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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Mar. 8th, 2020 07:06 pm | 01 | How's My Driving? 02 | Character Information 03 | Thread Logs 04 | Appointments 05 | Character Relationships 06 | Watch the Movie 07 | Character FST |
[June 9th (Nighttime)]
[Doyle returns from the mission and hopes distantly that the shift placed on him would be gone. It is not, and he's got an insignificant wound that probably needs a few stitches and something to disinfectant. He basically makes a beeline for his place, locks himself up (and may run into people along the way, despite his attempts to be sneaky). He'll just have to wait for it to wear off.
Yeah.]
[Voice]
Can anyone do me a favor? Probably a doctor at the clinic--I need, uh. A kit for stitching up minor injuries, things like that? Something to disinfect a wound? I'm not really in a position to go down to the clinic... If we can arrange somewhere to pick it up, I'd really owe ya.
[If you're in Community Housing 7, you might feel a phantom heat passing through the Floor 3 hallway. Also if you're Doyle's neighbors or you're above or below his room, sorry about the weird heat that seems to bounce around your place. :|]
[June 10th]
[It's getting worse. He's feeling a lot more restricted, a lot more like he's drowning in peak summer heat. Started sweating more; he takes nightly walks like he does sometimes, though more-so to escape how his room smothers him. Eventually, though, he starts to realize that he can't go to the grocery store, or the restaurant, or the item shop. Or the middle of the plaza. Frankly, he realizes he's just shoving heat in people's faces wherever he's at.
There's some joke to be made about making people want to take their clothes off, but he's too tired to amuse it. He temporarily stays in an empty house further back from any people, just until this wears off. Needs food, though. Going to the grocery shop isn't going to work out. At all.
A while later, an anonymous person pens in this handwriting:]
[Written / Anonymous]
I'm stuck in a predicament, and I kinda' need food. If anyone can drop some off at the house I'm staying in, I'd really appreciate it--and I'd owe you one. Just on the doorstep, and I can do the rest.
[If people do decide to help out, he'd appreciate it. He even pens the house number. Just don't be alarmed if you help, or even if you just walk by, that something unceremoniously warm is seeping through the walls of the house. He's got the air on, the fans on, and he's still not feeling too relaxed.
He also goes out and sits at the lake. By the time he's there for an hour, two, he sits in the water and feels some semblance of relief for once.]
[June 11th]
[Fucking hell. Fuck.
He's given up on shirts. He's drinking a lot of water, too. Been sitting in the shower at the unspecified house until he prunes up. It offers a little relief. Not a whole lot. When it starts to rain he goes outside, goes back to the lake, sits in the water, in the rain; he hasn't gotten sick from it yet, so he's not about to stop.
When the rain clears up, he drags himself onto the shore and lays there. He feels too hot. He's going to burn up--they're going to burn him all up, aren't they, those assholes?
Too hot... Ugh... Too hot.
It's raining and overcast and he's laying here suffocating in heat.
What were the odds.]
((ooc: basically anyone within a 10-foot radius will feel like they're in a really hot desert that will progressively get worse the closer they go; the heat is stifling and hard to be around. Another 10 feet after that, there's a mild heat that'll probably be more recognizable on the rainy days. Touching him'll make you feel like you're being burned. Also to note, it only effects living things. So no actual hot objects. :|b
It'll go away before anything gets too intense for him, but he's a little freaked out and anxious and all that.))
[Doyle returns from the mission and hopes distantly that the shift placed on him would be gone. It is not, and he's got an insignificant wound that probably needs a few stitches and something to disinfectant. He basically makes a beeline for his place, locks himself up (and may run into people along the way, despite his attempts to be sneaky). He'll just have to wait for it to wear off.
Yeah.]
[Voice]
Can anyone do me a favor? Probably a doctor at the clinic--I need, uh. A kit for stitching up minor injuries, things like that? Something to disinfect a wound? I'm not really in a position to go down to the clinic... If we can arrange somewhere to pick it up, I'd really owe ya.
