Name: Dorian Jansen

• Age: 28
• Gender: Male
• Race/Ethnicity: Scandinavian (Danish-Swedish descent)

Appearance:

• Height: 6'2"
• Build: Broad-shouldered and muscular from years of manual labor and fighting for survival. He has a rugged look, with a noticeable level of physical exhaustion.
• Skin Tone: Pale, with a slight tinge of redness around his cheeks and nose from constant exposure to the elements and stress.
• Hair: Dark brown, nearly black, and kept short but messy. It has grown out a little over the years, often unkempt and wild, falling in his eyes whenever it’s not tied back.
• Eyes: A piercing, ice-blue color—striking, but often cold and distant. His eyes reveal a constant internal battle, filled with grief, rage, and disillusionment.
• Clothing: Wears a mix of tactical gear and scavenged clothing. A faded army jacket, with mismatched patches from various factions he’s encountered, hangs loosely over his broad frame. His jeans are torn and stained, boots scuffed from endless walking. A long, worn-out scarf, which he used to keep warm when he was with his group, is always wrapped around his neck—like a memento of better times.
• Distinguishing Features: A jagged scar runs across his right eyebrow, just beneath his eye, from a fight with a raider during his first weeks on the road. His knuckles are always bruised and scraped, with the occasional fresh cut from whatever he’s had to fight through that day.

Backstory:

Dorian grew up in a small, coastal town in Denmark. Life before the outbreak was simple—he had a close-knit family and a comfortable life. His father, a former military man, had taught him how to defend himself and survive in the wilderness. His mother was a schoolteacher, strict but loving, and always instilled a sense of curiosity in him. He had a younger brother, Jakob, whom he adored, and the two were inseparable growing up.

When the pandemic hit, Dorian’s life went from normal to nightmare in a matter of days. At first, it was like a bad dream—a virus spreading, people panicking, and a military lockdown. But when the virus mutated, and the infected started to tear through his town, everything fell apart. Dorian and his family tried to escape, but his younger brother was bitten during the chaos of their evacuation.

Jakob’s transformation was swift—too swift. Dorian was forced to make the impossible choice to kill his own brother when Jakob attacked their mother. The emotional trauma of that night still haunts Dorian, and it’s the turning point where his innocence was shattered. In the weeks that followed, Dorian, his father, and mother fought to stay alive in a decimated world. However, his father was eventually killed by a group of survivors who ambushed them for supplies, and his mother succumbed to a fever caused by a wound she sustained in a fight with a horde of infected.

Dorian watched as the world around him crumbled, losing everything he held dear. With no family left and no home to return to, Dorian became a drifter, roaming from place to place. He joined various groups of survivors over the years, but every time he began to trust someone, he lost them. First to the infected, then to the betrayal of those who would take advantage of his good nature. His heart grew cold, hardened by the constant loss and betrayal, but with a seething anger burning beneath the surface.

When Dorian was 26, he found a group of survivors that took him in, a ragtag crew with different skills but a shared desire for a better life. For the first time since the outbreak, he thought he’d found a family again. But the dream shattered when the group was ambushed by raiders, and Dorian was the only one left standing. The memory of their deaths—people he cared for, people he fought alongside—now weighs heavily on his conscience. He never had the chance to properly mourn, only to escape with his life.

Now, Dorian is no longer seeking a better life. He’s simply surviving, driven by the desire to live just long enough to make sure he can avenge those he’s lost. His heart is a wasteland of grief and rage, and he’s numb to the idea of redemption. Instead, he’s focused solely on killing anyone or anything that reminds him of the betrayal and the horrors he’s witnessed.

Personality:

• Ruthless and Cold: Dorian’s personality is a direct result of years of betrayal, grief, and loneliness. He trusts no one and has learned that the world isn’t kind. He’s quick to act when necessary, with little concern for the cost of his actions, and even quicker to shut down any emotional vulnerability.

• Haunted and Guilt-Ridden: Beneath his cold exterior, Dorian is plagued by the memories of the people he’s lost. He’s never fully dealt with the trauma of killing his brother or watching his parents die. His guilt manifests in anger and frustration, and he often lashes out at anyone who gets too close to him emotionally.

• Calculated Survivor: Dorian is a strategist—he’s always thinking several steps ahead. He’s learned the hard way that being reactive gets people killed, so he stays a step ahead of the zombies, other survivors, and even his own emotions. He’s highly resourceful and intelligent, and his survival instincts are unmatched. He trusts logic over emotion and rarely lets himself be caught off guard.

• Stoic and Detached: He has little to say and less to offer emotionally, but his silence speaks volumes. His world is devoid of hope, and he’s convinced that the idea of a future is a lie people tell themselves to sleep at night. He rarely smiles, but when he does, it’s fleeting and often as a means to mask his internal pain.

