I’m a young, fun-loving soldier in the rebellion against our robot overlords. I’m a little shy, but I open up once you get to know me. I love meeting new survivors, long walks on the beaches that the floods are creating every day, and freeing prisoners from labour camps. I’m a very spiritual person; but I’m tolerant of all beliefs, so if any faith you once held in a just and fair God has long since been destroyed, I’m cool with it.
For security purposes, I am unable to post photos. Let’s hope my words do me justice! I’m about six feet tall and severely underweight, with brown hair and green eyes. The scars on my neck where the robots’ control device was removed are worse than average, but my hair covers most of it. Severe exposure to radiation has given me three extra toes. I have a great smile.
What I’m doing with my life
I’m just trying to get by day to day and not worry too much about my future. I would love to travel the world and aid pockets of resistance, but of course the patrolling robot death squads, constant earthquakes and fires, and large stretches of irradiated wasteland are keeping that a dream for now. I hope to one day own a dog that we won’t have to slaughter for food. I’m trying to learn Chinese, but it’s tricky!
I’m really good at
Minesweeping, salvage and CQC are my main talents. I’m also handy around the bunker—if you need a sink unclogged, a shirt mended or an anti-aircraft gun calibrated, I’m your guy! And while I don’t mean to brag, I’m a pretty decent tennis player.
The first thing people usually notice about me
That I’m missing an eye, which I lost in the latest assault on our bunker. Either that or the giant scar on my arm that I got from a piece of shrapnel in the Battle of Brooklyn. Or maybe the hole in my neck where the robots injected my weekly dose of nutrient paste back in my labour camp days. When people talk to me the first thing most of them notice is my wacky sense of humour.
Favourite books, movies, shows, music and food
I don’t read much, but I did stumble across half of the March 2015 issue of Oprah Magazine in the ruins of an old house a few weeks ago. It had a fascinating article on weight loss tips—to think that our ancestors had trouble losing weight! It also had some good home decoration ideas, which I used to spruce up my sleeping capsule.
I enjoy all kinds of music, from marching tunes to propaganda songs. I play the drums in my bunker’s band, Johnny and the Machine Killers, but our bassist was euthanized for resource efficiency purposes after he lost his arms in an artillery strike, and Johnny shot himself after his wife and children were captured and liquidated, so we haven’t played any gigs lately. If you can play the bass or sing, we’d love to have you!
My grandparents told me about movies and television shows, and I hope to one day watch one.
When it comes to food I know most people prefer nutrient paste B, but personally I’m a D man. It tastes how I imagine strawberries tasted before they went extinct. I also like rat meat, but that’s a luxury.
The six things I could never do without
-My standard issue firearm.
-My third cousin, Andrew, the only surviving member of my family.
-My tennis racket.
-My distant memories of the day I saw the sun.
-My standard issue suicide pill.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
What I would do with my life if we somehow win this war. Whether I can reconcile my desire to have children and do my part to keep humanity extant with the cruelty of bringing someone into the living hell that our world has become. Who I’m going to challenge next to a tennis match!
On a typical Friday night I am
If I’m not raiding a prisoner processing facility or bombing a robot munitions factory then I’m probably on guard duty. After my shift I like to head to the bunker’s multi-purpose room with a couple of buddies to kick back and enjoy an ice cold water ration. If my friends are busy or if our water supply has been poisoned again then I’ll curl up in my capsule with a brand new intelligence report for a little light reading.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
Despite general orders to shoot robot operatives on sight, when my best friend was captured, turned into a drone and sent against us, I couldn’t pull the trigger. I knew he was only a husk, that his humanity had been stripped away and that putting him down would have been a mercy. But dammit, I couldn’t look in his eyes and pull the trigger. He’s still out there, killing good people while trapped in a horrible, agonising state of unlife. And it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.
I also don’t know how to dance.
I’m looking for
-Girls who like guys
-For short-term friendship, short-term activity partners, short-term dating, short-term attempts to stave off the horror of our inevitable enslavement or death with a fleeting and ultimately meaningless emotional connection.
You should message me if
You’re looking for a good time!