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Description

-Name:

Dexter.

-Age:

3 yrs.

-Gender:

Male.

-Breed:

Doberdane, has a bit of wolf in him somewhere.

-Height:

Nearly 4 ft.

-Personality:

Theres no bastard as cold hearted and as ruthless as the one they call Dex. Hardened from his time in the military, fighting ever since the day he left the womb. He's aggressive, territorial, brutal, and merciless. He lacks empathy, willing to do whatever it takes to survive.

His morals.. well, are a bit more skewed than others. A opportunist, he will eat anything. However, he loves human flesh the most.

-Background story:

Born and bred to be a terrifying beast, the soldiers that were assigned to Dexter soon grew to love their large scary friend. He was young, kind, fresh from the academy. He was clueless to what awaited, until the gunshots rang out. Bullets grazed his flesh, commands filling his ears. He sunk his teeth into the throats of wailing men, he tasted human blood for the first time. Oh how he savored it.

His first battle made Dexter into a beast that craved the fight, his teeth ready to sink into those bastards that shot at his squad. He loved it. Atleast that was until the jeep his squad was in, got caught in a minefield. Only one survived, his handler and master, loosing limbs and his ability to hear. Holding onto his wounded dog as medics rushed to rescue them.

Dexter and his handler were permitted to go home, where anxiety clawed at the man Dexter considered a friend. His mind fell into anxious worries, trying to restrain his dog that kept on causing trouble. Eventually, he snapped. Building a makeshift bunker, he hid inside with his dog. For weeks they lived off of the many supplies he had packed into this small bunker, thriving as the work turned outside.

Unknowing to what was happening.

Then, as they ate their lunch, the TV playing old movies and the ac buzzing cool air within, the man slumped over. Falling dead for his heart had failed him. Dexter nudged his masters only hand, his skin cold and clammy. Unresponsive. Dexter would be left alone, pacing around as the ac blew and blew, the TV on repeat. Unable to reach his food, he was running out of options. The body starting to rot. So, Dexter did the only thing he could think of.

Now the brute, free from the bunker after ages of being trapped inside, roams the broken world that awaits. His master being reduced to a bag full of bones labeled Popcorn.

-

Credit to for the group, and application background!

Description

-Name:

Dexter.

-Age:

3 yrs.

-Gender:

Male.

-Breed:

Doberdane, has a bit of wolf in him somewhere.

-Height:

Nearly 4 ft.

-Personality:

Theres no bastard as cold hearted and as ruthless as the one they call Dex. Hardened from his time in the military, fighting ever since the day he left the womb. He's aggressive, territorial, brutal, and merciless. He lacks empathy, willing to do whatever it takes to survive.

His morals.. well, are a bit more skewed than others. A opportunist, he will eat anything. However, he loves human flesh the most.

-Background story:

Born and bred to be a terrifying beast, the soldiers that were assigned to Dexter soon grew to love their large scary friend. He was young, kind, fresh from the academy. He was clueless to what awaited, until the gunshots rang out. Bullets grazed his flesh, commands filling his ears. He sunk his teeth into the throats of wailing men, he tasted human blood for the first time. Oh how he savored it.

His first battle made Dexter into a beast that craved the fight, his teeth ready to sink into those bastards that shot at his squad. He loved it. Atleast that was until the jeep his squad was in, got caught in a minefield. Only one survived, his handler and master, loosing limbs and his ability to hear. Holding onto his wounded dog as medics rushed to rescue them.

Dexter and his handler were permitted to go home, where anxiety clawed at the man Dexter considered a friend. His mind fell into anxious worries, trying to restrain his dog that kept on causing trouble. Eventually, he snapped. Building a makeshift bunker, he hid inside with his dog. For weeks they lived off of the many supplies he had packed into this small bunker, thriving as the work turned outside.

Unknowing to what was happening.

Then, as they ate their lunch, the TV playing old movies and the ac buzzing cool air within, the man slumped over. Falling dead for his heart had failed him. Dexter nudged his masters only hand, his skin cold and clammy. Unresponsive. Dexter would be left alone, pacing around as the ac blew and blew, the TV on repeat. Unable to reach his food, he was running out of options. The body starting to rot. So, Dexter did the only thing he could think of.

Now the brute, free from the bunker after ages of being trapped inside, roams the broken world that awaits. His master being reduced to a bag full of bones labeled Popcorn.

-

Credit to for the group, and application background!