Name: Linus Robertson
Sex: Male
Age: 34
Appearance: Linus is a thirty four year old male, just over six foot tall. Pale from much of his working life from working deep within the bowels of a CDC building, he is in shape from years of running to catch the morning bus on the way to work. He has several ring shaped scars on his right arm thanks to the annual CDC vaccination program for it's workers to ensure they are upto date incase of any disease outbreak. At work, he'd typically be wearing a white labcoat with several pens in it's pocket protector before suiting up into a class A hazmat suit, needed to work in the labs below. The suits are fairly heavy, so he has to remain in a modicum of shape to be able to properly move around in one, but years of handling glass vials containing world ending virological samples has left him walking around surefooted and careful - in his line of work it's better to carefully make ten steps than to make fifty steps and slip.
Occupation: CDC virologist.
Backstory: Linus's parents were both doctors, his mother a nurse and his father a surgeon. Blessed from birth with a strong immune system discovered when the flu went around his school and he not once got ill and in addition to enjoying helping people, like looking after his elder brother after he came down with the very same flu led to him quickly following in the family business of medicine. Graduating at the top of his class (Not getting ill and being pushed hard work wonders when it comes to studying), he quickly earned his scrubs in the medical profession as an intern at the hospital where his parents work before joining with the CDC as a virologist, naturally being suited to field work in areas of southeast Asia and war torn Africa where the spectres of Cholera, TB and Pneumonia still reaped. It was on one of these foreign aid missions where he met his future wife, a young lady named Cassandra Wilkins, who was a foreign aid worker from the United Kingdom. They quickly fell in love and she returned with him to New York, where she took up a job working at a nearby dentist. It was at this time that Linus's years of hard work finally paid off and he was removed from the field duty roster and instead transferred to working at the nearby CDC building with a slight raise. There he would fight his part in the ongoing war against the horrors of disease, horrors that he had witnessed first hand on his field missions.
With his parents support, he would communicate with them to get their advice on things at both work and in his day to day life, such as how does Inhibitor Alpha-4 impact adrenal production or what would be a good colour to paint the baby's room? Speaking of babies, Linus and his beloved wife are now trying to start their own family after they moved into a bigger house in the suburbs following Linus's promotion. With everything looking so good for the family, what could go wrong?

Name: Jon Winters
Sex: Male
Age: 31
Appearance: 5'11 with light skin, tousled brown hair and hazel eyes. His wardrobe is dominated by cheap slacks and poorly ironed dress shirts in muted tones.
Occupation: Unemployed. Formerly a data entry clerk for a landfill management firm.
Back-story: Beginning life as a child prodigy, my parents and teachers had high hopes for Jon. He instantly picked up concepts his peers would struggle with for years and he revelled in his superiority. But he did little to capitalize on his head start and over the years his classmates caught up to him. Stricken by the realization that he was not special, Jon drifted through the rest of mandatory schooling, doing only enough not to draw attention to himself. He completed his schooling with passable grades and passable social standing but those who knew him noted that seemed distracted, as if waiting for something grand and interesting to finally arrive.
Jon drifted into a job doing paperwork for landfills, a profession which did not offend him very much and therefore did not seek to change. Filling his day with work and his nights with Diet Cola and the Home Improvement Network, Jon successfully reached 31 without causing much inconvenience to anyone. This benchmark held no special importance for him, and like most of his birthdays went by entirely unnoticed by Jon. But on the first day of spring, in his first spring of being 31, Jon swivelled his desk chair to peer out his window. Windows were a rare privilege for workers of his level but seniority and luck had gifted him this several years ago. As he gazed down on the company parking lot, something stirred inside of Jon. He turned back to his paper work and with great calm and precision folded every memo and receipt and tax return and invoice into paper planes. He carefully placed those aside and scoured his small office for more paper. Filling his work space with the folded aircrafts he began to draw whispers from neighbouring co-workers, but they did nothing. Driven by something great and unexplainable Jon threw open his office window and let his creations take to the smoggy skies. The winds were strong and every piece of paper work embarked on a great journey across New York City.
Jon was fired from his job and was fined heavily by the city and though this put him in a difficult spot financially, he did not seem particularly bothered. After cleaning out his office Jon went home to his apartment and waited.