[If you're in Community Housing 7, you might feel a phantom heat passing through the Floor 3 hallway. Also if you're Doyle's neighbors or you're above or below his room, sorry about the weird heat that seems to bounce around your place. :|]
[June 10th]
[It's getting worse. He's feeling a lot more restricted, a lot more like he's drowning in peak summer heat. Started sweating more; he takes nightly walks like he does sometimes, though more-so to escape how his room smothers him. Eventually, though, he starts to realize that he can't go to the grocery store, or the restaurant, or the item shop. Or the middle of the plaza. Frankly, he realizes he's just shoving heat in people's faces wherever he's at.
There's some joke to be made about making people want to take their clothes off, but he's too tired to amuse it. He temporarily stays in an empty house further back from any people, just until this wears off. Needs food, though. Going to the grocery shop isn't going to work out. At all.
A while later, an anonymous person pens in this handwriting:]
[Written / Anonymous]
I'm stuck in a predicament, and I kinda' need food. If anyone can drop some off at the house I'm staying in, I'd really appreciate it--and I'd owe you one. Just on the doorstep, and I can do the rest.
[If people do decide to help out, he'd appreciate it. He even pens the house number. Just don't be alarmed if you help, or even if you just walk by, that something unceremoniously warm is seeping through the walls of the house. He's got the air on, the fans on, and he's still not feeling too relaxed.
He also goes out and sits at the lake. By the time he's there for an hour, two, he sits in the water and feels some semblance of relief for once.]
[June 11th]
[Fucking hell. Fuck.
He's given up on shirts. He's drinking a lot of water, too. Been sitting in the shower at the unspecified house until he prunes up. It offers a little relief. Not a whole lot. When it starts to rain he goes outside, goes back to the lake, sits in the water, in the rain; he hasn't gotten sick from it yet, so he's not about to stop.
When the rain clears up, he drags himself onto the shore and lays there. He feels too hot. He's going to burn up--they're going to burn him all up, aren't they, those assholes?
Too hot... Ugh... Too hot.
It's raining and overcast and he's laying here suffocating in heat.
What were the odds.]
((ooc: basically anyone within a 10-foot radius will feel like they're in a really hot desert that will progressively get worse the closer they go; the heat is stifling and hard to be around. Another 10 feet after that, there's a mild heat that'll probably be more recognizable on the rainy days. Touching him'll make you feel like you're being burned. Also to note, it only effects living things. So no actual hot objects. :|b
It'll go away before anything gets too intense for him, but he's a little freaked out and anxious and all that.))
[He's trying to open the journal to get a little insight on what to do with the robots smashing into his house, but he doesn't get very far - the screen falls to the floor and he falls right next to it, captured on the feed resting on his forearms, hissing a sharp exhale and touching the gash on his forehead where they literally threw him into the floor.]
Fffuckin' hell... Not very, delicate are you -
[He looks up over his shoulder - a robotic hand grabs him by the scruff of the collar and he's jerked out of the frame. A few echoes of gunfire. A loud thud. And then the tilted view of robot feet as they pass the journal, still dragging Doyle by the shirt (except this time he's very unconscious). Doyle's legs slide off screen and the video continues to roll regardless of the fact that the struggle's been over.
... Stupid ass droids. They smashed his handgun.]
Fffuckin' hell... Not very, delicate are you -
[He looks up over his shoulder - a robotic hand grabs him by the scruff of the collar and he's jerked out of the frame. A few echoes of gunfire. A loud thud. And then the tilted view of robot feet as they pass the journal, still dragging Doyle by the shirt (except this time he's very unconscious). Doyle's legs slide off screen and the video continues to roll regardless of the fact that the struggle's been over.
... Stupid ass droids. They smashed his handgun.]
[Doyle wakes up often in the middle of a dead sleep with his heart pounding and a swear word on standby, masked in a thin veil of sweat. It's times of the night like these that he slips up out of bed and paces around his room, working his arms and shoulders and leaning against his window until he's too cold to remain there. But if he travels back to his bed and lays back down, he feels smothered. Growls a 'shit', slips on his shoes and jacket, and goes outside to walk.
