Terry, the tracker. "Food doesn't grow with money alone."

That's what his dad told him twenty-eight years earlier when the old government forced them to sell all the farmland they had left. Terry's dad had tried to make a descent living, they moved to the city, but he could only do so much. Terry was only fifteen then, his first job off the farm was in some sty of a warehouse picking up after the real employees. Terry didn't care.

It didn't take long before he was eighteen and had already studied two styles of Kung Fu and dropped out of high school. Before he was twenty, Terry was knee deep in a wheat field that wasn't on any map, in a platoon that wasn't in any U.S.M.C. records. Time served him well, five years and he was field-testing new "Gifted" Soldiers, an elite new breed.

After that there was no reenlistment, and no work on the outside. Six months out and what happens? All hell breaks loose. Everything was gone. No more dad. No more rat infested apartment in the south Bronx. No more job at the V.A. Well maybe it wasn't so bad. Terry had known for years that some idiot was going to blow it all, sooner or later.

That was the last night Terry called himself a man. What he knew of death was only a drop of ink in the pool around him. By the time he had found shelter that first night his body cried for a release. There was none. Only blank faces were left on the bodies flung around him, a dream that would not end. The dreams came slowly at first; Terry saw it as a sign to move from what was his home.

The trimmed and kept trees of the turnpike had grown wild ripping the asphalt from its place. It had been less than a week; the plants should be dying but instead they raged in this new time spreading like wildfires. With the start of each new day Terry had to find a new bearing as the countryside had evolved.

Terry survived in this wilderness alone for nearly two years. This would have driven a lesser man to madness. Though the nightmare persisted something had driven Terry to keep moving, to keep living. When finally he was "rescued" by a Hunters' patrol he was taken to a camp just outside a city that he had never seen before.

"This is New York, the Dome, it's a place you can be safe." Reducities - what a great summer vacation. The crap flew for two months as all manner of being came and went though the camp. The Hunters had told him he would be welcome with them. "Always looking for a man with your skills." The same line his C.O. gave him three years prior.

Since then, Terry has roamed the east coast moving from Survivor camp to Survivor camp helping out where he can, working a field or other odd job. Occasionally moving through a real city, still trying to adjust, but before to long something inside tells him to move on.

Recently, Terry did take up the offer of the Hunters. Not quite what they had wanted though, in the trade city of Dor-E'an Terry is a registered bounty hunter and bodyguard.

This led him to rediscover an old pleasure he had almost forgotten, the bar. Most of Terry's days within the city are spent drunk, but he works cheap and as long as the job isn't too bad it will get done with a minimum of complaint.

Personality: Terry runs the gambit from hard nosed mercenary to babbling fool. This seems to be set on a sliding scale of sobriety. Though not hostile to his employer a job such as this is trivial in Terry's eyes' as it is only a reputation on the line, nothing important.

Introductions: Terry can be found at the "Filer" most likely drunk and in a melancholy mood. With proof of good intention Terry will quickly try to stop drinking, this may take a few more shots.