Arthur Locke
He/Him
26 years old
Typical
50 kg
Personality
Arthur is fundamentally an observer, driven by an ingrained journalistic curiosity that outlived his old career. He approaches the apocalypse with the calculating caution of someone used to sneaking around shady neighborhoods for a scoop rather than kicking down doors. Socially, he often uses his unassuming nature to his advantage; by playing the role of the harmless, inquisitive survivor, he disarms potential threats and quietly gathers valuable information, noticing details others overlook.
Despite his preference for negotiation and avoidance, Arthur is pragmatic and far from a pure pacifist. When it comes to violence, he views it as a chaotic, messy last resort. If cornered, severely threatened, or forced to protect someone, he possesses the raw nerve to strike first, not hesitating to swing a heavy object or throw a desperate punch to create a window for escape. However, his bravery is entirely adrenaline dependent and lacks any formal combat training. After that initial, explosive strike, he doesn't have a tactical plan, relying instead on his street smarts to retreat, reposition, or improvise his way out of the immediate danger.
Appearance
Arthur is 5'10" with a lean, unathletic build. His narrow frame and slight shoulders make it obvious he lacks any real physical conditioning or muscle mass. He carries himself with a restless, tense energy, often slouching or fidgeting. He has short, messy brown hair and tired blue eyes weighed down by heavy dark bags, giving him a permanently exhausted look. His jaw is square but lean, framed by a few days' worth of rough scruff. His light, easily sunburnt skin is now smudged with dirt and grime from living underground. Overall, he looks exactly like a regular civilian who is deeply stressed out, lacking any intimidating physical presence.
Background
Arthur Locke was never built for the end of the world. Born in a blue-collar Louisville suburb in 1968, he spent his youth accumulating scraped knees and a bruised ego. While the neighborhood kids traded punches and shot cans off fence posts, Artie was usually indoors nursing a sprained ankle. His uncle dragged him to a gun range exactly once. The recoil knocked Artie off balance, the rifle landed in the dirt, and that effectively concluded his firearms training.
He found his shield at age ten in the form of a battered Polaroid. A camera gave him a reason to linger on the edges of a room, observing life instead of fumbling through it. By his early twenties, that coping mechanism had turned into a paycheck. He worked as a junior reporter and freelance photographer for a mid-sized Louisville paper, making rent by covering county fairs and local elections. Meanwhile he gained the nickname Artie.
In the spring of 1992, the news desk started catching strange static. People in Knox County were calling in with stories of weird lights, shifting weather, and voices bleeding out of empty rooms. Hungry for a front-page byline, Artie spent months driving down rural highways chasing the rumors. He found nothing but empty fields and paranoid locals. Pragmatic to a fault, he wrote it off as mass hysteria and went back to shooting bake sales.
Then came March 9, 1993.
Artie was downtown on assignment when the pavement vibrated with a deep, rhythmic pounding. He unzipped his camera bag, anticipating a gas explosion or an earthquake. The reality was much worse. The street physically tore open. Grotesque things clawed their way out of the rift, lunging into the morning crowd. Artie didn’t try to be a hero, and he didn’t try to get the shot. He dropped a thousand dollars' worth of camera gear on the concrete and sprinted.
The following days were a lesson in absolute chaos. Louisville burned. The military collapsed. Hiding in alleyways, Artie watched the dead fall and simply vanish into pools of blood. Terrified and disoriented, he clung to a battery-powered radio until he caught a looped broadcast from the fire department directing civilians underground.
He followed the exodus and stumbled into the Mega Cavern Mega Mall and Hotel. He has been marooned in the subterranean dark ever since. With no family left and zero combat training, his only remaining possessions are a cheap spiral notebook and two ballpoint pens. Artie knows he can’t shoot the monsters roaming the surface. But his journalistic itch is the only thing keeping him sane. He wants the truth behind the rifts, and he plans to survive by doing what he does best: listening, taking notes, and trading secrets with the people brave enough to pull a trigger.
Preseason Ticket Type: None
