Jeff looked around the dimly lit room, a distant look in his crimson eyes. He felt the gentle sway of the ocean as he made his way to the center and placed his duffel bag onto the stainless steel table that occupied the space. All around him weapons sat in their respective place on the wall silently mocking him. Accusing him. As he grabbed each tool with familiar ease he couldn't help but feel ashamed. Ashamed at the familiarity of a task he's preformed countless times. The fluorescent bulbs reflected dully off of the matte finish of every weapon and magazine he placed carefully into the cavernous bag. The only solace that he found in it was the fact that this time it was different, Unlike all of the other times he's done this, he wasn't gearing up to carry out the mindless orders of some higher government, or anonymous third party that would no doubt require the senseless bloodshed of men only following orders, making money that they undoubtedly needed to support themselves or, more likely, their families. Men not unlike himself. No. No this time he was doing it for survival.
This all ran through Jeff's thoughts as he mindlessly zipped up the bag and moved to don a matching tac-vest. He continued with his task until, by the time he was finished, he had a backpack with the essentials and a duffel bag filled with weapons and ammo. His large frame sported a fitted plate carrier and padded molle tactical belt. All of which included a thigh holster, various pouches, mag holders, his favored bowie knife, and machete.
Jeff gave one more critical look around his personal armory. Satisfied that he had packed all he had needed, he started to load up his carry weapons with a fluidity that could only come from practiced repetition, depositing his Desert Eagle and corresponding magazines in their rightful holsters. The last thing he grabbed to complete the morbid ensemble was his favorite M14; 2 point sling, extended scope mount, ACOG sight and dual-band attachment, all topped off with custom walnut stock, ergo grip, buttpad, butt wrap, and forward picatinirail system incorporated in to accommodate the AN-PEQ-5 green/IR laser sight, angled fore grip, and standard/IR flashlight. Checking the weapon and sights, Jeff rammed a magazine home and pulled the charging handle back, releasing it with a satisfying clang. This is it, Jeff thought inwardly, Time to face the apacolypse.
Jeff's combat boots thudded heavily against the floor as he made his way around the table, slipping on the backpack he had prepared and shouldering the duffel bag. Eyes glazing over, rifle in hand, he ascended the several steps out of the belly of his fishing vessel, flipping the light switch, leaving the fluorescent bulbs of his weapons room to flicker off.
The man that had emerged didn't look a day over 22, and for all intents and purposes he was. Nothing really odd about it aside from the fact that he was approaching 30. His sharp, strong jaw and trimmed beard exuded youth, but his eyes spoke wisdom beyond his years. The 7' giant with messy brunette hair and fit body was much more than he seemed. He was altered; no longer human, turned by a vampiric creature that fed on the life essence of those weaker than it. A creature of instinct: the aswang. It certainly explained the increased physical strength and prowess, the red eyes, his fast healing and his eternal youth. This all took place during the last summer before he shipped off to boot to become a drone. He was on a cross country road trip with his girlfriend at the time and her twin brother, their first stop was a sleepy town in the heart of Oregon the twins had visited frequently as children. Two friends he still held dear to him today, friends he needed to find.