not my intended field, but I was a damn good doctor. I started taking self-defense classes. No idea why I hadn't before, but I fully expected DC to fall apart at any second.
I spent this year with Cait and Abigail, watching DC fall apart. In June, a riot in the Lincoln Memorial led to US troops opening fire on the crowd, killing 30 people. In September, a food shortage led to tighter rations. In December, DC was starving.
2027. The Exodus.
MedStar began to flood with patients. To be honest, this was a lot like how the breakdown was back in 2016. Order went to hell, riots were happening, and food was scarce. This time, we were trapped by guarded walls. All members of the DC community were effectively drafted into the military upon entry, so leaving the compound basically meant desertion. Firing squad. We couldn't make for a working farm in the middle of nowhere and live some quiet life. Our choices were possibly die of cholera or malnutrition in the DC camp or definitely die of gunshot wound as we left the DC walls.
DC began to break down even further. Before long, people began to grow more and more resistant of the government. When you have a large group of angry people together, bad things are going to happen. It's not that human nature is bad. These people were normal, every-day people that managed to survive the Cataclysm. They didn't hold malice in their heart and they weren't 'the bad guys.' They were scared and desperate. Get enough of these types of people together and they'll start doing some pretty stupid stuff. Try to cram a few hundred-thousand people into a city and forbid them to leave? They're going to get suicidal.
The final straw for me was when I had to shoot someone who was trying to kick down my door at 2 in the morning for a can of beans, threatening to kill us all if we didn't give him the beans. The bullet I shot was worth way more than that can of beans. That day, I talked to a co-worker who I knew was into some kind of revolutionary thing. He said that there were survivor states in Europe. Europe of all places. No armed resistance against the goons in DC, no last stand. Just a few people stowing away on a ship going to Germany. It was a week away. From the look of things in DC, we weren't sure the camp would last that long...
Within five days, a gigantic riot in the National Mall was ended with tear gas. The guards moved in and executed anyone stunned by the tear gas. Over 300 dead. The next day was utter bedlam. Getting to work was hell and managing to make it all the way into work seemed impossible. People were rioting in the streets. Occasionally, you'd hear yelling and gunshots or step over a dead body. Getting home at night was even worse. I didn't bother going into work the next day.
When the night came, we filled as many hiking backpacks as we could and took to the roads. Unfortunately, everyone in DC had picked that day to collectively lose their shit. You could hear everyone in the National Mall rioting, armed bands returning gunfire with soldiers. It was a warzone and avoiding it was impossible. I looked at my wife and held her hand before looking forward and running as fast as I could with Abigail in my other arm. We ran across the National Mall, weaving through crowds of rioters, murderers, and soldiers. We watched as people set fire to the Capitol Building. The Provisional United States was falling. There were already a ton of people on the 695 south, just trying to get away from everything. The soldiers guarding the highways had been recalled to return order in the National Mall.
The boats from Germany arrived at a very bad time. Everyone saw the boats and began to run towards them. They were stopped by armed guards. Our escape plan had been ruined, it seemed, until I remembered my German from college. I was able to barter my way onto the ship. I watched from the stern of the ship as it left the Potomac. DC burned behind me.
2028. Our new life.
The ship we left on was a rusted cargo hauler that was barely sea-worthy. It made its rounds in various stops. Boston, Portland, Reykjavik. The seasons turned as I, being the only medic on board, worked with these sailors. Cait and I tried making it bearable for our little Abigail. We did all that we could. We had to skin the East Coast, making port in New York, Boston, Portland, and St. Johns. We spent a particularly miserable few days on the southern shores of Greenland before landing in Reykjavik. As we went along, we learned of different factions popping up in Europe. Before long, we were skimming the shores of Scandinavia.
In early 2028, we pulled into the docks of Hamburg. I was the only one in my family who spoke German and we had to work hard to make a living, but it was still better than living in the DC Camps. I didn't have the very real possibility of getting stabbed by a looter or shot by my own government. We settled down near Fleetinsel Hospital in Hamburg and began our new lives.
