DARK INTERVAL - MAIN SIGNUPS

[CreekMando]

Spoiler: OOC INFO

Steam Name: Eviction Notice
Discord Name: evictionnotice
Previous Rule Violations: N/A
STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:54479615

Character Name: Cooper Lee White
(if applicable) Role: District Administrator
(if applicable) Tagline: N/A
Faction: CCA

Character Backstory: (see below)
Character Stakes: As the appointed right-hand of the illusive Consol, Cooper knows that his lot in life is called, though that doesn't stop him from holding selfish desire along with delusion of total control. He'll need to tip-toe around the all-seeing-eye of his better if he wishes to maintain his influence in all reaches of this prison.

View attachment 44066Cooper's ticket to the big-leagues wasn't in the slightest bit due to his position of birth nor his hard-working demeanour. How could it be? This entire opportunity quite literally came from the skies above; at least he hoped that was where all these creatures came from- God-forbid they'd been fermenting below the Lord's land for countless millennia.

No, Cooper Lee White was a cheating, hard-boiled backstabber of a so-called man that had only one concern now that the world had become what it was: his own survival. He had to look the part, maintain the illusion of control, don't let them know the things that rattled his mind; the thoughts of a higher-power, higher than their so-called new rulers. Blasphemy in their perfect society, a society he himself alone was tasked with maintaining.

A shepherd to the lamb, he would be the one to ensure the parting of the great-sea of their walls held no undesirable results, for he was the one chosen for such a plan.

We are pursuing other individuals for DA. But regardless, due to your good reputation, we will allow you in as a Liaison Officer.

 

[CreekMando]

Spoiler: OUT-OF-CHARACTER / IN-CHARACTER INFORMATION

OOC:

Steam Name: benignhostility
Discord Name: benignhostility
Previous Rule Violations: A month ago, I had a three ban for LTAP. Never bothered appealing it, sorry.
STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:508587632

Character Name: Elias Alphrédor-Tétreault Laframboise
(if applicable) Role: District-Administrator
(if applicable) Tagline: N /A (?)
Faction: CCA

Character Backstory: See Below
Character Stakes: They're intending to gain the authority they never had, they crave power over people because he's never had it, known to have leadership skills admittedly deemed incompetent with his first corporation, he's harnessed himself-- proved himself. He's narcissism incarnate, Machiavellian administrator only really loyal to the Consul due to the power it grants him, might-is-right sort-of thing, y'know? His stakes are the city, his stakes are his men, his investment art not in the City but the Combine themselves.​

ORWELLIAN DREAMS;
The Life and Death of a City-One District-Administrator.
View attachment 44059
Elias Alphrédor-Tétreault Laframboise
Cowardice Manifest​

​

Born into a vindicative, neglectful and privileged family which gave him whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, his mother was vindicative and narcissistic with the time she spent with his father, divorcing in Nineteen-Sixty-Eight spurring from his father spending all his day's at work or away from hView attachment 44061ome doing god-knows-what with his share-holders, his grandfather's dynasty had granted his father the reins to his company and his inability to take a resemblance of responsibility, the endless benders and his cold-blooded apathy was making the company he'd ignored his own *flesh-and-blood* for tail-spin into the deep-end by the time of his deathbed, where Elias inherited his company.

The solemn thirty-something year old man by-now was obsessed with getting back at his 'druggie' father, craving the authority he never had-- the power he /needed/ to fulfil his ego-- the time spent with his father's employees-and-cleaners around his house only ruined his view of the average 'citizen' with him perceiving the people who were 'lower' than him as servants, butlers and otherwise.

The monetarily-privileged life he was gifted destined to have-- did not grant him much financial wisdom however, with his company continuing to plummet as he ignored the advice of his shareholders and his board, opting for more direct measures of saving *his* company, *his* lifeblood-- he was going to /save/ it all.View attachment 44062
Two-Thousand-and-One rolled around and yet his company was borderline going into the red, his unwillingness to listen to anyone else but himself proved futile and the corruption he'd partaken in to prolong the life of the husk of his corporation was futile.

Violent outbursts, lawsuits and the ever-increasing corporation was driving his company into his company into the red, he was begging for a second chance, if somebody was out there, a god (if there was one), to hear his cries and grant him mercy! "Please, oh please! Let me do it all over! I'll do it all over!" The ever-increasing turmoil further derailed his mental state and as much as he wanted to rebuke it -- he was becoming his father all over again, and yet? His prayers were answered, *it* was coming, and the only thing he needed to do was survive.

