Mick Steele

Name: Michael "Mick" Steele.
Age: 33.
Occupation Prior to Outbreak: Detective, 2nd Grade. Criminal Investigative Division; Gang Unit. Boston Police Department, District B-2.
Equipment:
--Sig Sauer GSR 1911. [Usually kept holstered up on his right hip.]
--Smith and Wesson Model 60 Snubnose. [Usually kept in a jacket or pant's pocket.]
--Remington 870. [Usually kept in a sling across his back, or in whatever vehicle he's in.]
--Camillus Vortex Folding Knife. [Usually in a hip pocket.]
--5.11 Police Duty Belt. [Obviously, around his waist. Usually, it carries magazines, his handcuffs, Mace, and a baton.]
--A beat up ALICE Backpack.
--Keeps a First Aid kit in his pack, along with a spare change of clothes.
--Drives a fairly beat up 1969 Dodge Charger with a reinforced bumper pulled from a defunct police car, with a police band radio inside of it.
Portrayed by: Logan Marshall-Green.

Personality: The man has a sense of humor, even if it's a ghoulish one. He can be sarcastic, abrasive, and even aloof at times, but he's never once lost his sense of humor. He atypically uses that sense of humor as a shield, to deflect how he really might feel at the time, to let people think they've got a grasp on who he really is. He's very analytical in the sense that he tends to appraise people from a distance, to get a measure of them. Years of being a detective, of living in Boston, it's grown on him. He's a smart man, an educated man, and he likes to gauge how smart people are by seeing how stupid they think he happens to be.

He's Catholic, or he was. He tends to be religious minded, and often tries to refrain from cursing. He abhors liars, and he's adopted a policy of being honest when he can, and he knows that's hurt people in the past. He regrets it, but it is what it is in his eyes. He has a natural sort of disdain when it comes to criminal elements. It comes from that 'It's us versus them' mentality he developed over the years. Call it the fact that he's more than a little bit racist because of it, because of his constant work with the gangs in Roxbury, in his district, on his beat.

He's compassionate, deep down. He'd like to think that, anyways. He has an ex wife who might say that it's touch and go

Appearance: Posted Image
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Talllish and lean, not unlike a hunting dog, Mick was built for the chase. He was muscle, bone, an' sinew, kept in shape before the apocalypse by morning runs with his dog and those all too often late nights and early mornings at the gym. He was taller than a fair amount of folks, but he wasn't towering over anyone at five feet and eleven inches, and he certainly wasn't sticking out like a sore thumb at weighing in at just under a buck eighty. Broad shoulders, wide palmed hands, an' gunboat sized feet, cappin' off long, corded, limbs, he was lanky in his own right, more than capable of chasing down your average person.

He was handsome enough, with a strong jaw and a slightly crooked nose that came as the result of sayin' the wrong thing at the wrong time. His hair used to be neat, shortly buzzed, and well kept but as of late, especially with the apocalypse? He's let it grow out, it's even downright shaggy at times.

History:

Before the Apocalypse:

He was a cop. He wasn't just a cop, he was a third generation policeman, and a fourth generation Irish-American, and damn proud of both. He grew up in Boston to a cop father and a mother who was teaching Piano on the side when she wasn't running after her children, trying to keep them from doing stupid things. God knows, the man had enough siblings. He was a hell raiser when he was younger, often falling in with the wrong sorts of folks. He never really did anything truly serious, he was just rowdy, something his father chalked up to him being Irish for the most part. The kid found his calling though at age 18, when his father all but steered him into his foot steps. Because of the fact he was a 'legacy' as well as his fairly decent marks in school, he was taken in as a cadet at age 18. He wasn't a stupid kid, he was just a kid, and his father and grandfather vouched for him. They had enough pull to have the department overlook his age, and some of the more stupid things he'd done.