Name: Ben Jawson
Sex: Male
Age: 26
Appearance: A broad-shouldered man of 6' with a shaven skull and sunken, bloodshot grey eyes, teeth visibly grinding to powder from a jaw permanently clenched.
Occupation: Small-time Drug Dealer
Background: Where there is a market there exists the consummate merchant, embodiment of their field.
He does not care about the quality of his product except that it has the grade, качества, quality to satisfy the purchaser.
He does not care about the end of his product, only that it is shifted to his gain.
Jawson is a human consequence, an accident of birth that went too far, a crumbling shell limping into the future with a Kalashnikov for a crutch. From his cramped safe house flow packets of psychoactives, anesthetics, amphetamines, bricks of freebased cocaine, tranquilizers, crude heroin, ketamine - and for his fine work in redistribution, Jawson exacts some of the supply current for himself, spending days at a time locked outside of our reality. One day a vessel will burst in Jawson's brain and finally stop his misery; but for society, this day is too far ahead.
It is noted that he has one ally within his field, a corrupt officer turned fellow drug dealer.

Name: Roland Black
Sex: Probably a guy but you never know these days
Age: 47
Appearance: An aged, balding individual, whom the years have treated with a mild dose of respect. Coated with a partial head of black hair and a mild goatee, Roland has the appearance of a well meaning uncle. His years with the NYPD have kept him in the habit of personal fitness, which is evident on his toned, bullet-scarred body.
Occupation: Former Cop/Drug Producer
Backstory: Roland is a bad person. Or so he would like to think. Years of rejection and hatred from both his fellow officers, and his friends and family had led him to become a hateful being, especially towards higher authority. Why few ever loved or liked him, he never figured out. Was it his dampening, realist views? His lack of humor? Who knows. All that can be said for sure, is that the only ones who ever seemed to understand him were those that he arrested. The scum of the street. The dealers and the killers. Those that stalked and defiled. The beasts of the city. He could connect with them. He understood the hatred that was directed towards them.
He started working the system. Those that truly appealed to him, he let free, or as free as one could be once caught and tagged. Assistance was given to those that understood him, and in return, he learned what it was like to be them. In return for his humanity (Or lack thereof,) Roland was taught how to properly produce the chemicals and drugs that were so highly regarded in the underbelly of the city which he called home. He learned from the tainted minds that ran the crooked, beautiful world of the night. Trust was earned between groups, and from that, he gained friends. They might not have been the best that humanity had to offer, but they were what he craved the most. While one world shunned him, another accepted him. And this made him happy. For the last three years, thanks to his new found skills, Roland has managed to acquire a modest sum of wealth. Enough to comfortably retire some distant day.
But one day, on the eve of his 47th birthday, Roland let his guard down. And then his world came crashing down. A superior officer found out what he did in his spare time, and from that, Roland's web of lies began to unravel. His apartment was searched, ransacked, and put under watch. In it, police found both his stash of dirty money, and his extensive list of contacts, deals made, and those falsely let out of custody. From that, they were able to find and arrest many of Roland's former friends and business partners. He was now alone.
While evading the police, Roland was fired upon by two former workplace associates. Although he was hit multiple times, Roland managed to return fire and escape. He went to the only place he knew he would be safe, at least for the time being. Ben Jawson. Riddled with bullet holes, and heavily bleeding, Roland reached his only remaining ally's home, and promptly passed out.