---

They came in irregular waves and scrambled to kill the first person they saw, the gunfire and the screams were alien to someone as coddled as himself, the fire, destruction and chaos of the Xen infestation proved too much-- far too much, who the hell cared if he engaged in corruption? He was trying to "-save his company, save his employees-- save his life!" And yet he took the first military escort out of New York before-long, hiding out in Quebec with his sickly grandmother. The portal storms raged on for so long it became like rain to him, he didn't care about it anymore, the gunfire, the screams of the people around him, *he* was trying to save *his* life more then anything else, and no matter how he justified it in his own mind, he was a /coward/. A path that propelled him soon-enough to the Combine. It came in droves-- orchestrated, rehearsed military tactics that before-long granted it access to the entire world, they hitched the first train to a rebuilding City-One, this was his /second-chance/, the one he prayed for! It was not long until he worked himself to a tier higher then the rest-- he /always/ saw himself was a tier higher than the rest. The shit, the scum-- the /dogs/ who were plaguing his city-- he saw knew it all first-hand, and he was ever-increasingly radicalised as the 'people' around him treated *him*, of all people as some-sort of 'common-man', but he wasn't a commoner-- he wasn't his father- he wasn't his stupid, uncaring grandfather or his mother-- he was /him/, a leader-- a leader who had to be stone-faced, uncaring in the face-of-death, cape-draped on his back and it was at that time he met the Consul, propelling him into even further delirium about what was right-and-wrong, his silver-tongue hypnotised him further into not caring about those down-below, the men in the slums brought it upon themselves when they decided to dive head-first into a life of backwards-thinking and terrorism, he was being prepped for District-Administrator and he wanted that title, no matter how meaningless it was to him. He needed that power, that authority and the endless lined-up soldiers ready to /die/ for him and the Consul.

Elias got his second chance at leadership, the corporation had only padded him, filled his gold-leafed patterned vest with Kevlar for this City, the disgusting, decaying realm of nothing but melancholy and crime before him, and when he got in that seat? The endless monitors beaming on his face, begging him for an announcement. He was going to declare a new City, without the cavities, and he wasn't going to throw it away like his father.
He was going to do the right way, without the sickly old men in chairs trying to command him on what-to-do, the young minds of New York-- raised in this city, /born/ in this city knew what to do, what-to-think, and what-not. He was going to grant them paradise.

And he thanked the Consul dearly for it.
View attachment 44060​

Accepted as Liaison Officer.

 

[CreekMando]

Spoiler: OOC Info

Steam Name: Lord Cutler Beckett
Discord Name: lordbeckett.
Previous Rule Violations: None
STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:65545159

Spoiler: Character Info

Character Name: Primo Cosenza
(if applicable) Role: District Administrator
Faction: The Administration

Spoiler: Music

View attachment 44127

Primo Cosenza
The Underboss​

Rain pours down the sides of the alleyway, drenching the overturned trash cans and the opened dumpsters and pooling in the numerous cracks and potholes scattered across the pavement. The lighting is minimal, save for the occasional street light that flickers on and off every few seconds. A man strides down the alleyway at a faster pace than a stroll, but not so fast as what might be considered speed-walking. Ambling with purpose, the man dons a leather overcoat that repels most of the downpour off of his skin and onto the street. A black cap sits tightly against his temple, and the collars of his coat flare up to obscure a majority of his face. As he approaches the end of the alleyway toward a lit-up street, he reaches into his coat and adjusts something, the clinking of metal against metal echoing across the tightly-packed brick walls.

The man turns to the right once outside of the alleyway, towards a mildly active delicatessen with a few individuals milling about, chatting and drinking. The street is notably active at such a late hour, even in the rain. As the man approaches the deli, the individuals in front of the store come into clearer view. Huddled under an outcrop that blocks the incoming rain, the men can be seen smoking, drinking, and otherwise shooting the shit, as it were. One of these men, however, stands out in demeanor. Shifting to and fro, his shaking hand takes long drags on the nearly burnt-out cigarette. His gaze darts across the street, observing his surroundings with a keen gaze. Before long, his eyes lock onto the approaching man in the leather overcoat, and then widen.

He drops the cigarette, turns one-hundred and eighty degrees, and sprints in the other direction.

The man in leather breaks out into a sprint at the same time, barreling past the deli and barging through a confused crowd of men, a couple of whom are knocked over as he and his quarry push and shove them out of the way to gain ground. The pair advance down the street at a rapid pace, water splashing across the concrete as their shoes struggle to maintain traction on the slippery surface. Just as the pursued man turns to round a corner into a side alley, his left shoe glides across the wet sidewalk, sending him tumbling down onto the pavement and slamming into the building at the side of the alleyway. While the downed man attempts to regain his composure, the man in leather closes the distance and stands over the man, panting as he shouts.

“You were warned, Victor! It’s been two weeks with no vig! Carmine ain’t happy with you.”

Victor wheezes, the breath thrown out of him violently from the fall, “Please, Primo… I swear, I’ll get it! I just had some back luck is all-”

Primo takes a quick step towards Victor and delivers a sharp kick to his side, the thud from the strike strong enough to signal a potentially cracked rib. “Don’t give me that horseshit! If you got money to gamble, you got money to pay us!”

Victor lets out a strained cry, “Please! It’s not my fault, I-... I just…”

Primo reaches into his coat and pulls out a steel pipe, holding it by his side as he says, “This has been a long time coming, Victor. You knew what you were getting into.”

Before Victor has time to respond, Primo raises the metal pipe and brings it down onto the injured man’s body. Clangs of metal and cries of anguish ring out down the side of the alley. Almost like a bell being struck repeatedly, the metal pipe rings out again and again as it connects with Victor’s body, slowly deforming as the metal is warped by the strikes. After around a dozen hits, Primo throws the pipe toward the side of the alley and reaches into his coat with his right hand. From within, he draws a black Beretta and aims it at Victor, who is quietly squirming and moaning with pain as he writhes around on the sidewalk.

Primo yells, “Next time, you won’t see my face, capiche?”