Turns out, he wasn't at all bad at being his father's son. The State Police academy straightened him right out, and it put him to the test physically and mentally, something he took pride in when he managed to get through it all. Two years he lasted a state cop, getting married in his first year. He met her on the beat, working an accident. He wound up meeting his wife, a trauma nurse, through his own hectic work. They had the same crazy hours, the same nightowl behavior. She lived in Boston, same as where he grew up, and as their relationship grew? He wound up getting a transfer to the Boston PD as an Officer in the patrol division, another two years there and he would in the CID, working gangs as a detective. He was good at it, damn good at it. If you asked his then wife, she might've said he was too good at it. She wound divorcing him, especially when she caught him with a receptionist at a hotel. He couldn't blame her for divorcing him, hell, he'd have divorced himself in her shoes.

Of course, he still loved her; even if he was a cheating bastard, he loved her. He fought the divorce, and it got ugly, even if he didn't blame her, he didn't want to lose her. He tried, but in the end? She divorced him, and he let it be. He still tried, even though they were divorced, they eventually mended their relationship near the end and retained somewhat of a friendship, even if it wasn't the same relationship that'd kindled the romance between them when he was still a "statie."

Not that it mattered in the end, he wasn't really suited for a relationship, at least not in his mind he wasn't. He sort of drove himself into his work, and maybe, just maybe, he got a bit too harsh in his methods, skirting the line between what was right and wrong to get the job done. A few charges here, a few complaints there, he found himself in front of more than one inquiry board. He managed to just barely get by, by the skin of his teeth until most recently, when he was put on a paid suspension.

A suspension it seemed, that came just in time.

During the Apocalypse:

Suspension or not, he was still a detective, a cop, and so he found himself helping the evacuation efforts for the city, trying to help with the safe zones and everything else, but to no particular avail. He helped right alongside emergency services and did what he could. He was one of the very last people at the Boston Police Department in his district to evacuate, which might have very well saved him from the same fate that his family, with the exception of his brother Marcus who was out west, endured having been in one of the Safe Zones that'd been overrun due to the unprecedent quickness which with the virus spread.

After, the Apocalypse:

His family, was gone. His brothers in arms stuck around but between the violence of other people as well as the hordes of zombies coming around Boston? His district, his department, they didn't last long. The station fell and whoever lived? Scattered to the winds. Mick and a few officers regrouped with what was left of a local firehouse but with dwindling supplies and no more command chain? It too, fell. He had no direction, no real port of call. All the family he'd ever known was gone, and his friends were falling by the same wayside. For whatever reason, he's kept his head, and with the only remaining companion of his, a stray dog he's picked up from the side of the road? Well, he's on the verge of losing himself in this wasteland. He's headed due south.. Whether he makes it or not is still up in the air.

Strengths:
--He's intelligent, and he's educated. He's got his Bachelor's of Science in Criminal Justice as well as having attended a few seminars on profiling. He's a veteran detective of the Boston Police Department, so he knows his way around a crime scene. He's not easily shaken up, though it can happen.
--He knows his way around a fight. His beat is Roxbury, one of the rougher areas. He grew up in Boston, he's the son of a cop, he's of Irish descent, he's been in more than a few fist fights over the years. He's had to draw his service weapon in the past, and he's had to use it on people. He's not John Wayne, he's not Bruce Lee, and he's no Jerry Miculek, but he can hold his own in most situations when things get physical.
--He's lived in the city for most of his life, and he's adept at Urban Survival because of it. He knows how the bureaucratic systems work, he knows where most EMS and Police Officers might keep their caches or stashes. He knows how gangs operate, and where they might leave their things. Where the homeless populations tend to seek shelter. He has an idea of where to look for food, where to find maps of areas.

Weaknesses: What weaknesses do they have (emotional, physical)?

--He's not really a survivalist type, or an outdoorsman. He wasn't raised in the great outdoors, so a lot of how to survive in the wilderness is lost on him.
--He doesn't really get along all that well with non law enforcement, and could easily come to blows with an ex con. His social skills aren't exactly the greatest in this regard.
--Unrelated, he has couldrophobia, an irrational fear of clowns. He finds them highly unsettling.
--Is an alcoholic. Tends to drink whenever he can.


Goals: Right now, he's just trying to survive. Maybe find a community, some kind of government. Maybe, if he's lucky, find his brother Marcus.