Living in Hamburg was one of the happiest times of my life. Of our lives. We were a family there. Our daughter was learning quickly and Cait was able to get a job as a nurse. If living in DC before shit hit the fan was nice, this post-Cataclysmic scene was almost too good to be true. On that ship, I had vowed to keep my family safe and happy. To love them forever. I kept that with me through every long night at work. Through every dark night, where distant gunshots could be heard. And I kept it with me when Caitlin got sick.
2029. The year we became I.
Back when I was a kid, there was this really long, funny word. The longest word in the English language, believe it or not. Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. After the Cataclysm, this silly, gigantic word became a reality for so many people, and it had become a reality for Caitlin. It has no cure, no way to keep the subject from dying. It couldn't be reversed. The only thing I could do was watch her get weaker and weaker as the days went by. Everyone had it to some degree. The volcanic ash slowly killing them. The world's supply of asthma inhalers had gone to shit with the rest of the world. They could only treat Cait with them when she was dying, to ease her pain.
But there was another way. I knew it. A lung transplant. The problem was, everyone had bad lungs. Everybody. The Germans had a pejorative for Americans after the cataclysm. Schwarzelunge. Black lung. When Americans came over after the Yellowstone eruption and died, their lungs were black, nine times out of ten. I had to find a healthy lung for my wife, which meant going into the north, where the volcanic ash wasn't as bad. Leaving my wife wasn't an option, so I had to enlist in the help of people. Of criminals. I fell in with a man running the organ trade in Hamburg and I cut him a deal. I would smuggle morphine and other drugs from the hospital and he would send someone to retrieve a lung on ice.
I did it. And more. I started working late, as muscle for the German Organ Trade. Lungs weren't in stock, but kidneys and hearts were. Worse, I became their surgeon. And I did it all for Caitlin. Do I regret every second of it? Yes.
The jackass who was in charge of procuring Cait's lungs had taken them from someone who was still using them. Some religious nutjob in Scandinavia. He had made himself a target and charged me an exorbitant fee for the lung. A fee I needed more money for. I never got the money. One evening, I came home from a night at the hospital and found my wife, cold and dead. A look of pain etched on her face. I buried Cait's body in the German wilderness and vowed revenge against the idiot who screwed me over.
I entered their 'chop shop' one early morning and buried a pair of scissors in the guy's neck. Used a bonesaw to hack my way through his guards. But he knew I was coming. As he gurgled his dying words, he said perhaps the most haunting words I've ever heard in my life.
My address and the name of my daughter.
The apartment was already on fire as I entered it, the towering inferno reaching high into the night sky. I kicked down the door and raced up a flight of stairs, entering my apartment. Already coughing, I searched for Abigail. Smoke filled my lungs as I screamed her name. I heard nothing back. No cries, no muttered responses, just the crackle of the scorching fire and splintering wood. As I stepped into the kitchen, the floor beneath me gave way and I fell.
When I woke up, I was on the streets. The apartment in front of me was a pile of ashes and soot. My breath came in ragged wheezing. My arm was in horrible pain, so I checked to see what was wrong with it. Years ago, before the Cataclysm, I was a history nut and had SPQR tattooed on my arm. Someone had burned it intentionally and tattooed underneath it the words 'MEDICUS.' I opened my shirt and saw a cross on my chest with weird emblems. The police said that it was Laestadians, the same cult that jackass had gotten tangled up with. They had killed my wife by taking her transplant and now they had taken my daughter.
2030-2035. The hunt.
I left Hamburg as soon as I could. I had nothing left there. I intended to reach Scandinavia and find these maniacs. I entered Denmark through their southern border and spent a year in Copenhagen, working as a black market doctor to catch as much information on the Laestadians as I could. I operated under that old German moniker for Americans. Schwartzelunge. I found a stronghold in Lolland and dispatched it. Then I traveled north, into Sweden, spending two years traveling from Gothenburg to Kalmar to Stockholm. I did what I could to eliminate the Laestadian rings where I went. I traveled as far north as Sampi territory, trying to find these bastards. The body count I had racked up had gotten so high, the Danes and the Swedes both wanted my head. By 2034, I had completely fallen off the radar, traveling to a supposed Laestadian stronghold in the Kola peninsula.
It wasn't until 2035 that I learned the true location of the ones who wronged me. Somewhere near the 'Tent City' of Riksrösen. I began my hike there.
