Name: Pvt. Andrew Johanson (A.J. for short)<br/>Age: 20<br/>Height: 5ft 9in<br/>Species: Human<br/>Physical Description: Slightly muscular build, short black hair, dressed in U.S. Army uniform<br/>Personality: kind, but can be a ruthless warrior should the occasion call for it<br/><br/>A.J. falls face first into the sand. It is his forth day alone in the desert since his military convoy was attacked. The only reason he'd lasted this long was because of his cowardice; hiding beneath a tank as whatever it was laid waste to everything.<br/>A.J. picks himself up, trying to forget what he'd saw when he'd peered from under his hiding place as he continues onward; his destination, he doesn't know.<br/>"I'm gonna die in a rocking chair, 80 years from now..." He says aloud as he walks, pushing that bad memory to the back of his mind. A.J. looks to the horizon to observe his futile progress, and sees something. He can't tell what it is, but it's moving, and it's no mirage! A.J. drops the M4A1 he's been dragging this entire time and begins running towards this mysterious thing, screaming at the top of his lungs as his arms flail in all directions, trying to get the attention of whatever this may be...