He's got a bandaged arm from a vampire trying to kill him two days beforehand—stitches and everything—but the thought of being hurt again is illogically pushed aside by the need for the dewy cool outdoors. Whatever. He could deal with vampires over persistent night terrors. It's why he slaps his hand against the windowsill in frustration and goes out for yet another night in a long string of nights.
It's his morning trip, right before the sun rises up over the distant canopy, that he finds something familiar in the shop: it's a sniper rifle scope, without the actual rifle. He rolls it in his hand, humming a sound of contentment. Just a harmless little spyglass as-is, but he appreciates having it. Doyle sits on the bench he'd appeared on two weeks ago and lazily stares through the scope at the people passing. Sorry, man, he feels like snooping on y'all.
When noon is creeping up on him he's out in the forest wandering. Can't do much until his arm's back in full commission, but he can at least go to the lake closest by and practice bouncing some stones across it, or perhaps use that little rifle scope to spy on the nature beyond the lake itself, or even go fishing like he's been working on these last few days (though it's a little less fun when you're working around said arm injury.
It's all slow and quiet and in a way meticulous, but he was alright with it. He simply needed something to occupy his hands with while he thought about things.]
[Voice]
This book is pretty damn good for asking a lot of pointless and not-so-pointless questions, ain't it? Good way to keep your mind focused. I'm sure some of you probably agree by now, especially the old-timers who've been here for a while... but see, the problem is, I'm complete shit at picking out decent questions. Why is the sky blue, what's the numbers for pi, why did the chicken cross the road, etc., etc.
So... how about... [he rubs his chin]
You ask me a question instead, and I'll try to get a good one to throw back at you; don't care what it is, as long as it keeps me occupied. A little company goes a long way. Besides, you guys probably got your own topics you'd rather shoot the breeze with, not my crappy attempts, huh?
[And then after this voice entry, more exploring of course, because Luceti's forests are pretty spacious.
After a while ofboyscouting traveling he gets hungry and goes to eat at the restaurant, but sooner or later he'll get to the bar, because that's just a place he's been finding himself at lately. Sometimes he drinks a little, sometimes he drinks enough to get drunk, and other times he sits in the back and reads a book. Today it's a sensible glass of whiskey next to an old copy of First Blood, and he's thumbing quietly through it in no time while he's at the bar.
He'll shuffle on home, but no doubt end up on one of his nightly or morning walks yet again, with no real destination in mind.]
((ooc: it's dated for the 29th unless you wanna tinker with the date; lemme know.))
He's got a bandaged arm from a vampire trying to kill him two days beforehand—stitches and everything—but the thought of being hurt again is illogically pushed aside by the need for the dewy cool outdoors. Whatever. He could deal with vampires over persistent night terrors. It's why he slaps his hand against the windowsill in frustration and goes out for yet another night in a long string of nights.
It's his morning trip, right before the sun rises up over the distant canopy, that he finds something familiar in the shop: it's a sniper rifle scope, without the actual rifle. He rolls it in his hand, humming a sound of contentment. Just a harmless little spyglass as-is, but he appreciates having it. Doyle sits on the bench he'd appeared on two weeks ago and lazily stares through the scope at the people passing. Sorry, man, he feels like snooping on y'all.
When noon is creeping up on him he's out in the forest wandering. Can't do much until his arm's back in full commission, but he can at least go to the lake closest by and practice bouncing some stones across it, or perhaps use that little rifle scope to spy on the nature beyond the lake itself, or even go fishing like he's been working on these last few days (though it's a little less fun when you're working around said arm injury.
It's all slow and quiet and in a way meticulous, but he was alright with it. He simply needed something to occupy his hands with while he thought about things.]
[Voice]
This book is pretty damn good for asking a lot of pointless and not-so-pointless questions, ain't it? Good way to keep your mind focused. I'm sure some of you probably agree by now, especially the old-timers who've been here for a while... but see, the problem is, I'm complete shit at picking out decent questions. Why is the sky blue, what's the numbers for pi, why did the chicken cross the road, etc., etc.
So... how about... [he rubs his chin]
You ask me a question instead, and I'll try to get a good one to throw back at you; don't care what it is, as long as it keeps me occupied. A little company goes a long way. Besides, you guys probably got your own topics you'd rather shoot the breeze with, not my crappy attempts, huh?
