Ian Markus

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About Ian Markus

  • Rank
    Newbie
  • Birthday 10/13/90

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    http://vitaeoflife.proboards34.com
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    gerrybear33

Profile Information

  • Location
    Kentucky, USA
  • Interests
    RPGINg, Webmastering. <br>http://users.adelphia.net/~jerrybear674/index.html<br>http://vitaeoflife.proboards34.com<br>http://jerrylowery.bravejournal.com
  1. Ian looks about, then looks at the bearded fellow. He speaks softly, "Ian Markus. High school kid. At you service." He gladly accepts the warm food, blankets, and drink. "Thanks."
  2. Ian looks down and continues to walk, a harsh disturbing look on his way too young pimply face... A look of a man with too much on his mind. He sighs... and remains darkly quiet the remainder of the trek...
  3. Ian began to make small talk as they walked to help keep his mind off of the cold. "Personally, I have always been particular to the bazooka, with the portable tow missile, and personal ground to air rocket launchers pulling a close second. You just have to revere anything that a chump can pack and fire on his own two feet, that is capable of dropping an aircraft or ending the life of a tank or personel carrier in one single shot. That's serious destructive power in the hands of one lone person. A guy I was chatting with on a supposedly scrambled signal and myself were shooting the stuff about the fantasy or reality of Mechanical battle armor construction and operation. Well just about 10 minutes after I sent the ole' boy the plans for him to look at, my door was busted down and the damn pinko @#!&ers was packing me out of my house with nothing on but a pair of pants a t-shirt and a pair of sneakers, no socks. Well, the plans where good, but not as good as the ones I reserved for an emergency. Hehe. Now, I know to keep my thoughts to myself...
  4. Seeing the men moving, Ian rubbed his arms briskly trying to get more warmth in them. Ian looks at Leech, "I have to agree with your third suggestion. Besides, thats about the only way I will be useful anyway. I ain't to good at the survival thing, but I know my way around heavy weoponry. And some, more....anarchistic methods of death and destruction. Now that is my cup of tea. That and, creating and building things." "I think thats why the Pinko's picked me up. They might have seen some of my discussions and work on combat equippment, on what was supposed to be securied, connections. Never admitted to having much common sense." He continued to walk with the group following and listening to the others.
  5. Ian, finally getting some of his energy back with some of his warmth begins to speak up, "All I know, is that I am hungary, I am dehydrated, and I am still about half freakin' frozen. The frost bite is just the icying on the cake. So as far as where we go, I really don't care.
  6. As Ian warms up he says, "Ians my name. They busted me for Possession of Diversive ,and terroristic information. You almost completed Med school, huh? I almost got to graduate from High School, if it wan't for heartless coldblooded commy b*st*rds. They wouldn't even let me have a jacket or glove or anything when I asked, the pr*cks. Worst of all, they know what I do and can do. Now they're going to hunt for me, to make sure I don't fall back into American hands."
  7. Ian looks up with an expression of gratitude, and listens to what is said. Ian replies, "I think I would rather deal with the hypothermia without a coat then end up nice and cozy warm bleeding on the ground. Thanx anyhow."
  8. Ian, with assistance from Brad moves towards a barrel. His fingers had become discolored and he had spots of frostbite on him. He made his way over to the flaming barrel and started to warm his hands and body in hopes of shaking off the hypothermia he was suffering, for being so unseasonally dressed.
  9. Ian, weighing little to nothing, comes around just abit at feeling himself being moved. He looks at his helper. "Tha..tanx man. Th..thaz mighty w..w..white of ya." Ian looks down.... "Ian go down de hole!!"
  10. Ian falls silent as he can fight the sleepy feeling anymore. He begins to succumb to his fridged condition and is not capable of walking or putting up any complaints to having the Jacket rifled through.
  11. Ian continues, in a state of half consciousness, to murmur, "I ....I am an American.... I am an Amm..american..." Ice crystals have formed in his hair and now the front of the dead commisars jacket that he had stolen, was soaked and partialy refrozen, as was all the clothes that he had on for nearly a week now, being a pair of Jeans and a t-shirt.
  12. Ian begins to get very sleepy from the cold snow that he is now lying in. His screaming voice begins to soften and slur as unconsciousness begins to creep up on his severly hypothermic body. His skin at this point is a pale blue and his breathing is getting very rapid and shallow. It is obvious to anyone with medical knowledge that if he is not warmed up soon, the insurgent maybe able to save is assault rifle rounds, because the cold is going to do him in. I am an.... amer....ican.. I am a fre...eee...eak....n..... Ame....ame...
  13. Ian, continues yelling trying to convince the Insurgent with the rifle trained on him that he is American and that he just stole the jacket off the body of the commisar simply to try and keep warm.
  14. Ian drops to the ground very quickly, saying, "I am a @#!&ing American. I am a @#!&ing American. DON"T SHOT!!"
  15. This is the opprotunity that Ian had been waiting for. He slips off his shackles as if they were just setting on his loosely, and slides out of the back of the truck hitting the ground hard on his hands and knees. He crawls over to a guards body and grabs the small keyring he had been following the whole week that he had been captured. He slips back in the truck flinching as bullets whiz by. There in the front is the lock box that contained all their belongings. He unlocked it after several attempts and gathers his belongings from the wooden box. Ian then slips quietly out of the vehicles bed and steals a coat from off of one of the guards., and takes cover under a vehicle in the area, awaiting the outcome.