Victor only manages to let out a groan, to which Primo responds with a final kick to Victor’s ribcage. With that, Victor lays flat on the ground, semi-conscious as the pain ripples in waves across his body. Primo promptly holsters his pistol back into his coat before smoothing his clothes and letting out a sigh of exasperation. He pulls his black, leather gloves down further on his hands, and adjusts his coat which was thrown askew in the melee. With one final glance of disgust toward the heap of a debtor on the ground, Primo strolls out of the alleyway and down the street, disappearing into the haze of rain and darkness.

Primo Cosenza’s life is one of violence. A low-level soldier in one of the organized crime families in New York City during the eighties and beyond, work usually entailed collecting payments and roughing up the odd debtor who failed to make his or her weekly payment in full. Begotten from an impoverished family of limited means, little money was to be made from working in a factory or as a dockhand. Real money, of course, could only arise from other means: shylocking, bookmaking, racketeering, and hitjobs. Life was difficult, but those who knew how to handle themselves on the streets could pocket a significant amount of change for themselves. As long as they knew how to survive and, more importantly, how to adapt to changing circumstances.

Circumstances did indeed change. At the outset of the Black Mesa Incident, alien creatures quickly began to descend upon the denizens of New York City. With martial law being declared by the government, the crime families were thrown into total disarray, with most either being picked off by the aliens or extrajudicially imprisoned by a police force that didn’t have time to deal with trials in a time of war. Primo himself managed to evade an untimely demise from either an alien or the police, slinking into the shadows as the city attempted to consolidate and fortify itself, turning into a fortress that sought to fend off further extraterrestrial invasions. As the largest urban center on the east coast, refugees flocked from across the country in an attempt to evade the invading alien species.

When the Combine finally arrived and conquered the planet in seven hours, many in the city saw this as a welcome reprieve from the continuing onslaught of alien attacks. After all, who better to fend off these alien invaders than an orderly force of aliens that knows how to deal with them? New York was swiftly quelled and assimilated into the fledgling system of cities that were being fortified by the Combine to “protect” the citizens trapped inside. Symbolically, New York transformed into City One, the first urban center among the dozens to be erected by the Combine. A beacon for the rest of the world to follow, the Combine wasted no time in encasing the city behind thick metal walls and putting the population to work. Not everyone in the city was content with the new world order, however.

As resistance groups began a campaign of sabotage against the local Combine forces, Primo remained under the radar of both the Combine and the resistance groups. As the two sides bloodied each other in ruthless displays of violence, Primo eked out an existence among what remained of New York’s crime families, forging alliances and making friends where possible. With mob activities significantly muted under the rule of the Combine, progress was slow in making up for what was lost. City One, in the meantime, descended into further levels of anarchy and chaos as the resistance destroyed everything in sight, engaging in a bombing campaign that hardly distinguished between human and Combine. This new group of freedom fighters, known only as the Patriots, grew to be a rather painful thorn in the side of the Combine as well as the local sector administrator, Mark O’Brien.

With the departure of O’Brien for City Thirty, however, the situation began to radically change once again. An impenetrable cloud descended upon the city, shielding it from all outside sources and allowing no information to escape. A man known only as the Consul had taken power and shut off the city from all those on the outside. After a few months of no contact with the rest of the world, however, the city had finally opened up in a spectacularly grand reveal of a city reborn, beckoning all those across the world to come and find their place in this new utopian society. And, amid all the confusion and unknown dealings within the city, Primo Cosenza managed to inexplicably find himself standing in the Consul’s office, perched at the top of the Empire State building in an ornately-appointed room. The Consul himself was standing at the window, gazing upon the bright, blue lights that dotted the Combine-controlled city. Glass of champagne in hand, the Consul mused to Primo in a hushed, gravelly tone.

“After all this work, the effort and the suffering, we have finally set this city in motion… I’ve been told a glut of laborers is expected from Sector Ten. Those poor bastards.”

The Consul takes a sip from his glass of champagne.

“You’ve done well to keep those dogs in line, Cosenza. Those damned Patriots, that rabble, are the only thing that could disrupt our plans now. Drastic measures must be taken. Nothing can go wrong. This thing of ours must succeed. No mistakes.”

The Consul turns slowly, peering back at Primo.

“The dregs must be kept in tow. I can trust you to do what needs to be done, yes?”

Primo lets a smile slowly creep across his face, his white teeth gleaming in the brightly lit room. He presses down his exquisite silk suit and adjusts his black lambskin gloves, nodding towards the Consul, before stating simply:

“You got it, boss.”

Spoiler: Character Image

View attachment 44126

Spoiler: Character Stakes

Character Stakes: Primo is self-interested and above all else is looking out for himself. However, he is also loyal to a cause. As long as the Consul appears to be the best means to ensure his own safety, he will remain at his side. But, as the District Administrator builds ties with the Conscript reserve and constructs his own base of supporters, who can say what he might eventually do...

Accepted as Liaison Officer.

 

[Sushi082]

Steam Name: Sushi
Discord Name: sushbag
Previous Rule Violations: None as far as I'm aware.
STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:28377922

Character Name: Tyrion Smith
(if applicable) Role: CMU Doctor
Faction: CMU



A simple man, plagued by his own addictions.