2036. The End of my Journey.
The long winter was over. The lights on the horizon were a sure sign as I made my way back down through Swedish territory. And there was Riksrösen, my destination. I marched forth, making sure I entered in the night. When I began my trip, I was an esteemed doctor, saving lives. Now, I went by many names. The Butcher of Copenhagen, the Scourge of Kalmar, the Phantom of the North. I had to say, I enjoyed the last one, but there was always one name that called out to me. One name in particular that spoke my arrival loudly if I wanted it or softly if I so chose.
I entered the borders and paid a guard a hefty fee for a table with supplies. "Name?" he spoke in Swedish.
"Schwartzelunge," I replied.
It's hard to believe it was all twenty years ago. That life as we all knew it ended. One minute, I was living in an apartment in North Carolina with three of my best friends. The next, I was fighting for my life. I remember coming out of my organic chemistry class, talking with my friend. We were talking underneath the dining hall when my phone started going apeshit. You know those horrible tones they played during tornado warnings? That started playing on my phone. We could hear hundreds of phones do the same thing above us, all at once. I checked my phone to see what was going on and it displayed THAT message. You know, the one that said, "Sorry, man, life's over." Yellowstone had erupted. I could hear everyone above us shouting and yelling.
See, the first part of a disaster is always a slew of phone calls. My parents called within a minute, with my friend's father calling her at the same time. We both headed for the bus back to our apartment. Even waiting for the bus, we could see the situation getting crazier and crazier. People were flooding out of the dining hall, out of the library and their classes. Police officers were arriving to keep everyone calm. I remained on the line with my parents for as long as I could. Reception started to go and the call was dropped after a few minutes. I didn't hear from my parents again. Nothing from my brother, my uncle, or any of my relatives. I don't know what happened to them and I don't want to know, frankly.
The bus back to our apartment was stopped at the edge of campus. Some jackass had crashed his car into the university's sign, blocking traffic. Police were trying to direct traffic to their credit, but people were already going crazy. We made it to our apartment as fast as we could and waited. My other two roommates made it home safely and we just sat in the living room, listening to the chaos around us. Car accidents, arguments, helicopters, and crying. Lots of crying. We turned on the news as it showed us what was happening. We only had to make it as far as a street over to grab as much food as we could. I spent every last dollar I had on my debit card trying to get food. It was a little crappy grocer, so most people were busy harassing Food Lion or the Teet for food, but this little crappy grocer was still packed. After we got everything, we just sat in our apartment. We filled up both tubs with water while we could and did what we could to survive. To stop from going insane. Internet was down, so we were in the dark ages already. I had a special brownie I'd been saving for after my exam in chem. Crammed the thing in my mouth and just sat there, staring at the wall for six hours. Hell, that's what I would have done without it.
The next morning, we awoke to the sound of sirens. There was an ambulance outside, carrying people out on stretchers. The city was still trying to keep itself together. A few of those people were alive. There had been a lot of attempted suicides that night. Hell, I can't say I wasn't tempted. My friends and I spent the day arguing. Do we stay or do we go? Where would we go? Outside, it had started raining. Black rain trickled down the window; water mixed with ash. It was only going to get worse...
We kept up with the news for as long as we could. The East Coast had seemed to be doing better than the West Coast, which had already lost power. Of course, there were already rioters and looters in our city, so we had to be ready for that. At night, we could hear gunshots. We started putting furniture against the door and avoiding leaving without necessity. To the city's credit, we didn't lose power for a while. In fact, we started running out of food before we ran out of power. We still had enough canned food to last us for another two weeks. The power had been shut off to 'non-essential parts of the city.' Hospitals, police stations, military bases. The rioting got even worse when the power went out.
The next morning, we awoke to find one of our roommates missing. On the table was a note. She'd overdosed on pills and went away from the apartment to die. I can't describe how horrible that was. Her boyfriend went off to find her, but he came back empty-handed. A few days later, we heard a knock on the door. We opened it, expecting it to be her, but it was a soldier instead, telling us about a mandatory evacuation. The city couldn't function anymore and we were to relocate to refugee camps in the Triangle region, where we'd be safe. I wouldn't have listened to this guy had it not been for one simple thing: the city we lived in was prone to flooding. It'd been raining on and off for quite some time and the streets were already flooded with sewage, rain and soot. It wasn't healthy anymore. We had to leave.