[And then after this voice entry, more exploring of course, because Luceti's forests are pretty spacious.
After a while of
He'll shuffle on home, but no doubt end up on one of his nightly or morning walks yet again, with no real destination in mind.]
((ooc: it's dated for the 29th unless you wanna tinker with the date; lemme know.))
[Action]
[Doyle doesn't wake up slowly; his eyes are open in an instant, and he's staring at a normal sky edged with canopy. It's a little awkward by the fact that he's on a bench in the middle of town. When he looks around and sees wings, and then sees some of you in medieval armor, clothes from the 1800's, or non-human creatures altogether? He lays there for a long while, not bothering to inspect why he's here. Because obviously, none of it's real.
Nope.
He laughs dryly at the air, shaking his head, because wow. Clearly the fire didn't kill him. He's just lying somewhere trapped in a horrifying fever dream before the gas gets to him.
Nope, nope, nope. Cannot deal with this right now. Too tired to budge, anyway. He takes the discarded magazine on the backrest and drapes it over his face, sighing as he folds his arms over his chest. For being a horrible hallucination, he sure feels half-naked and cold.]
I'm not here. Not here.
[He'll sit up after a while and eventually just... watch everyone. Especially those who don't look like they're from 21st century earth. No offense to you guys, he's just confused and trying to figure out how sane he is. And he'll either be set straight by someone who knows this place or he'll come to by himself, but he finally gets off his ass and goes to the clothing store. They were nice enough to let him wear his dogtags right when he woke up, at least. Hits up the bar, too, because.... because. When he speaks up to the weird ass journal he's got, he's only very slightly tipsy. Which is good, because you'll get less overwhelmed responses.]
[Voice]
So. It's really true, is it? The whole... 'other world' thing?
[A pause. He sloshes around the beer in his bottle, as his gaze flicks from the bar to the journal.]
I like it. This whole set-up, it's damn fine with me, good and bad points combined; a lot better than being stuck in my world where your own family and friends could turn around and gnaw your nose off. The longer I'm away from viruses and possible crazy apocalyptic bullshit, the better.
Just wish there was some way of checking in on the people who're still left behind. [Yep, 'left behind'. That's what it feels like, okay? Even if America was alright last he checked, there was a Code Red. Who knows what European countries were fucked. Hopefully the spread was contained well enough. Hopefully.]
Right. Anyway, I'm Sergeant Doyle; Rick Doyle. [Wait.] I guess the 'sergeant' part doesn't really matter anymore... But hey. Cheers, anyway.
[Now he's just got to settle mentally. He'll work on it. Until then, he's staying at the bar to get his head on straight and read through the journals.]
[Doyle doesn't wake up slowly; his eyes are open in an instant, and he's staring at a normal sky edged with canopy. It's a little awkward by the fact that he's on a bench in the middle of town. When he looks around and sees wings, and then sees some of you in medieval armor, clothes from the 1800's, or non-human creatures altogether? He lays there for a long while, not bothering to inspect why he's here. Because obviously, none of it's real.
Nope.
He laughs dryly at the air, shaking his head, because wow. Clearly the fire didn't kill him. He's just lying somewhere trapped in a horrifying fever dream before the gas gets to him.
Nope, nope, nope. Cannot deal with this right now. Too tired to budge, anyway. He takes the discarded magazine on the backrest and drapes it over his face, sighing as he folds his arms over his chest. For being a horrible hallucination, he sure feels half-naked and cold.]
I'm not here. Not here.
[He'll sit up after a while and eventually just... watch everyone. Especially those who don't look like they're from 21st century earth. No offense to you guys, he's just confused and trying to figure out how sane he is. And he'll either be set straight by someone who knows this place or he'll come to by himself, but he finally gets off his ass and goes to the clothing store. They were nice enough to let him wear his dogtags right when he woke up, at least. Hits up the bar, too, because.... because. When he speaks up to the weird ass journal he's got, he's only very slightly tipsy. Which is good, because you'll get less overwhelmed responses.]
[Voice]
So. It's really true, is it? The whole... 'other world' thing?