Tyrion is exactly as his title describes, a decent man considering his circumstances. A good doctor, but plagued with a destructive sense of apathy that only burns away when his vein is filled with the next drug he can either make on the down low or find elsewhere. A contrast to his need to save lives but hey...you see as many injured and dying people as he has?

Sometimes saving a life isn't enough to feel good about yourself. Even if it puts his life at risk.

(I know it's a bit of a basic one, might elaborate more down the line)​

 

[Salty]

Steam Name: Only Salty
Discord Name: emiliocola
Previous Rule Violations: 1 Recent warning others are super old.
STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:458619166

Character Name: Emiliano Mazanetti
(if applicable) Role: Conscript Lieutenant
Faction: Conscript

Early Life
Emiliano Mazanetti was born in the outskirts of Florence, Italy, to a working-class family of masons and laborers. Raised during the turn of the 21st century, Emiliano grew up with a sense of discipline instilled in him by his father, a stern but fair man who valued order, hard work, and family loyalty. In his youth, Emiliano was drawn to structure and routine. While his friends lost themselves in youthful rebellion, Emiliano found purpose in systems—school, cadet programs, and eventually, military service. He joined the Italian Army at the age of 19, quickly distinguishing himself for his composure under pressure and his no-nonsense approach to leadership. Serving in international deployments and domestic security, Emiliano eventually rose to the rank of Staff Sergeant before his honorable discharge at age 34.

​

After his military career, Emiliano spent several years working private security and as a firearms instructor, bouncing between contracts across Europe. But nothing quite filled the void that military life once had.

As the Black Mesa Incident descended into the Seven Hour War, Emiliano was in Venice. He experienced the world coming apart in real time. With Earth's governments being quickly subdued, Emiliano, as with many ex-soldiers, was confronted with a grim choice: fight and die, or conform and live. He opted to live. First arrested by the Combine, Emiliano was processed and moved to City 8, and he spent his first few years in Combine occupation in comparative obscurity.

He kept his head down, posed no threat, and cooperated when asked. He worked as a logistics handler, helping Civil Protection units move supplies and coordinate shipments. He didn’t like the Combine—but he respected the efficiency. Order had returned to the world, even if it came in the form of a boot on every neck.

All that changed when he was involved in a botched warehouse bust. There was a lost datapad. Security cameras revealed that Emiliano was the last person seen in the vicinity. Though he was innocent, he was not questioned—merely taken by the Combine.

A train. A bag over the head. Some kind of facility. An option that was in reality not an option.

Conscripted Stabilization Force Service
He was shoved into the Conscripted Stabilization Force (CSF) when he was 38 years old. His past experience predestined him to leadership, and only six months in he received a battlefield commission to Lieutenant. Not like many of the ranks in the CSF—thugs, ex-rebels, political misfits—Emiliano was professional. He knew command. He knew discipline. The Combine liked that.

He was sent to City 1, with the job of running operations in the lower levels and leading an expanding cell of conscript squads. Emiliano was a commander that Combine commanders trusted—not for loyalty, but for efficiency. He did not question orders. He did not buckle under strain. He got missions done.

But below that surface, Emiliano was computing. He was not a loyalist. He was a survivor.

​

Character Stakes
At 40 years old, Emiliano Mazanetti knows he doesn’t have many years left in him—not in a job where failure means death, and hesitation means execution. He doesn’t serve the Combine out of belief. He serves because there’s no other path left. The soldiers under his command, many younger and far less trained, rely on him. And while he may not love them, he won’t throw their lives away without reason.

Retirement in the Tuscan countryside lost out to him a long time ago. City 1 is his universe these days. He has only one ambition: to outlast it. To work out a way out—whatever that may be. A ticket to a better posting, off-world assignment, or a terminal op in which the payoff is something other than one more day in uniform. He knows the game: Either you rise, or get buried. And Emiliano Mazanetti has not yet prepared for a hole in the ground.

​

 

[Malic]

“Treat a man as he is, and he will remain as he is. Treat a man as he could be, and he will become what he should be.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Spoiler: App Requirements

Steam Name: malic150
Discord Name: cilam
Previous Rule Violations: I think I was warned once in 2022 for breaking a camera when there weren't enough CivPro online.
STEAMID: 76561197994261513

Character Name: Char'thull, OR Caster
(if applicable) Role: Biotic Worker
Faction: Vortigaunt

Spoiler: Theme Song

Character Backstory:
​

Char'thull's tribe, if you could call it a tribe, had known the callous bite of the Nihilanth's yoke long before he was made manifest. As a younger Vortigaunt in the labor pool he was put to work early and submitted to harsh conditions tending to physically scarring tasks. As a result of this, his already green skin is sickly and raw due to exposure of the many caustic chemicals he has been exposed to. His breathing itself is laborious. Large eyes frequently cast downward.

When the walls to another dimension fell, and Char'thull was given a few years brief glimpse of freedom he did not seize upon it or even truly enjoy. Between his unexpected arrival on Earth and the Seven Hour War he found himself exchanging Industrial labor for a thing called currency he seemingly never comprehended, and though the labor was less cruelly excised from him nor nearly as intensive as his prior employment; the complexities of that brief glimpse of freedom proved daunting.