Two months and three weeks after the eruptions. That's how long we stayed in the old apartment. I put out some feelers a few years later to see what happened to the area. Whole place is a ghost town. Gas from the drains mixed with floodwater and some jackass started a gigantic fire. I doubt the old apartment is still there. Raleigh, unfortunately, was a mess. The refugee camps were crowded and we had to donate a third of our supplies to the camp. We had to keep the rest of the cans hidden. Guards patrolled the refugee camp, insisting on order. Everyone had to find something to do. My roommates and I worked on helping medics. We were all biology and chemistry majors, so it was all we could do.
2017-2023. The Refugee Camp.
There were a few things common in the refugee camps. Black rain pelting the tarps over our head. Occasional floods. Ashen mud. Crying. And fighting. Lots of fighting. First time I had to fight someone was over a can of corn. Had to keep hitting the guy until I got pulled off and sent into the brig for a few days. Lights drowned the camp at night, looking for troublemakers. Fighters. Beatings were pretty common in the Raleigh camp. Anything you did to piss off the guards was a beating. One of my old roommates got beaten pretty bad. I myself got a rifle butt in the head a few times for mouthing off. During these three years, I became more involved with the medics.
The government got kind of cocky by 2018. The refugees had stopped coming in and it seemed as if stuff had calmed down. They re-opened the old NC State campus. Anyone without practical knowledge was instructed to attend some form of class. Pass/fail. If you were not passing your classes, your rations were limited. I attended their medical classes with my old roommates for a few years. A semester in, one of my old roommates' grades dropped and his rations were cut. When he got cholera, he died pretty quickly. That just leaves my last roommate. He and I worked our asses off, trying to get 'A Provisional United States Doctorate of Medicine.'
People who died had their bodies donated to this school if at all possible as cadavers. No choice. I know a few people who had to operate on a friend of theirs. I thank my lucky stars that I didn't run into that. I earned my doctorate in 2023. By then, the population of the area had dwindled from over 730,000 people to little over 200,000. Disease, starvation, and other forms of brutal punishment had taken its course. Some people had been transferred to penal camps. Way I hear it, those were pretty close to concentration camps. People with good skills were sent wherever needed. In 2023, I was sent to Washington, DC with a few other people. Mostly soldiers. From what I've heard, conditions in the Raleigh camp got worse and worse. When a strain of influenza broke out and the population rioted, it was turned into a death camp before being disassembled.
I was put in an apartment in DC that had been cleaned and readied and given tools to work at MedStar Hospital, where I'd be healing the members of the Provisional United States. That's where I earned that damn lab coat I've been lugging around for the past two decades. And that's... where I met my wife.
2024. The year I met her.
Caitlin. Cait, for short. A nurse at MedStar. We met while patching up a provisional congressman after he'd been assaulted in an alleyway. I don't think I'll ever forget those brown eyes, her auburn hair, and goddamn. That smile. We were both new to the area; she'd come over from the Baltimore camp. From what I've heard, the Baltimore camp was even worse than the Raleigh camp. We hit it off very well. We made the end of the world... bearable for each other. We spent every morning together, listening to the riots outside the walls and tuning them out. We spent every minute of every day together, helping those in need. And we spent every rainy evening together, watching black raindrops roll in, turning the Potomac black.
We loved each other, with the kind of love I'd only known before the Cataclysm. It was something out of a movie. A very depressing, black and white movie. Over the past few years, I'd lost everyone I'd known. I lost contact with my family, I watched some of my friends die right before my eyes, and those that lived had been left in the Raleigh camp. For the first time in eight years, something had gone right. The people in DC were treating us like everyday citizens. Almost. We were able to go to the store with ration cards and purchase fresh food. We were able to purchase clothes with money. Actual furniture. The government was even happier with us when she moved in with me.
They weren't very happy when she got pregnant.
