WOLFE, J.

JACKSON FELIX WOLFE

Why give up, why give in? It's not enough, it never is. So I will go on until the end. We've become desolate. It's not enough, it never is. But I will go on until the end.

PERSONALITY

risk taker / reckless. having always been a fight over flight type of guy, you can say that jackson's been in quite a few situations he could've avoided altogether if he'd just been a tad more careful. instead, he'd much rather go head on with whatever it is that's threatening him, and take care of it. he doesn't really care what it is, either; scar members, bandits, the infected. whatever makes itself an enemy to him isn't going to get the chance to get one over on him if he can help it. there.. also aren't a lot of method to his madness, when he's out doing things in the streets. he lets things fall into place as they come, unless they're extremely crazy ideas- then he just hopes he's still got a few of his nine lives left.

easily attached. despite the way jax carries himself, he's all more than capable of growing attached to people, and things. he's always easily attached onto anyone who comes close to him, even if he doesn't physically show it. he knows that if he starts hanging around anyone, especially now, that his bond with them will be unavoidable. he doesn't get attached to idiots that just pass by, or girls that don't mean anything to him after they've gotten what they want, but people like survivors, people he works for, are easy targets for his heart to grow towards them. it's one of the main reasons why he can't let himself be around a woman he finds interesting more than few days or so, because he knows that one day, one of them probably isn't going to be there.

the same applies for pets, and personal items, too. anything he can get close to, he never wants it to leave. thus, jackson doesn't allow himself a whole lot of party time with anyone anymore.

sarcastic / sassy. for some reason, sarcasm seems to have become jax's main source of humour. at least, lately. sometimes it's just simple injections, but most of the time, it's how he jokes around, or gets his serious thoughts out without making them sound as serious. his silver tongue works quick when he's in a heated discussion with someone else, however, and it's been known to make it ten times worse for himself on almost every since occasion. it might have something to do with the fact that he can't not sass people back when they show him a single speck of disrespect. then he unleashes his 'don't give a fuck' tongue-whip.

blunt. there isn't a whole lot that jackson can soften when he's speaking to people. he doesn't understand the point in trying to candy coat anything, even if it's for the sake of someone's "feelings." he'd much rather spend less time just getting it out on the table, than sit there, drawling it on longer than it should be brought up. plus, the sooner people were faced with their realities, the quicker they could get over themselves and move on. nine times out of ten, in jax's eyes, it was better to get over whatever it was before you let it kill you. it doesn't mean he's unsympathetic; he just doesn't really verbally show it.

selfish. even from a young age, there's always been something that jackson's want for himself, and it's consumed almost every moment of his waking thinking process. most of the time, it was money, after he was capable of understanding what that was. normally, he'll stop at nothing in order to get whatever it is that he's got his sights on, no matter the cost. it made becoming a mercenary rather easy, when all he let himself think about was the money he was receiving for whatever job he was dirtying his hands with. still, to this day, he finds himself normally always choosing between doing the right thing and going after the unattended pile of supplies, just waiting to be taken.

cocky. now, unlike most guys who're just cocky all the time for no reason, jax usually has a good reason for being cocky. why? because the only times he's usually in your face about how good he is, is right after he's just proven it first hand. you can't get too mad at a guy who's rubbing your nose in his victory after you've just handed it to him, right? okay, so maybe you can. but that's just more fun for his triumphant dance.

lone wolfe. no pun intended. anwyays. jackson has, and generally usually always will be, a lone person. he prefers to be within his own solitude, to let his thoughts run their course, than to be stuck inside a room with another person, sharing their company. it's easier for him to cope if all he has to worry about is himself. and, as much as doesn't like to admit it, it was a lot easier to pretend like the world had gone to hell years before it actually had, so he's rather used to keeping a distance from actual groups, and keeping to himself. it could also be how he's survived so long.


likes,

○ sex
○ narcotics (anything except heroin makes him get giddy)
○ hand to hand combat
○ money
○ music
○ green apples
○ gloves
○ leather

dislikes,

○ witnessing women and / or children suffer
○ scar
○ going toe to toe with a blade / getting stabbed or cut
○ flying / driving / not keeping his feet on solid ground. period.
○ heights
○ talking about his feelings
○ ex girlfriends

habits,

○ swearing
○ smoking
○ playing with the ring located on his middle finger, right hand
○ thinking out loud
○ switching between english, german, spanish, and chinese.