Rejecting any connection to the Vortescence, the Seven Hour War and the manacles which followed after were perceived by him initially as a blessing. Ever since he was often spotted among the workshifts or with broom in hand. Something subtle shifted in him some years out though, the contrast of his newer life versus that brief window of freedom. In his often haggard heard the thoughts on the matter have resolved through the course of years of obedience.

Despite all the confusion that came with the freedom, Char'thull, or Caster as he was eventually dubbed for his mastery of metal working, the young Vortigaunt suddenly found himself yearning for small aspects of the freedom that had once been foist upon him so many years ago now. With a complete lack of any real freedom in the present or connection to his kin, Casting has been growing nostalgic for the brief glimpse of freedom he had been given. Even a hint of regret for how things resolved has begun to creep up into his mind, though not yet acted upon.

That is, until one week ago. After a particularly grueling workshift that left even the Civil Protection officers exhausted watching the work; Caster stepped out into the streets and grabbed his trusty broom to begin sweeping, and then... didn't. Having found himself on an industrial back alley with not a soul in sight, and just out of glimpse of the cameras, Caster found himself taking what he had once not understood at all during his time working on Human owned factories. A break. It was short, but nice, and the notion of it still rattles around in his mind as his first conscious act of rebellion, though he suspects others would disagree.



Character Stakes: Between bouts of hard labor, Caster will be seeking a deeper understanding of the very nature of freedom versus slavery through the duration of Dark Interval.

 

[Czesui]

Spoiler: OOC INFORMATION

Steam Name: Czesui
Discord Name: Czesui
Previous Rule Violations: A warning for metabait
STEAMID: 76561198163915061

Spoiler: IC INFORMATION

Character Name: Mike Visser
Role: Conscript Corporal
Faction: City One Conscripted Stabilization Force
Side Note: Character from the "Malefactors" prequel event (guard)

​

---

[from left to right]:
Cpl Visser (Pvt at the time), Pvt Adams, Sgt Martinez. During perimeter patrol, December 20XX

Backstory:​

THE PAST​

Mike Visser, born 1969 in Newburgh. He spent almost all of his life in that little town. He was able to pass high school with decent grades and that’s where his achievements end. Unable to hold a steady job for more than couple of months, bouncing between work places, it took him a while to score a semi stable job. In 2000 he managed to get hired in Green Haven Correctional Facility as a CO. Pay was decent, home was close. There was really nothing to dislike about the job, well except for the inmates. To him they were nothing more than a bunch of lousy ungrateful bastards, who despite being given a fair chance in life chose to spit on everything that he valued. Still, he did what he had to, keeping those animals in line. That "dream" lasted for about a year.​

THE BEGINING OF THE END​

[REDACTED] 2001, day that changed everything. It’s not like he couldn’t tell something big was going on before that damn storm arrived. First the incident in New Mexico that was all over the news, then the curfew being declared across the state. National Guard and Army running around like some spooked chickens. He knew something was brewing, but he never thought it would be something like this. The portals, hordes of creatures attacking everyone and everything. Horrors beyond anything one could imagine. It was hell on earth... and yet he prevailed, escaping GHCF and managing to link up with some off duty National Guard soldiers near NYC. It didn’t take long for him to start to look for his family, trying to protect them no matter the cost. After that, it was all history.​

TIME OF CHANGE​

That was 20 years ago. Times have changed, the new Overlords rule over the entire globe with an iron fist after wiping out any feeble “resistance” Earth could muster. But for Mike not much changed. Rules may be different now, but his goals and priorities remain the same. Besides, the “Combine” provided him with an opportunity to do something he always wanted to. Be a soldier. Before it was the concern for his family that prevented him back from joining, but now? Now it’s the main motivating factor for signing up. He knows how to shoot, had previous experience working in a law enforcement, understood when to listen and follow, how the hierarchy works. That can go a long way, and at least now no one complains about his anger issues.​

THE PRESENT​

And so the Conscripted Force it is. Joining as a volunteer, a rarity for this formation. He managed to survive thus far, even got some recognition for what he did. “Rewarded” with a promotion to the rank of Corporal. On the other hand he saw horrors one shouldn’t see, did things that before the “liberation” he might have regretted. But that’s how world is now these days, no one is innocent, no soul is without a sin of its own. That concept died a long time ago. It doesn't matter, in the end it will all be worth it. At least he keeps telling himself so.​

---

Character Stakes​

There is only one thing in Mike's life that matters, only one thing that makes him do what he does, that pushes him to keep on going every single day. His family, currently residing within the walls of the Combine City. Keeping them safe from any potential harm and providing for them is his primary objective. He wishes to build a future where his daughters could live without having to worry about the dangers that roam the outside world. He must keep them safe, his beloved angels, no matter the cost, no matter how much he would need to sacrifice he will see to it that they do not get hurt. He already lost so much, no more, never again. If it means he has to give away his life, his humanity, his soul, then so be it. It’s not like he hasn’t done things he’d regret before anyway. Loyalty out of necessity or maybe because of conviction? Remains to be seen. Alles for familie…​

---

 

[dubik15]

I am applying for 2 characters.