Name: Claire Sharp
Sex: Female
Age: 20
Appearance: Pale skin, grey eyes, and long black hair that reaches halfway down her back. 5 feet 3 inches (160 cm). Her hair is usually a mess, purple bags under blood-shot eyes, and smile lines that make her look older than she actually is. Most of her time spent at a computer desk, in a classroom, and at a cash register has left her with a less-than-adequate diet and a lack of exercise, resulting in a thin body not suited for physical labor. For school she wears a wrinkled button down shirt and khakis, and for work, a blue polo shirt with khakis. Not a very diverse wardrobe.
Occupation: College student/supermarket cashier
Backstory: Raised by her father for as long as she can remember, Claire was an okay child. She went to school, got good grades, and stayed up til the crack of dawn messing around with the computer. Being the single child of a working parent, she never suffered from the whole "parents ruining my life" thing that the rest of her classmates seem to have to deal with, and her knack for programming and inability to get a good rest has granted her the ability to instantly fall asleep anywhere, and then wake up at a whisper of her name. Math and science were always easy, and it never took more than a minute to learn a new concept even when half asleep, though her ability to write coherent English papers wasn't exactly up to par, even at full capacity.
Claire had maybe one or two people that considered her a "friend," but unless if they were asking a question concerning her areas of expertise, her response would be a simple stare with partially closed eyes. To everyone else, she was "that sleeping girl" that wasn't even worth throwing a crumpled piece of paper at, let alone socializing with. After finishing high school, her father gave her two options: She pays for her college and he pays for her living expenses, or she pays for the living expenses and he pays for college. She went with the cheaper option, and moved into a cheap one-person apartment and worked at the nearby supermarket for money.
For transportation, she uses a robust 7-gear mountain bike with DIY-looking electric motor setup and rechargeable battery, good enough to get her from home to school to work and then back home with power to spare. If the battery for some reason goes out like that one time when she forgot to recharge it, her legs can pedal with enough strength to go a little faster than a jog.
For keeping things in, a mailbag. Her father used to work for the post office and gave her a bag as a present for one of her birthdays. Holds all of her things, and it's one of the few things that she double-checks to make sure she has with her and ready to go. The other being the bike's battery recharging, because ♥♥♥♥ peddling.
And finally, her keys, which includes the key to her apartment, the key to her father's house, a swiss army knife, an LED flashlight keychain, a USB flash drive, a pepper spray keychain because, well, you never know, and finally a carabiner clip to attach to her belt. The last of the things that she makes sure to double-check, because getting into your apartment is important.

Name: Ryker Whirlow
Sex: Guy
Age: 43
Appearance: A tall Caucasian man, standing at 6'5". He has a medium build - wide, with slumped shoulders. He's fairly muscular, but not in a bodybuilder sense, more in a working man sense. His haircut consists of well-trimmed hair that extends into a chinstrap beard which does not go over his mouth. He has a scar on his right temple, dark green eyes, a straight nose, and a very defined facial structure with a squarish (not absurdly square) jaw. He stands up straight 90% of the time.
His outfit usually consists of dark brown slacks with a belt, a work shirt, and a brown leather bomber jacket handed down to him by his father. He often wears expensive sunglasses when he goes outside.
Occupation: General Physician
Backstory: Ryker was born to John Mc'Hale Whirlow and Linda Anne Mayel, his father being a mortician and bartender, his mother a manager at a fancy clothing store. Growing up, Ryker was fairly alone by choice, choosing to keep to himself rather than make many friends. He's not at all antisocial or anxious about social situations, he simply chose to avoid making friends with others. He gets along well with people, such as his coworkers and patients, though he can be abrasive and rude.
Ryker never got along well with his father. John was an angry, sometimes abusive alcoholic to his wife, but never his son, who he tried to hide he and his wife's issues from. Because of this, Ryker grew to resent his father, despite [his father's] attempts to regain approval from his son. Linda was a very loving mother, and even in the face of an abusive husband, she did her best to make her son happy.
While his father worked in the business of dead people, Ryker wanted to save lives instead, almost in an act of defiance. He started college at the age of 20. His parents funded his undergraduate work and 4 years of medschool, but it put them in a lot of debt. In an attempt to pay off his debts, John got involved in some Bad Things and went missing, presumed dead. His mother is still alive, and lives by herself in a small apartment. At 29, Ryker began an internship at a local hospital, and did 6 years of understudy from senior doctors. At 35, he finally finished all his studies and became a General Physician. He has worked at [name of new york hospital] for 13 years.
Despite being a doctor, Ryker smokes and drinks, likely from influence from his father. He started smoking at 26 and drinking at 19. He tries to do both in moderation, in acknowledgement of the health risks, but he has some issues with that. He typically prefers to smoke cigars.
He now lives in a comfortable apartment in a large highrise, by himself. He likes to hunt and travels to Canada to hunt bear, elk, and various birds annually. His preferred method of transport is an inexpensive red truck, which he's had for 8 years. It isn't doing well. He wears driving gloves when he drives, because he's an ♥♥♥hole like that.
Ryker is beginning to suffer the effects of age and his addictions, and is generally more and more fatigued as the years go on.