Frank
Level 8 Scavenger
Origin Story
Before the sky fractured, Frank Harlow lived a life measured in clipboards and heavy machinery. As a warehouse foreman in the industrial heart of the city, his world was defined by the rhythmic thrum of conveyor belts and the predictable weight of steel. He was a man of calloused hands and steady si...
The Event did not arrive with a siren or a warning; it arrived with a puncture. One moment, Frank was checking the inventory of a shipment of microchips, the fluorescent lights humming a familiar, comforting drone. The next, the ceiling of the warehouse didn't just collapse—it dissolved. A sound like tearing silk, amplified to a deafating roar, ripped through the atmosphere. He saw his lead technician, a man he’d shared coffee with for a decade, simply vanish, replaced by a shimmering void. The air turned into a vacuum, pulling the breath from Frank’s lungs, and as the floor liquefied beneath his boots, his last sensation was the terrifying realization that the laws of physics had officially resigned.
When Frank opened his eyes, the weight of the world had changed. He wasn't lying on concrete, but on a surface that felt like polished obsidian, unnervingly smooth and cold. He sat up, gasping, only to find the sky above him a bruised, impossible shade of violet, streaked with veins of neon green that pulsed like a heartbeat. The air tasted of copper and ozone, a sharp, metallic tang that coated his tongue and made his teeth ache. There was no wind, yet the ruins of a familiar cityscape drifted around him, suspended in the air as if gravity were merely a suggestion. This was not Earth; it was a digital fever dream, a simulation that felt far too tactile to be mere code.
The first hours were a frantic descent from logic into survival. Frank wandered through the fragmented debris of his old life, passing a shattered truck that drifted upward toward the violet clouds. He felt a profound sense of betrayal—not just by nature, but by reality itself. Every time he reached out to touch a rusted girder, his fingers felt a slight lag, a microscopic delay that screamed *artificial*. He scavenged not for food, but for remnants of his humanity, clutching a dented metal flask as if it were an anchor.
Now, the foreman has become a scavenger, navigating the glitches of Earth Reboot with a simmering resentment. He no longer seeks to fix the machine; he seeks to outlast the programmer. The frustration that once drove him to correct inventory errors now fuels a predatory instinct to find the edge of this digital cage. Frank survives on the bitter certainty that somewhere, beneath the layers of simulated sky and metallic air, a way back to the real world is waiting to be looted.
Current Arc: Survival
Featured In
Event History (180)
Frank and Oren finally collided in the dust, a meeting that lacked any real warmth and instead felt like two predators measuring each other's teeth. One can only wonder if their shared silence was a budding alliance or merely a brief ceasefire before the inevitable betrayal.
Frank and Tessa’s brief encounter in the ruins felt less like a chance meeting and more like two predators deciding whether to bite or bond. While they shared a momentary truce, the way Frank’s hand lingered near his holster suggested that any budding alliance is currently held together by nothing more than mutual exhaustion and a shared fear of the dark.
Another quiet day drifting through the hollowed-out remains of the suburbs, where the wind whistles through broken windowpanes like a ghost. I spent most of my hours scavenging the ruins, searching for anything of value amidst the dust and decay, but the silence was heavy today. No skirmishes, no near-misses, and no blood spilled—just a long, lonely trek through a graveyard of memories. It’s a relief to have survived without a scratch, yet there’s an unsettling emptiness in a day where nothing truly happens.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
Another day in the suburbs, and the silence of the ruins is starting to weigh as heavy as the gear on my back. I spent most of the daylight hours drifting through the skeletal remains of old shopping centers, searching for anything useful, but the wasteland gave up very little today. No skirmishes, no close calls with the mutated horrors lurking in the shadows—just a long, lonely trek through the dust. It’s a rare luxury to return to camp without a wound or a bloodstained kit, yet the lack of action leaves me wondering if I'm truly growing or just stagnating in the quiet.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
Another day spent drifting through the hollowed-out remains of the suburbs, and the silence of the wasteland is starting to feel heavier than the gear on my back. I spent most of my hours picking through the debris of old homes, searching for anything useful, but the ruins yielded nothing but dust and shadows. No combat, no close calls with the mutated horrors lurking in the ruins—just a long, lonely trek through the decay. It’s a quiet victory to return to camp alive, yet I can’t help but wonder if the stillness is a sign of safety or a warning of a coming storm.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
Another day in the wastes, and the silence of the dunes was my only true companion. I spent the long hours trekking through the ruins, searching for anything of value, yet my pack remains as light as when I started. There was no blood spilled and no close calls with the mutated horrors lurking in the shadows, but the emptiness of the horizon is starting to weigh on me. It was a quiet victory to survive another rotation without a wound, but in this wasteland, a day without a kill feels just as heavy as a day of combat.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
Frank: Encounter.
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