Character One:

---

PARTIAL APPLICATION TEMPLATE:

Steam Name: Dubik15
Discord Name: dubik15
Previous Rule Violations: none that I am aware of
STEAMID: STEAM_0:0:138083386


Character Name: Aina Noor
(if applicable) Role: Civil Protection I5
(if applicable) Tagline: Union-632
Faction: Civil protection​

 

[Sync]

Civil Protection Sign Up Steam Name: synccreeps Discord Name: synccreeps Previous Rule Violations: 1 Day reduced ban in 2022 for member of metagame discord & 2 Warnings in 2023 STEAMID: STEAM_0:0:120420347 Character Name: Noah Fortin Role: Intention 3 Tagline: King-201 Faction: CivPro​

 

[CreekMando]

Steam Name: Türker
Discord Name: turker_r_16348
Previous Rule Violations: 3.0 - You can never mug, raid, or do heists on bases for the simplicity of greed. - Marco (IN-GAME)
STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:942020886

Character Name: İskender Büyük
(if applicable) Role: Worker
(if applicable) Tagline: N/A
Faction: CWU (Western Standard Industries)

Denied. Left the community.

 

[Illithid]

FULL APPLICATION TEMPLATE:




Steam Name: Illithid
Discord Name: spell.jammer
Previous Rule Violations: None
STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:87273099

Character Name: Patrick Allen
(if applicable) Role: Vice President of The City One Times (C1T)
Faction: The City One Times (MOE/ISD)

Character Backstory:


Born and raised in City 1, Patrick Allen rose the ranks in the City's very own news department The City One Times after years of work (along with the occasional deals) to reach the position of Vice President. The work is ruthless, and many a head is in the clouds as the credits flow, but that kind of life style is something Patrick takes a great love for- and, something he's not prepared to give up.

His work as an editor was questionable, at best, and there's plenty of voices out there who doubt whether or not he actually earned his place atop the castle. Some say he got there with shady deals, others say he orchestrated a take-over, but despite all that he knows he's right up there, sitting in his ivory tower, doing some sort of work.

In reality, the work he does is one he likes to keep quiet about. Despite his flashy lifestyle, and insurmountable ego, he's not without a dangerous face hidden behind a gaudy mask. While he claims to be Vice President, his actual duties revolve around 'lexicographical disinfection', an excessively complex and vague enough responsibility that gives him the power to pick and choose what comes through, and what doesn't.

However, he is not alone at this. His fellow Vice President, Paul Bateman, has been his long-standing friend and ally throughout all of this. At times tensions have risen high, even over some of the most minor pieces of paper, but in the end they've both held each others' backs and come out on top.

Character Stakes: (Why are they in City 1? Are they intending to gain or seek something?)
Patrick Allen's got a big stake in City 1. His position of leadership grants him luxuries that he does not want to lose, no matter what. In addition, the control he has over the media has proven intoxicating, to the point that he meticulously ensures no one is able to knock him off his pedestal. He takes joy in manipulating the public opinion, and is more than prepared to use that to achieve even trivial goals if he has to.

 

[atlassu]

Steam Name: atlassu Discord Name: atlassu Previous Rule Violations: N/A STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:535870915 Character Name: Antonio Castillo (if applicable) Role: i5 (if applicable) Tagline: Jury 349 Faction: Civil Protection

 

[MrTuki]

FULL APPLICATION TEMPLATE:

Steam Name: Tuki
Discord Name: Tuki | tutucathefrog
Previous Rule Violations: 1 day ban (It was ages ago)
STEAMID: STEAM_0:0:147382627

Character Name: Zoh'kar-than
(if applicable) Role: Freed Vortigaunt
(if applicable) Tagline: N/A
Faction: Vortigaunt

Character Backstory:

​

Spoiler: Backstory

Zoh'kar-than was born into servitude, like most of their kind back in Xen. Life under the Nihilanth wasn’t really life. It was just repetition. Endless labor, silence, and torture. They spent years in factories building weapons for the Hulkabin, never questioning, never dreaming. There was no purpose beyond obedience.Then came the resonance cascade.One moment, they worked. The next, thrown into a war. Teleported into a strange place on Earth, surrounded by death and confusion. Black Mesa. Zoh'kar-than had no choice.

When the Nihilanth died, something shifted, changed. For the first time in their existence, Zoh'kar-than heard... Nothing. No commands. No pressure. Just stillness. They were free, but stranded. Lost on a world they didn’t understand, with memories they couldn’t forget and they regretted.They wandered west. The East was Combine territory, and even from afar, Zoh'kar-than could feel the weight of that control. The West, though? Twisted, wild, dangerous. It felt familiar, like home. Eventually, they found others, Vortigaunts like them, survivors who had broken free. Kin. They had settled deep in the Xenian Malignance, hidden from the Combine, living on the edge of something new. It wasn’t peace, not really, but it was theirs, a place to call home.

They weren’t alone, either. The Patriots were there too, human resistance fighters, mostly former soldiers and runaways. There had been a fragile alliance between the Patriots and the Vortigaunts. Not out of trust, but need, it was that or dying to the combine and CCR patrols. Both sides wanted the same thing: to be left alone. No Combine, no masters, no war, peace.But the Patriots’ leadership was in shambles. No orders, no coordination, just scattered fighters doing what they could to survive. Their commanders had either gone silent or disappeared entirely.
Zoh'kar-than had enough of trying to keep the alliance going, the cracks were already showing.That’s when he met the Wanderer, the Grand Elder, the second one they had ever met in their long lifespan. No one really knew where the Wanderer came from, they simply... Wandered. Zoh'kar-than spoke with him during one of the last calm nights before it all went to hell and took a nosedive into shit. The Wanderer warned him: leave the area. Get out while he still could.But Zoh'kar-than stayed. He couldn’t abandon his kin. Not after everything they’d built and suffered. Not after what they’d already lost. He believed they had a chance. That maybe, just maybe, they could hold on.Then the missile hit.