[A pause. He sloshes around the beer in his bottle, as his gaze flicks from the bar to the journal.]
I like it. This whole set-up, it's damn fine with me, good and bad points combined; a lot better than being stuck in my world where your own family and friends could turn around and gnaw your nose off. The longer I'm away from viruses and possible crazy apocalyptic bullshit, the better.
Just wish there was some way of checking in on the people who're still left behind. [Yep, 'left behind'. That's what it feels like, okay? Even if America was alright last he checked, there was a Code Red. Who knows what European countries were fucked. Hopefully the spread was contained well enough. Hopefully.]
Right. Anyway, I'm Sergeant Doyle; Rick Doyle. [Wait.] I guess the 'sergeant' part doesn't really matter anymore... But hey. Cheers, anyway.
[Now he's just got to settle mentally. He'll work on it. Until then, he's staying at the bar to get his head on straight and read through the journals.]
Thread Logs
Mar. 11th, 1990 10:41 pmA place for individual threads that are not located on Doyle's own journal.
MARCH 18th, 2012 — mikado — Close-quarters Combat's a good way to go.
MARCH 21st, 2012 — shinra — Bloody Mary was a scary bitch.
MARCH 22nd, 2012 — katniss — chillin' at the lake
MARCH 27th, 2012 — anybody — battle dome craziness
MARCH 27th, 2012 — drusilla — this seems like a bad idea
MARCH 28th, 2012 — buffy — and after nearly getting killed by a vampire...
APRIL 1st, 2012 — katniss — Stuck in Panem. Whelp.
APRIL 3rd, 2012 — katniss — so begins the au event
APRIL 3rd, 2012 — adele, rue — I'm just a guy from Panem. You've probably never heard of it.
APRIL 9th, 2012 — post-au log — Baby's first real shift, complete.
APRIL 13th, 2012 — sanji — Grubbin' on Friday the Thirteenth. Cool.
APRIL 20th, 2012 — rainbow dash — ponies, motherfuckin ponies, oh my god
APRIL 20th, 2012 — hughes — Trying to pry us out of the woodwork, huh?
APRIL 25th, 2012 — katniss — You got a litttle. Something.
APRIL 26th, 2012 — thirteen — Pizza. All sorts.
MAY 6th, 2012 — billy — Don't think that'll get you home.
MAY 11th, 2012 — howard — ... Red Scare.
MAY 19th, 2012 — liz sherman — god something is going to kill me
MAY 20th, 2012 — peeta mellark — The kid with the bread.
JUNE 8th, 2012 — shikamaru, adele, mars, arthur, fenimore, obi-wan, viral — Mission: The Flooded Valley
JUNE 17th, 2012 — malnosso [pre-draft] — Oh goody, more fun times.
JUNE 17th, 2012 — katniss [pre-draft] — you won't be alone
JUNE 18th, 2012 — yotsuba — You'll turn into a snowman!
JUNE 18th, 2012 — [draft] anyone ever — Time to battle in spaaaaace
JUNE 25th, 2012 — [draft] Robert — Keeping an eye out.
JUNE 25th, 2012 — [draft] Watson — Get outta' there, strays.
JUNE 25TH, 2012 — [draft] Wolverine — You alright over there?!
JUNE 29th, 2012 — adele leblanc — Looks like you're in over your head.
JULY 4th, 2012 — luke — I'd find myself a girl.
JULY 21st, 2012 -- adele leblanc -- You're singing.
date date date — person — link
date date date — person — link
date date date — person — link
date date date — person — link
Appointments Post
Mar. 11th, 1990 10:34 pm A catch-all post made for threads that don't fit into any particular entry; if you use this, please put the date and the means of communicating in the subject line! I.E., 'August 1st [Written]'.
Character Information
Mar. 11th, 1990 10:25 pm( Character Information )
Doyle was positioned on a rooftop in District 1 along with the rest of the Delta Force snipers squad as part of the Isle's defense. He would scope out citizens that arrive on a train heading into District 1 and spy on them during the night.
