NAME: Preston Ryker
AGE: 38











Agility
Endurance
Strength


Will
Street smarts
Intelligence


Manipulation
Kindness
Attractiveness


Master 2 alertness and firearms

Practiced 4 athletics, intimidation, stealth, and mechanics

Average 6, streetwise, driving, subterfuge, tracking, interrogation, unarmed combat

Bad 2 gardening cooking


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Character

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Ryker was a tall powerfully built man. Measuring in at 6 feet 3 inches tall and weighing 230 lbs he was built more like an NFL linebacker than a basketball player. He had dark brown hair kept a little long and shaggy. He often had braids or cornrows to keep it out of his eyes and brown almost black eyes. One could tell at a glance that violence was his profession and it was a profession he excelled at. Numerous scars and tattoos criscrossed his body with the two most noticable being the massive scar on his left shoulder that continued up his neck and across his left jaw, and the tattoo on his left forearm with a rifle scope crosshairs that had angel wings and a Halo.

Preston grew up in a small border town in southwest Texas. He was a decent student but nothing extraordinary by any means. In fact growing up the middle child of 5 boys he seemed to be absolutely average and unremarkable in every way. To most people he was almost invisible and entirely forgettable. And he remained that way until his senior year in highschool. That year his body finally decided to make up for lost time and almost overnight he grew 4 inches and packed on 40 lbs of lean hard muscle. His soft boyish features hardened into chiseled good looks that seemed to turn heads wherever he went.

  Just before graduation Preston and a girl he had recently began dating were parked out in the scrub making out in the bed of his old pickup under the stars when suddenly several men appeared out of the dark. Shouting in spanish they rushed the young couple and holding them at gunpoint they took the girl and knocked Preston unconscious. When he woke a short time later he was surrounded by flames and the searing pain wracked his body as his flesh was burned and blackened by the heat of his burning truck. He was able to kick out the windshield and escape the conflagration despite the severe burns. He stumbled through the desert most of the night until just before dawn he reached the highway and passed out along the shoulder of the road. When he woke he was in the hospital burn ward with his shoulder neck and face bandaged tightly. In the following months the sheriff concluded that the attack was from cartel members smuggling contraband across the border. His girlfriend was never found.

Preston became withdrawn, quiet, hostile, and aggressive. He had taken to drinking and often vented his hatred in drunken brawls. He remained that way for several years until one night while sleeping it off in the local drunk tank one of the deputies muttered something that forever changed Rykers life. "if this big sonuvabitch put this much effort into hurting these cartel bastards half our job would be done!"

That got him to thinking. A few weeks later he applied for a job at the sheriff's office. With his record the sheriff was very hesitant to give Preston a chance but he was insistent. So after awhile the sheriff gave in and have him a chance. Preston excelled during his academy training and his rookie year as a partial cop. But as much as he excelled it wasn't enough. He felt that there was more that he could do. He then applied and was accepted for SWAT and he took to the training with relentless fervor. When he wasn't working he was training. When he wasn't training he was spending time with his family as they had remained very close. After 5 years on the SWAT team Ryker was still left feeling dissatisfied. Despite everything he had done he felt that he hadn't been proactive enough as he saw the reach and power of the cartels grow. He was driven to do more. Against the advice and will of his friends and family, Preston requested a transfer to the DEA undercover unit. Because of his record along with his intimidating demeanor he looked the part of a merciless sicario. He was quickly put into deep cover and spent another seven years infiltrating the Santa Blanca cartel until the world fell apart. When the virus swept through Texas and he watched in satisfaction as the cartel literally and figuratively tore itself apart he finally buried the last of his family, loaded up his truck, and grabbed his guns. He just drove. He didn't have any idea where. He just followed the road until the tank ran dry. Then holstering his pistol, slinging his shotgun and carrying his rifle he began walking intent on killing every infected person he saw until he too became one of them.