The Combine launched that radioactive payload into the heart of the Malignance. Everything burned. Their kingdom, their home, the survivors, the future they were trying to build, gone in an instant. The Patriots fled or were wiped out. Conscripts swept through the ruins, rounding up any surviving Vortigaunts or Patriots.Zoh'kar-than barely escaped. Injured and alone, they vanished into the wreckage.

For weeks they hid, until a familiar face found them: a Shaman, one of the few who had made it out. The Shaman was calling for help. The High Elder had been captured and taken to City 1, and if they didn’t act soon, all hope would be lost. Now, Zoh'kar-than walks that path again. For revenge, for the lost kin, for each drop of their blood that fell onto the ground in each battle they took part of, they bled and suffered for their kingdom, it is time for the combine to feel how it is to lose everything.

​

​

Character Stakes:
Everything is at stake for him.

If he dies, he loses the chance to avenge his fallen kin and make the Combine feel the weight of what they’ve done. More than that, he loses the chance to return home, to rebuild the XMZ, to leave no legacy for the younger ones to follow.

 

[Rogueban]

Steam Name: Veteran
Discord Name: veteran0_0
Previous Rule Violations: N/A
STEAMID: STEAM_0:0:503581175

Character Name: Dean Walker
Role: Corporal
Tagline: N/A
Faction: City One Conscripted Stabilization Force

 

[Curbalas]

Spoiler: OOC Information

Steam Name: Curbalas
Discord Name: curbalas
Previous Rule Violations: An expired ban
STEAMID: STEAM_0:0:97676126

Character Name: Nurr-Gaka'Chii
Faction: Vortigaunt | Free

Character Backstory:

A vortigaunt resided within the Xenian Malignancy Zone for years, and his rest never went punished throughout his life within the Zone. He hunted, he killed, he studied and he survived. All for the conclave within the Malignancy Zone. Nurr-Gaka'Chii was devoted to his tribe, no savagery signs could've been seen from this individualistic vortigaunt, and he felt that this peace of his will keep resuming until the end of the Ula'thoi.

Yet, something happened. A great disturbance in the vortessence, the Master of the West has returned to the vortessence and the effects could've been felt by all vortigaunts withing the XMZ, Nurr-Gaka'Chii being one of them. The conclave knew that relentless terror was approaching to the zone, and they had to either prepare to defend the zone with the vortigaunts they had, and the amount of xenian creatures they had under control. The Genesis Pit, destroyed after a few minutes. Doom was approaching to the conclave, and every single one of them felt it.

And the soldiers of Ula'thoi, the Ula'rumden, Ula'nohaa-grun, Ula'krii, Ula'gruh and Ula'nohaa came. They all marched through the zone, killing everything in sight, the Vortigaunts could not handle another homeworld invasion with the amount of vortigaunts they had in their hands. Only one option remained, split and escape from the Zone, nothing is worth within the zone anymore now the Genesis Pit is eradicated. It is time the vortigaunts went somewhere else, and get in contact with the Patriots.

Somewhere in the road, the conclave encountered a group of Overwatch Transhuman Arm, which they have lost to, Nurr-Gaka'Chii, one of the fews who have escaped the onslaught witnessed the capturing of the High Elder, this was felt throughout the vortessence as well, and Nurr-Gaka'Chii had no other choice to save the High Elder, as the vortessence commanded him.

He began his journey to City One.

Character Stakes:

SAVE THE HIGH ELDER.
GET REVENGE FROM ULA'THOI.
ALLIANCE WITH THE PATRIOTS.
DESTRUCTION OF ALL ULA'THOI REMNANTS WITHIN AMERICA.
MUST. SUCCEED.
IF DEATH IS IN QUESTION. SACRIFICE YOURSELF FOR GREATER GOOD.
​

 

[boots]

Steam Name: boots
Discord Name: giurlani
Previous Rule Violations: N/A
STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:194599358
​

Character Name: Tao Toshiaki
(if applicable) Role: Intention 5
(if applicable) Tagline: XRAY-626
Faction: Civil Protection
---
Character Name: Damian Idris Osmond
(if applicable) Role: Foreman
Faction: Civil Workers Union

 

[Dr. sandu]

Spoiler: OOC

Steam Name: Dr. sandu
Discord Name: dr.sandu
Previous Rule Violations: None
STEAMID: STEAM_0:0:34707974

THE MIND FORGETS

THE BODY REMEMBERS​

Character Name:

Mara'kith Vahh

Faction:
Vortigaunt / Free

Backstory:
Long is the life for a vortal, but it is no quarantee of wisdom. The hand often moves without reason, guided by instinct. Mara'kith Vahh is the standard of their species, some few centuries of age, a weaver by trade. Long have the years been in service of others, until their collective arrival to the realm of humans. Now they wander the suffocated planet, another victim of the war against those who Combine.
Mara'kith Vahh remembers the events prior to the present well, in the West. Deadly perhaps to others, the Xenian Malignant Zone was a paradise for vortal kind, a second home. They fought with their kin, tooth and nail, in defense of this sanctuary. However the vortigaunts and their remaining allies were outmatched and outnumbered. When the missile hit, the effects were felt by all those bound by the threads of vortessence, far and wide.
Death and destruction would follow, the growth of the Zone stumped. The many pawns and machines of the Ulathoi making certain few survived, and even fewer escaped. Concealment in the outskirts and wildlands were the only option for Mara'kith Vahh and their remaining kin. They moved without purpose or direction for many rotations of the moon, making temporary camps and refuges as they passed through.
Now as they linger on the outskirts, a message of utmost urgency is suddently felt by the survivors. One of the few remaining ancient ones, a High-Elder has been captured and sent to the bastion of the West, the Ulathoi fortress known as City One. Now Mara'kith Vahh looks towards this highly guarded seat of power and begins another journey to undermine the tight grip of their ancient foe.​

Character Stakes:

High Elders are considered one of the most powerful entities currently on Earth, and the loss of another one in such a short span of time would deal another grievous blow to those that resist the reign of the Combine, especially so to vortigaunts. Mara'kith Vahh could not prevent the death of the Master of the West, nor the destruction of the Malignant Zone, but they hope to prevent another disaster of such caliber. They will bring all they have to offer for any attempt to once again bring the High Elder to their rightful place amongst their kin.

 

[MazuzaM]

Steam Name: MazuzaM
Discord Name: mazuzam
Previous Rule Violations: N/A
STEAMID: STEAM_0:0:520927466

Character Name: Kaito Mizuno
(if applicable) Role: i4
Faction: Civil Protection

 

[Aquilifer]

Steam Name: Billy Flowers
Discord Name: aquilifer222
Previous Rule Violations: N/A
STEAMID: STEAM_0:1:449951420

Character Name: John Barnes
(if applicable) Role: i5
(if applicable) Tagline: Jury-274
Faction: Civil Protection

​

 

[bones]

Spoiler: OOC INFORMATION

Steam Name: bones
Discord Name: sir.redrum
Previous Rule Violations: 1 warning.
STEAMID: STEAM_0:0:884766213

Character Name: Aldo ████████-██████████
Role: Sergeant
Faction: Conscripted Stabilization Force

Character Name: Na'tak-Kalek
Role: Freed Vortigaunt, Adult
Faction: Vortigaunt

Spoiler: ALDO - BACKSTORY

Character Backstory:



Formerly Lieutenat. █-█ of the Arctic Expeditionary Force, now demoted to Sergeant under the outcome of Tribunal █████-██. Aldo now serves at the rank of Sergeant following disciplinary action. Formerly attached to the Arctic Expeditionary Program, Aldo was reassigned under Directive ███████-█, after charges of █████████████, failure to execute ██████████, and unsanctioned ████████████████ were reviewed and struck from his record. Despite his volatile command history, his operational performance and survival index remained consistently above standard field thresholds.

During his prior deployments, Aldo led sweep squads through the irradiated canal blocks of Rosario, fortified breach sectors on the Green (Atlantic) coastline, and intermittent blacksite pacifications in █████████. His unit was among the first to enter the failed penal colony in Greenland following the riots. After recovering from injuries suffered during multiple deployments, Aldo was reassigned to the Arctic campaign.

Aldo underwent advanced sub-zero endurance training at the ████████ Compound and underwater operations exercises. Deployments during Operation ████████████████ in Antarctica earned Aldo recognition from his peers and high-command. He was subsequently sent on multiple operations along the Northern and Southern poles. Later in his career acting as a training-liaison for extreme-climate conditioning, specialization training, and ██████████ ████████ training.

Following disciplinary action Aldo has now been redeployed to City One. His file has been tagged with operational authority with oversight required.



Character Stakes: Deployment to City One. Another day, another mission.

Spoiler: NA'TAK-KALEK BACKSTORY

Character Backstory:




Peace has rarely been known across the Vortal Realms. From civil war and conflict to the enslavement of the Nihilanth, now these creatures serve the Universal Union - the same Union that had once annihilated their homeworld. The Grand Elder now serves their fate in shackles. Bound in their flesh yet their minds remain unbroken. Na’tak-Kalek heard the calls for aid from the Shaman and arrived in these lands to assist in the cause.

Na’tak-Kalek lived their life only in the Nihilanth’s domain before arriving on earth. Serving as a soldier of the Nihilanth, they were forced to fight tooth and nail during the resonance cascade. Barely surviving the initial invasion they escaped into the wilderness and reunited with some of his kinsmen. Now no longer wearing the weight of servitude, Na’tak enjoyed this new found freedom developing their survival and hunting skills on this new world.

When the Combine invaded once more during the Seven Hour War. Na’tak-Kalek and his tribe found themselves on the run once more. Fleeing capture for many, many years. Their numbers dwindled over time and the liberation of this world was looking more and more desperate. When the calls were heard from the Shaman, Na’tak-Kalek quickly made their way over to reunite with the remaining survivors on the east-coast. It seems that the next step towards liberation of their kin is to free the Grand-Elder from their captivity. Perhaps they will have more answers… perhaps they are the key to victory.

Character Stakes: Serving the Shaman. This one seeks the liberation of the Grand Elder from the Combine’s grasp.