Doyle is the only soldier to notice Tammy and Andy escape the safe zone and shortly after the two children are retrieved, a second outbreak of the Rage Virus occurs. As the Infection spreads out of control, Code Red is initialized and the snipers are given orders to kill all the citizens, infected or not. Doyle is forced to kill one his comrades when he is attacked by the Infected, and abandons his post shortly thereafter. He takes shelter inside a warehouse where he meets Major Scarlett Ross, Andy, Tammy, Sam, and two more civilians. While escaping, Doyle receives a message from Flynn, explaining that the military is preparing to firebomb (napalm) all of District 1, and they have four minutes to escape.
Doyle forgets to look for any sign of a sniper and the group is hit by friendly fire; two people are killed and Scarlett sustains a leg wound. Doyle orders Sam to run around the corner in a zig-zag pattern so he can get a shot at the sniper scoping them out. When Sam refuses, Andy runs out into the open to the other side, giving Doyle the chance to kill the sniper.
The remaining survivors escape District 1 via tunnelway, and head toward the rendezvous point, Regent's Park. While at the park, Doyle explains to Scarlett why he left his post, to which Scarlet responds she left hers because the cure to Rage Virus may lie within one of the children, making their lives more valuable than theirs. Doyle receives another transmission from Flynn, informing him that the Infected have escaped District 1 and are headed in their direction. They have less than 60 seconds to escape. Doyle leads the group across the field where he spots the approaching Infected. Flynn arrives and Doyle attempts to explain the importance of Tammy and Andy when a panicked Sam grabs one of the helicopter skids, causing Flynn to veer away from Doyle and the others.
Flynn attacks the Infected head-on with the rotor blades of his chopper, shaking Sam off his chopper's skid in the process and giving Doyle, Andy, Scarlett and Tammy a chance to escape the park. Doyle pauses to take out several Infected with his M4 before following after the others. Flynn tells Doyle to head for Wembley Stadium, the new rendezvous point and get rid of the civilians. By this point, Doyle has abandoned the Code Red objective and focuses on getting the others to safety. When the group is confronted by more Infected and a cloud of poisonous gas, they take shelter inside an abandoned van. The Infected are killed instantly by the gas, however the car fails to start. Doyle spots soldiers with NBC suits and flamethrowers in the rear-view mirror and instructs Scarlett not to take her foot off the clutch until he says so. In the process of starting the car by pushing it forward, Doyle is killed by the flamethrowers.
Personality: Doyle is a typical guy you'd find in the middle of a Beer Cooler Circle, making jokes, being dumb and good-hearted. Or something like that. A stand-up sort of guy to a degree, though he's not above making hard choices in his line of work; he was one to shake his head and do what he was told for a considerable period of time. That was the world they lived in: do your work, get your paycheck, life goes on. Sure, he'd be haunted by some of his work in the army, especially in his particular force, but that's not new to anyone who's been in the service long.
Despite that, he attempts to stay far from world or war-weary, keeping light and remaining surprisingly optimistic, even in the middle of an all-out struggle to keep humanity on the map. He and Flynn joke around quite a bit even with the seriousness of their jobs and the setting itself (though he'd probably not say a 'your mom' joke to just anyone; you're safe, Luceti). A street-smarts type, he has an arsenal of taught and self-learned skills under his sleeve, but it never overshadows the fact that he tries his damndest to keep on the moral side of things. He appreciates humor and dishes it out often, sometimes under the mask of complete snark or a maybe-too-sharp elbow prod. He's a lounger, but he knows when to cut that shit and take up arms and responsibility. His stubbornness is one of his big defining qualities, as he's even willing to disobey orders and deny those orders up until the very end, if he feels it's right.
He knows that things are beyond corruption: it's survival mode, and the government--or what's left of it, anyway--is willing to knock down whoever they can to keep things moving. And he gets it. But it sure as hell doesn't mean he's willing to follow. In that respect he can be a token sort of guy you'd expect in his positionin a movie, wanting to essentially follow his heart over his head. He's resourceful and careful and he knows how to talk to people, especially in a serious situation. And although he's methodical and an overall good soldier--and despite being able to kill a person with ease--he's also selfless at times when it comes to the safety of civilian lives, especially if they hit a chord with him.