2025. Abigail.
Even before our daughter was born, we could feel the government frowning upon us. Bringing another mouth to feed into the camp was hard enough according to the government. We were actually offered money to abort and, I'm not going to lie, we were pretty tempted. But it was Cait's decision and she wanted to have the baby. On January 24th, 2025, my daughter was born. Abigail. At the risk of sounding like a cliche parent, I'm going to have to say that she was... beautiful. The most beautiful baby girl I'd ever seen.
The government imposed an offspring tax on us, of course. I had to work a double-shift at MedStar just to support us. We thought the government was just unhappy with us, but it turned out the provisional government was doing a lot worse than we thought... and we knew it was doing pretty poorly. They'd lost the West Coast and had just spent a bunch of resources in a failed attempt to reclaim it. A bunch of people in the Southeast had stormed the refugee camps and the government basically lost the Deep South. DC was beginning to hurt. Badly. They started allowing more and more refugees into DC to support it, but of course that didn't go well.
Have you ever been to the National Mall? If you have, you'd know it's a lot bigger in person. Imagine that giant park covered in tents. Imagine the reflecting pool being drained just for enough space for more tents. Imagine the memorials being used to house people, the Smithsonians being used to house people. In 2025, DC went from an illusory state of normalcy to chaos. Like Raleigh.
2026. One Decade Later.
If you'd asked me where I pictured myself in ten years when I was 21, I'd tell you that I expected to have a wife and kids, with a job in biotech and a decent place to live. To be honest, where I ended up wasn't far off. Granted, the world had ended and DC was on the brink of breakdown by this point, but I'd made it. I was a doctor at MedStar. Not my intended field, but I was a damn good doctor. I started taking self-defense classes. No idea why I hadn't before, but I fully expected DC to fall apart at any second.
I spent this year with Cait and Abigail, watching DC fall apart. In June, a riot in the Lincoln Memorial led to US troops opening fire on the crowd, killing 30 people. In September, a food shortage led to tighter rations. In December, DC was starving.
2027. The Exodus.
MedStar began to flood with patients. To be honest, this was a lot like how the breakdown was back in 2016. Order went to hell, riots were happening, and food was scarce. This time, we were trapped by guarded walls. All members of the DC community were effectively drafted into the military upon entry, so leaving the compound basically meant desertion. Firing squad. We couldn't make for a working farm in the middle of nowhere and live some quiet life. Our choices were possibly die of cholera or malnutrition in the DC camp or definitely die of gunshot wound as we left the DC walls.
DC began to break down even further. Before long, people began to grow more and more resistant of the government. When you have a large group of angry people together, bad things are going to happen. It's not that human nature is bad. These people were normal, every-day people that managed to survive the Cataclysm. They didn't hold malice in their heart and they weren't 'the bad guys.' They were scared and desperate. Get enough of these types of people together and they'll start doing some pretty stupid stuff. Try to cram a few hundred-thousand people into a city and forbid them to leave? They're going to get suicidal.
The final straw for me was when I had to shoot someone who was trying to kick down my door at 2 in the morning for a can of beans, threatening to kill us all if we didn't give him the beans. The bullet I shot was worth way more than that can of beans. That day, I talked to a co-worker who I knew was into some kind of revolutionary thing. He said that there were survivor states in Europe. Europe of all places. No armed resistance against the goons in DC, no last stand. Just a few people stowing away on a ship going to Germany. It was a week away. From the look of things in DC, we weren't sure the camp would last that long...
Within five days, a gigantic riot in the National Mall was ended with tear gas. The guards moved in and executed anyone stunned by the tear gas. Over 300 dead. The next day was utter bedlam. Getting to work was hell and managing to make it all the way into work seemed impossible. People were rioting in the streets. Occasionally, you'd hear yelling and gunshots or step over a dead body. Getting home at night was even worse. I didn't bother going into work the next day.
When the night came, we filled as many hiking backpacks as we could and took to the roads. Unfortunately, everyone in DC had picked that day to collectively lose their shit. You could hear everyone in the National Mall rioting, armed bands returning gunfire with soldiers. It was a warzone and avoiding it was impossible. I looked at my wife and held her hand before looking forward and running as fast as I could with Abigail in my other arm. We ran across the National Mall, weaving through crowds of rioters, murderers, and soldiers. We watched as people set fire to the Capitol Building. The Provisional United States was falling. There were already a ton of people on the 695 south, just trying to get away from everything. The soldiers guarding the highways had been recalled to return order in the National Mall.