HISTORY

before the infection, jackson's life was a little less than complicated, but not the perfect picket fenced yard, with the perfect family, and front porch - but what could you expect when you grow up in detroit, michigan? not a perfect picture, that's for sure.

his father was an arms dealer for anyone willing to buy his illegal profit, so he was normally out of the state for business, unless it brought him home. even then, whenever jackson and his family did see his father, he was normally either too drunk or too angry to pay much attention to anyone but their mother. luckily, he wasn't the type of man to lay a hand on a woman for any reason other than self defence, but his words were another story. whenever he came home, he normally took his younger sister and tried to keep her occupied with his video games, or music; anything that'd blast louder than their voices. he was never scared of their tones, or their words, but he wasn't so sure about his younger sister, effi, who was five years younger than him.

to say that he was attached to his sister was an understatement. as much as he didn't admit it, or pretended to hate the fact that she always wanted to tag along like a stray dog, he loved her beyond belief. he'd do whatever he had to in order to keep her safe, even if that meant ruining her eardrums with heavy metal, instead of letting her innocence become corrupted like his had from their parents. if he let her believe they were still happily married, then his job was done.

when he turned sixteen, their dad's trips homes started to branch out with the violent words. to the point where jax couldn't even play his bass over the sound of his father's rampage about how he "didn't do anything around the house," or how he was "such a failure, and he'd never amount to anything if he kept his head in the clouds." for years, jackson had kept his head low, did his schooling, tried his best. he didn't join any gangs, he didn't go out all the time to party, and the only drugs he'd ever considered of consuming were natural. and whenever he was home, which was about fifty percent of the time, he was making sure everything at home was going smooth. effi's homework was taken care of because he was there to help her, the housework was contributed.. or, rather, sacked onto his shoulders, but it got done. eventually. but every time dominick came home, he ridiculed his first born, slandered him anyway he could, until jackson had finally had enough.

his favourite bass guitar went smashing into his father's ribcage in a blind rage after dominick had barged into the sixteen year old's room, and proceeded to scream in his face over his music. when his father had reached for his instrument's neck, he saw red. instantly, jackson became the enemy, and it wasn't up to him whether or not he stayed. his bag was packed for him, and unknowingly, his sister supplied some of her paper route savings in one of the pockets, before he was kicked to the street.

it wasn't until he was seventeen and a few months that jackson moved on from detroit's streets; he'd survived without a proper roof over his head for a while, usually going into cage fights to earn some cash if he was too hungry. most of the time he came out with a good portion to last him a weeks worth of meals, so it started to become a casual routine. at least, until he broke the wrong person's nose in the ring, and they came at him in the alley after the bar was closed with a knife. he narrowly escaped with a minor stab to the hip- if it'd been any higher, he might've been a lot more worried. it scared him enough to hitch a ride out of town, though; and he didn't really settle down anywhere for too long, just in case another asshole tried to pull another blade on him.

when he was eighteen, he settled down after finding a friend he could actually count on. he wasn't about to get back into the bass playing, considering whenever he picked up the thing it reminded him of his last moments with his father, but he kindly accepted the job his roommate offered him at the location his band played at. it wasn't so hard being a sound tech, and considering he actually liked the music, he knew what it was supposed to sound like. that helped a lot when it came to dials and frequencies; something a lot of idiots didn't know anything about these days.