He strives well under pressure because if he didn't? Well, he wouldn't be a very good candidate for the Delta Forces, would he? Granted he still slips up from time to time, because he's a normal human who has a brain hiccup on occasion. Only in certain circumstances, human error has a price. The prime example of goofing under extreme stress is when he's trying to get the others out of the district before they napalm it: he leads them not realizing that a sniper ahead still kept his post, and two of the civilians are killed in the process. He beats himself up for these sorts of blunders, as his job's always been the one thing he's excelled at above all else.
He has a habit of peeping, too. Not that he always means to, but considering his job consists of watching people he keeps a sharp eye out and attempts to read people. He's spent a great portion of his life and job trying to understand movements and people's ticks and what-have-you, and in moments where silence is crucial he reads said quietness well.
And yeah, jokester-type guy. Don't fall asleep around him, because he'll probably draw things on your face. Gotta' be done, friend.
... Did we mention the sight of blood makes him queasy? Yeah, he's a sniper who gets queasy when he looks at blood. In the middle of a viral outbreak that involves gross amounts of blood. Kind of weird, huh.
• Rick is his first name. I dare you to joss this, 28 Days Later franchise.
• He's broken his collarbone in a barfight once-upon-a-time.
• He was an only child.
• His hobbies include fishing, wrestling, and reading old lit. classics. Vonnegut and Salinger are pretty cool dudes.
He was born in Crescent City, California on January 5th, 1967, to Pamela and Jeff Doyle. He lived in Crescent City for 10 years, but eventually they moved southward because his father was stationed in Vietnam and his mother was alone in a town that was still reeling from the 1964 Good Friday Earthquake that ravaged the small oceanic town; Pam's family lived in Sacramento and so they eventually settled there, where Doyle would stay until he graduated high school. His parents divorced when he was 15, and despite his desire to live with his father he was not in proper shape to support Rick (having suffered crippling injuries during the war).
He had a very strained relationship with his mother, who was very straight-laced and serious, keeping many harsh regulations on the house, but his relationship with his mother's three brothers and one sister were hardly strained; he often helped out with them and hung out at their homes, finding time to play a sort of big brother role to some of his cousins. When he turned 18 he immediately signed up for the army. It worked it's way from there: eventually he involved himself in Delta Forces, working as one of its snipers. He rarely stayed in contact with his mother after that, seeing her off and on during the holidays; his father and he, however, frequently spoke until his death in 1990 from emphysema. After his father's death he and his mother began to find themselves on semi-speaking terms, and during his stay in London, she made an effort to keep in contact with him through letters, despite the fact that she'd rarely done so prior.
Doyle was off-duty when the first televised report of chaos in Britain came in. Months later, he would be deployed specifically for work in Britain through NATO. Doyle kept a journal of his stay in London during the clean-up, talking about how he had worked jobs such as burning furniture/toys/etc. and trying to quell down any chance of an outbreak resurgence. Doyle was in London for over 4 months before they announced British people would be allowed to re-enter London through it's new District.
28 Weeks LaterDoyle was positioned on a rooftop in District 1 along with the rest of the Delta Force snipers squad as part of the Isle's defense. He would scope out citizens that arrive on a train heading into District 1 and spy on them during the night.
Doyle is the only soldier to notice Tammy and Andy escape the safe zone and shortly after the two children are retrieved, a second outbreak of the Rage Virus occurs. As the Infection spreads out of control, Code Red is initialized and the snipers are given orders to kill all the citizens, infected or not. Doyle is forced to kill one his comrades when he is attacked by the Infected, and abandons his post shortly thereafter. He takes shelter inside a warehouse where he meets Major Scarlett Ross, Andy, Tammy, Sam, and two more civilians. While escaping, Doyle receives a message from Flynn, explaining that the military is preparing to firebomb (napalm) all of District 1, and they have four minutes to escape.
Doyle forgets to look for any sign of a sniper and the group is hit by friendly fire; two people are killed and Scarlett sustains a leg wound. Doyle orders Sam to run around the corner in a zig-zag pattern so he can get a shot at the sniper scoping them out. When Sam refuses, Andy runs out into the open to the other side, giving Doyle the chance to kill the sniper.