The boats from Germany arrived at a very bad time. Everyone saw the boats and began to run towards them. They were stopped by armed guards. Our escape plan had been ruined, it seemed, until I remembered my German from college. I was able to barter my way onto the ship. I watched from the stern of the ship as it left the Potomac. DC burned behind me.
2028. Our new life.
The ship we left on was a rusted cargo hauler that was barely sea-worthy. It made its rounds in various stops. Boston, Portland, Reykjavik. The seasons turned as I, being the only medic on board, worked with these sailors. Cait and I tried making it bearable for our little Abigail. We did all that we could. We had to skin the East Coast, making port in New York, Boston, Portland, and St. Johns. We spent a particularly miserable few days on the southern shores of Greenland before landing in Reykjavik. As we went along, we learned of different factions popping up in Europe. Before long, we were skimming the shores of Scandinavia.
In early 2028, we pulled into the docks of Hamburg. I was the only one in my family who spoke German and we had to work hard to make a living, but it was still better than living in the DC Camps. I didn't have the very real possibility of getting stabbed by a looter or shot by my own government. We settled down near Fleetinsel Hospital in Hamburg and began our new lives.
Living in Hamburg was one of the happiest times of my life. Of our lives. We were a family there. Our daughter was learning quickly and Cait was able to get a job as a nurse. If living in DC before shit hit the fan was nice, this post-Cataclysmic scene was almost too good to be true. On that ship, I had vowed to keep my family safe and happy. To love them forever. I kept that with me through every long night at work. Through every dark night, where distant gunshots could be heard. And I kept it with me when Caitlin got sick.
2029. The year we became I.
Back when I was a kid, there was this really long, funny word. The longest word in the English language, believe it or not. Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. After the Cataclysm, this silly, gigantic word became a reality for so many people, and it had become a reality for Caitlin. It has no cure, no way to keep the subject from dying. It couldn't be reversed. The only thing I could do was watch her get weaker and weaker as the days went by. Everyone had it to some degree. The volcanic ash slowly killing them. The world's supply of asthma inhalers had gone to shit with the rest of the world. They could only treat Cait with them when she was dying, to ease her pain.
But there was another way. I knew it. A lung transplant. The problem was, everyone had bad lungs. Everybody. The Germans had a pejorative for Americans after the cataclysm. Schwarzelunge. Black lung. When Americans came over after the Yellowstone eruption and died, their lungs were black, nine times out of ten. I had to find a healthy lung for my wife, which meant going into the north, where the volcanic ash wasn't as bad. Leaving my wife wasn't an option, so I had to enlist in the help of people. Of criminals. I fell in with a man running the organ trade in Hamburg and I cut him a deal. I would smuggle morphine and other drugs from the hospital and he would send someone to retrieve a lung on ice.
I did it. And more. I started working late, as muscle for the German Organ Trade. Lungs weren't in stock, but kidneys and hearts were. Worse, I became their surgeon. And I did it all for Caitlin. Do I regret every second of it? Yes.
The jackass who was in charge of procuring Cait's lungs had taken them from someone who was still using them. Some religious nutjob in Scandinavia. He had made himself a target and charged me an exorbitant fee for the lung. A fee I needed more money for. I never got the money. One evening, I came home from a night at the hospital and found my wife, cold and dead. A look of pain etched on her face. I buried Cait's body in the German wilderness and vowed revenge against the idiot who screwed me over.
I entered their 'chop shop' one early morning and buried a pair of scissors in the guy's neck. Used a bonesaw to hack my way through his guards. But he knew I was coming. As he gurgled his dying words, he said perhaps the most haunting words I've ever heard in my life.
My address and the name of my daughter.
The apartment was already on fire as I entered it, the towering inferno reaching high into the night sky. I kicked down the door and raced up a flight of stairs, entering my apartment. Already coughing, I searched for Abigail. Smoke filled my lungs as I screamed her name. I heard nothing back. No cries, no muttered responses, just the crackle of the scorching fire and splintering wood. As I stepped into the kitchen, the floor beneath me gave way and I fell.