it was a nice set up, something he stuck to for about a year and a half, having actually started to plant some roots and connections. it wasn't until he'd received a call from his mother, concerning effi, that that all changed. his little sister had been diagnosed with leukemia, and they didn't have the money to completely cover all of her treatments. naturally, they wanted his help. her most expensive treatment was over ten thousand dollars, and with such a condition, they really had no idea how long she'd be able to hold her own. it severely put him in a hard spot, considering his job only made so much, and he had rent to pay, and all the extra money he had was usually blown on condoms, fast food, alcohol, and pot. he didn't have anything close to a thousand, let alone ten, in his bank account.

this is when he started thinking about the army. only, he knew that he wouldn't be able to handle the constant orders, the in-your-face bullshit. after contemplating his options, he settled on a mercenary group that was looking for new members, training or without. considering he'd have plenty experience with his hand to hand, he at least had something to offer them. after a few training rounds with firearms, they were convinced and gave him his patched jacket, and official Schädel (skull) merc title. he slightly rushed into his first contract, but he had his team to back him up when it was needed, and his hand to hand experienced ended up coming in handy for their stealthy entry. the first payment he received wasn't enough to cover his sisters complete operation, but it was enough to help them keep her comfortable and as healthy as possible. his father, still, refused to acknowledge much of his existence.

after the infection, jackson was in asia, finishing up a contract with his best partner. by the time they'd touched down in their home base, in munich, germany, the infection was already going ramped in north america, and it was spreading alarmingly fast. instantly, jackson's focus became effi, and finding out if his sister - who, with his help, had so far beaten her cancer with the treatments - was alright. she'd been sent to san francisco's hospital because some sort of message had been broadcast for all the majorly sick to be transported to their medical wings. as soon as jax mentioned this to his team, they instantly turned their backs on him, saying that he was crazy to go into the heat of that mess and get himself involved, no matter who it was for. at that instant, jackson became a single man, taking the matter into his own hands. after a swift round kick to his supposed best friend in the back of the kidney, and an elbow to the pilot manning their helicopter, he "commandeered" the flying vehicle.

something he really regretted as soon as he got it flying, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. unfortunately, it only lasted until Washington, dc before he bottomed it out. but, as he prefers, being closer to the ground is always better.

it took him some time to cross the states, considering he had to go across the entire country by himself. or, mostly, at least. he occasionally stuck around to help out some people, but he was on his way whenever he felt like he could leave again. plus, the faster he got to san francisco, the better. between how many cars he had to hot wire, or bikes he had to spark up, it wasn't as long as it could've been, considering. it could've been a lot worse for him to get to the bit bridge. which.. unluckily for him, had been blown out. it'd taken him a year to get there, and now he had to find himself a stupid boat just to cross into the damn city.

when he reached the city, it was impossible for him to stay in one spot for too long. it was crawling, and he had no idea where he was going. his only goals now? finding his sister, and surviving whatever this hell on earth is.

INVENTORY

SURVIVORS are allowed two weapons, and one inventory slot.

○ brass knuckles. considering punching someone in the face generally doesn't make a lot of noise, and it's one of the best things to do without killing someone, these have become jax's favourite "weapon" to use in any situation. it doesn't do much against infected, and it's a little too close for his comfort, but it does wonders on humans.

○ 9mm handgun. for all those times he has to pull out a ranged weapon, jackson's got his trusty handgun. it was his pride and joy when he first became a mercenary, and he's had it since. never used it how he does now, though.

○ skateboard. it seems a little odd, maybe, but jax doesn't change locations without having his skateboard strapped to his bag. he doesn't ride it unless he really has to get out of a situation he doesn't like, but for the most part, he keeps it off it's wheels. it's one of the last mementos he has left of his life before he started the merc bullshit, and it was his favourite passtime, besides music. he's just hoping that it doesn't end up becoming a last minute weapon in a bad situation.

OTHER

there's barely anything that you can't give jax as an item for payment; he's literally like a supply whore, now. you want him to take out a camp of bandits? sure, no problem. just as long as he gets to keep his share. but he's a full on merc, all the way through; he'd rather die for money than die for nothing. so if you've got a higher bargaining chip, he's more than likely going to go with you.

OUT OF CHARACTER