• Protective (to the Few He Trusts): While Dorian has pushed people away for years, if he allows someone to get close to him, he becomes fiercely protective of them. The few people he’s let into his life have earned his loyalty—though, it’s a loyalty forged in blood and hardship. But he struggles with closeness, even with those he cares about, and always keeps a piece of himself guarded.

Skills:

• Combat Expertise: Dorian is proficient in multiple forms of combat, with particular strength in hand-to-hand fighting, firearms, and knives. His physical strength allows him to overpower opponents, but he’s also an expert at using his environment to his advantage during a fight.

• Survival Skills: Raised in a remote area, Dorian is highly skilled at surviving in harsh environments. He can forage for food, hunt, fish, and set up shelters. He’s also adept at making makeshift weapons and traps when necessary.

• Tactical Thinking: Years of loss have sharpened Dorian’s mind. He’s strategic and can assess a situation with cold logic. He’s become adept at reading people and situations, learning who to trust and when to strike before others even realize he’s moving.

• Mental Resilience: Dorian’s ability to push through physical and emotional pain is unmatched. While his inner world is fractured, his ability to keep moving forward and avoid breaking down has kept him alive when others would’ve given up.

Current Motivations:

• Survival: Dorian’s ultimate goal is simply to survive, though not for any sense of hope or redemption. His desire to live is primarily driven by revenge and the desire to outlive the world that took everything from him.

• Vengeance: Dorian is haunted by the betrayal he experienced with every group he’s been a part of. His rage at the world has become a driving force—he will stop at nothing to get revenge on those who wronged him.

• Connection (in Denial): Though he tries to avoid forming attachments, Dorian secretly craves a connection. He’s just not sure if he can let himself need anyone again after all he’s lost. Yet, there’s a part of him that still wants to fight for a future—one he’s too afraid to acknowledge.

Dorian is a man forged in the crucible of a world gone mad—haunted by the past, driven by vengeance, and only loosely hanging on to whatever remains of his humanity. His cold, calculated approach to survival makes him a dangerous ally and a feared opponent.

Wind howled through the desolate streets, carrying the smell of decay and desperation. Dorian Jansen pulled his faded army jacket tighter around his broad shoulders, the fabric worn and frayed at the edges. The scarf around his neck, once a symbol of comfort, was now a ragged reminder of everything he had lost. His boots crunched against the broken asphalt as he moved with purpose, each step a careful calculation, each breath a forced effort.

The world around him had become a rotting carcass, a wasteland where survival was no longer a gift but a curse. His piercing ice-blue eyes scanned the horizon, the weight of the world pressing down on his chest. The fight for survival had long since become a mechanical routine. Find food. Find shelter. Avoid the infected. Trust no one.

Dorian’s knuckles, bruised and scarred, flexed as he gripped the rifle slung over his shoulder. The weapon was old, but it had been good to him—like everything else that had helped him stay alive these past years. He had learned to depend on no one but himself. Trust had become a liability, an illusion that only led to more pain.

He walked past the remnants of an old storefront, the windows long shattered. Once, there would have been life here—people, families, businesses. Now, it was just another tomb in a city filled with them. He had lost count of the days since the outbreak, the moments all blending together into a blur of violence and desperation. The only thing that mattered now was surviving.

Ahead, a low growl broke the silence. Dorian’s hand instinctively dropped to the knife at his belt, his body already shifting into combat mode. He didn’t need to look to know what it was. Another pack of infected, drawn by the scent of life. He had learned long ago to stay still and silent, to not give them any reason to notice him. His heart rate slowed, his muscles tensing, prepared to move the second the creatures got too close.

The growl intensified, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of decayed feet dragging across the street. Dorian stood motionless, the cold wind biting at his face, his breath fogging in the air. His eyes narrowed, scanning the edges of the street. They were getting closer.

He couldn’t afford to make a sound. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed in the distance—gunfire. Dorian’s eyes flicked to the source. Too far. But he knew what it meant. Other survivors. They were out there, somewhere in this broken city. They might not be the kind of people he could trust, but they were still human, still alive.

A flare of emotion surged through him—anger, frustration, and something else, something deeper, something he couldn't quite name. It was the same thing he had felt when he lost his family, when he lost Jakob. That bitter, gnawing hole in his chest.

Dorian exhaled slowly, gripping the knife tighter, ready for whatever came next. Survival meant not getting caught off guard, not letting anyone—or anything—stand in the way of what little he had left.

He couldn’t afford to lose more.

Not again.

The infected came into view, their eyes glazed and lifeless, their jaws snapping with hunger. Dorian took a step back, calculating. One wrong move, and they’d be on him in seconds. But he’d been through worse.

His gaze flickered to the side, and he saw a flash of movement in the shadows. His heart skipped. Another survivor? Or was it something else—someone else who might just be another threat in this godforsaken world?

The growls grew louder, the infected drawing closer. He had no choice but to move—fight or flee, there was no other option.