When I woke up, I was on the streets. The apartment in front of me was a pile of ashes and soot. My breath came in ragged wheezing. My arm was in horrible pain, so I checked to see what was wrong with it. Years ago, before the Cataclysm, I was a history nut and had SPQR tattooed on my arm. Someone had burned it intentionally and tattooed underneath it the words 'MEDICUS.' I opened my shirt and saw a cross on my chest with weird emblems. The police said that it was Laestadians, the same cult that jackass had gotten tangled up with. They had killed my wife by taking her transplant and now they had taken my daughter.
2030-2035. The hunt.
I left Hamburg as soon as I could. I had nothing left there. I intended to reach Scandinavia and find these maniacs. I entered Denmark through their southern border and spent a year in Copenhagen, working as a black market doctor to catch as much information on the Laestadians as I could. I operated under that old German moniker for Americans. Schwartzelunge. I found a stronghold in Lolland and dispatched it. Then I traveled north, into Sweden, spending two years traveling from Gothenburg to Kalmar to Stockholm. I did what I could to eliminate the Laestadian rings where I went. I traveled as far north as Sampi territory, trying to find these bastards. The body count I had racked up had gotten so high, the Danes and the Swedes both wanted my head. By 2034, I had completely fallen off the radar, traveling to a supposed Laestadian stronghold in the Kola peninsula.
It wasn't until 2035 that I learned the true location of the ones who wronged me. Somewhere near the 'Tent City' of Riksrösen. I began my hike there.
2036. The End of my Journey.
The long winter was over. The lights on the horizon were a sure sign as I made my way back down through Swedish territory. And there was Riksrösen, my destination. I marched forth, making sure I entered in the night. When I began my trip, I was an esteemed doctor, saving lives. Now, I went by many names. The Butcher of Copenhagen, the Scourge of Kalmar, the Phantom of the North. I had to say, I enjoyed the last one, but there was always one name that called out to me. One name in particular that spoke my arrival loudly if I wanted it or softly if I so chose.
I entered the borders and paid a guard a hefty fee for a table with supplies. "Name?" he spoke in Swedish.
"Schwartzelunge," I replied.
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Nice, very nice; love the plague doctor vibe here and love the work you put in. :)
Damn, I never realised that this was going to be popular. O_o
Damn, I never realised that this was going to be popular. O_o
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Well sir, it is the apocalypse....every nerds dream lol.
Well i do say i cant wait to see what happens when everyone gets on and we get moving lol
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We might as well stick together; but its the Last Chance's humongous 'wine cellar' that we'll be hiding in come the ash storm; we're using this time before it to familiarise with one another.
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Idk i been waiting lol
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Will get to it soon, been a tad busy I'm afraid. :)
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Gonna post soon guys. Hang on for your lives. :D
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Lol i been anxiously waiting lol
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Yup...just hop in.
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Will work on extra bits later
Name/Pseudonym: Tony Wallace goes by Tea most of the time
Age: 54
Appearance: Now I'm overweight with a bad back in 20 years time living in the apocalypse the weight issue won't exist, I'll still be big (6 feet 5 inches) and broad shouldered, but I'll have bulked a bit during that time from living the hard life so won't necessarily be under weight but will be leaner, the hair will still be long and will be following my parents fashion of going pepper pot in a badger strip styling, I'll likely have a beard I'm crap at shaving at the moment but don't like it too long so will be more rugged stubble than anything else.
Health and Wellbeing: Health wise I'm good my back still bothers me but doesn't overly slow me down, losing the weight means my cardio is better and my metabolism is good, I've never suffered in the cold particularly so all my digits are intact though my hearing probably isn't the best, I do suffer from arthrisis which the cold inflames and sometime my hands and wrists are pretty useless.
Skills: I have a lot of skills right now, I'm a computer expert and know a lot of coding languages, I'm also a fully qualified blacksmith and medic, I teach western martial arts and am a fairly good archer and marksman competing in both field and target shooting with rifles and bow. I'm skilled with swords and polearms and am capable with axes and hammers though I don't like fighting with them, I'm not so good with knives as I am a bad judge of distance, I can't catch for toffee. I spent my entire life going on camping and know how to build and start a fire with little more than a few twigs, I can also build shelters and sew quite well. In 20 years time I'll have refined those skills I need to survive.