The remaining survivors escape District 1 via tunnelway, and head toward the rendezvous point, Regent's Park. While at the park, Doyle explains to Scarlett why he left his post, to which Scarlet responds she left hers because the cure to Rage Virus may lie within one of the children, making their lives more valuable than theirs. Doyle receives another transmission from Flynn, informing him that the Infected have escaped District 1 and are headed in their direction. They have less than 60 seconds to escape. Doyle leads the group across the field where he spots the approaching Infected. Flynn arrives and Doyle attempts to explain the importance of Tammy and Andy when a panicked Sam grabs one of the helicopter skids, causing Flynn to veer away from Doyle and the others.
Flynn attacks the Infected head-on with the rotor blades of his chopper, shaking Sam off his chopper's skid in the process and giving Doyle, Andy, Scarlett and Tammy a chance to escape the park. Doyle pauses to take out several Infected with his M4 before following after the others. Flynn tells Doyle to head for Wembley Stadium, the new rendezvous point and get rid of the civilians. By this point, Doyle has abandoned the Code Red objective and focuses on getting the others to safety. When the group is confronted by more Infected and a cloud of poisonous gas, they take shelter inside an abandoned van. The Infected are killed instantly by the gas, however the car fails to start. Doyle spots soldiers with NBC suits and flamethrowers in the rear-view mirror and instructs Scarlett not to take her foot off the clutch until he says so. In the process of starting the car by pushing it forward, Doyle is killed by the flamethrowers.
Personality: Doyle is a typical guy you'd find in the middle of a Beer Cooler Circle, making jokes, being dumb and good-hearted. Or something like that. A stand-up sort of guy to a degree, though he's not above making hard choices in his line of work; he was one to shake his head and do what he was told for a considerable period of time. That was the world they lived in: do your work, get your paycheck, life goes on. Sure, he'd be haunted by some of his work in the army, especially in his particular force, but that's not new to anyone who's been in the service long.
Despite that, he attempts to stay far from world or war-weary, keeping light and remaining surprisingly optimistic, even in the middle of an all-out struggle to keep humanity on the map. He and Flynn joke around quite a bit even with the seriousness of their jobs and the setting itself (though he'd probably not say a 'your mom' joke to just anyone; you're safe, Luceti). A street-smarts type, he has an arsenal of taught and self-learned skills under his sleeve, but it never overshadows the fact that he tries his damndest to keep on the moral side of things. He appreciates humor and dishes it out often, sometimes under the mask of complete snark or a maybe-too-sharp elbow prod. He's a lounger, but he knows when to cut that shit and take up arms and responsibility. His stubbornness is one of his big defining qualities, as he's even willing to disobey orders and deny those orders up until the very end, if he feels it's right.
He knows that things are beyond corruption: it's survival mode, and the government--or what's left of it, anyway--is willing to knock down whoever they can to keep things moving. And he gets it. But it sure as hell doesn't mean he's willing to follow. In that respect he can be a token sort of guy you'd expect in his position
He strives well under pressure because if he didn't? Well, he wouldn't be a very good candidate for the Delta Forces, would he? Granted he still slips up from time to time, because he's a normal human who has a brain hiccup on occasion. Only in certain circumstances, human error has a price. The prime example of goofing under extreme stress is when he's trying to get the others out of the district before they napalm it: he leads them not realizing that a sniper ahead still kept his post, and two of the civilians are killed in the process. He beats himself up for these sorts of blunders, as his job's always been the one thing he's excelled at above all else.
He has a habit of peeping, too. Not that he always means to, but considering his job consists of watching people he keeps a sharp eye out and attempts to read people. He's spent a great portion of his life and job trying to understand movements and people's ticks and what-have-you, and in moments where silence is crucial he reads said quietness well.
And yeah, jokester-type guy. Don't fall asleep around him, because he'll probably draw things on your face. Gotta' be done, friend.
... Did we mention the sight of blood makes him queasy? Yeah, he's a sniper who gets queasy when he looks at blood. In the middle of a viral outbreak that involves gross amounts of blood. Kind of weird, huh.