Languages spoken: I'm awful at languages, native language is English, I can speak Russian very well and some German which will feed into being able to get myself understood where I am now.
Equipment: I'll have made my own weapons a short single edged functional sword, and a walking staff come spear/glaive, I'll have also fashioned a bow at some point but will likely not use it much will be looking to knock up a cross bow, I'll have tools useful for blacksmithing and some survival gear, as well as good winter clothing.
Personality:
I try to be a good person, I am trusting in others and I'm willing to help out when needed, though I like to keep myself to myself I'm happy in my own solitude always have been, I'm happy to share what I have and what I know, but don't tick me off because I have a temper and in this day and age I'm more than happy to let it loose to survive.
Biography:
I'm a normal regular person, not a solider, not a police officer, nothing special. I've worked for the army in the past as a civilian in the medical corp, I've worked as a blacksmith and an IT consultant, I've worked as a fight choreographer across Europe and that's what brought me to Norway before the fall, I was working on a new T.V series as a consultant fight choreographer, teaching actors how to fight with weapons.
When the world ended I took what I had and headed to the wilds of the hills for shelter, I stayed up there living like a wild man until things calmed down, then I headed back to society, though sometimes I vanish for long stints back to the wilds where I survived first.
Name/Pseudonym: Tony Wallace goes by Tea most of the time
Age: 54
Appearance: Now I'm overweight with a bad back in 20 years time living in the apocalypse the weight issue won't exist, I'll still be big (6 feet 5 inches) and broad shouldered, but I'll have bulked a bit during that time from living the hard life so won't necessarily be under weight but will be leaner, the hair will still be long and will be following my parents fashion of going pepper pot in a badger strip styling, I'll likely have a beard I'm crap at shaving at the moment but don't like it too long so will be more rugged stubble than anything else.
Health and Wellbeing: Health wise I'm good my back still bothers me but doesn't overly slow me down, losing the weight means my cardio is better and my metabolism is good, I've never suffered in the cold particularly so all my digits are intact though my hearing probably isn't the best, I do suffer from arthrisis which the cold inflames and sometime my hands and wrists are pretty useless.
Skills: I have a lot of skills right now, I'm a computer expert and know a lot of coding languages, I'm also a fully qualified blacksmith and medic, I teach western martial arts and am a fairly good archer and marksman competing in both field and target shooting with rifles and bow. I'm skilled with swords and polearms and am capable with axes and hammers though I don't like fighting with them, I'm not so good with knives as I am a bad judge of distance, I can't catch for toffee. I spent my entire life going on camping and know how to build and start a fire with little more than a few twigs, I can also build shelters and sew quite well. In 20 years time I'll have refined those skills I need to survive.
Languages spoken: I'm awful at languages, native language is English, I can speak Russian very well and some German which will feed into being able to get myself understood where I am now.
Equipment: I'll have made my own weapons a short single edged functional sword, and a walking staff come spear/glaive, I'll have also fashioned a bow at some point but will likely not use it much will be looking to knock up a cross bow, I'll have tools useful for blacksmithing and some survival gear, as well as good winter clothing.
Personality:
I try to be a good person, I am trusting in others and I'm willing to help out when needed, though I like to keep myself to myself I'm happy in my own solitude always have been, I'm happy to share what I have and what I know, but don't tick me off because I have a temper and in this day and age I'm more than happy to let it loose to survive.
Biography:
I'm a normal regular person, not a solider, not a police officer, nothing special. I've worked for the army in the past as a civilian in the medical corp, I've worked as a blacksmith and an IT consultant, I've worked as a fight choreographer across Europe and that's what brought me to Norway before the fall, I was working on a new T.V series as a consultant fight choreographer, teaching actors how to fight with weapons.
When the world ended I took what I had and headed to the wilds of the hills for shelter, I stayed up there living like a wild man until things calmed down, then I headed back to society, though sometimes I vanish for long stints back to the wilds where I survived first.
Last edited:
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A fine addition indeed.