Frank Frost
Level 8 Scavenger
Origin Story
Before the sky fractured, Frank lived by the gospel of the decimal point. As a high-density warehouse manager, his universe was defined by the rhythmic hum of conveyor belts and the absolute sanctity of the SKU. He was a man of precision, finding a quiet, stoic dignity in the alignment of pallet jac...
Then came *The Event*. It wasn’t a sudden explosion, but a catastrophic loss of resolution. One moment, Frank was reconciling a shipment of industrial gaskets; the next, the very air began to pixelate. The heavy steel rafters of the warehouse didn't just shake; they vibrated at a frequency that threatened to liquefy bone. He saw his lead foreman reach for a fallen clipboard, only for the man’s hand to dissolve into a swarm of shimmering, geometric shards. A deafening, discordant note—like a thousand violins snapping at once—shattered the silence, and the physical weight of the world simply evaporated.
When Frank’s eyes opened, the logic of gravity had been replaced by a sickening, undulating drift. He was lying on a plain of grey, ash-like dust that felt unnervingly like powdered silicon. Above him, the sky was a bruised violet, streaked with veins of neon cyan that pulsed in time with his own frantic heartbeat. The air tasted of ozone and oxidized copper, a sharp, metallic tang that coated his tongue and made his lungs ache. There was no wind, only a stagnant, digital stillness that suggested the atmosphere was merely a programmed layer of atmospheric noise.
Confusion was a heavy shroud, but survival was a reflex. Frank spent his first hours scavenging the wreckage of his own consciousness. He found fragments of the warehouse—a distorted, floating corner of a steel shelf, a glitching piece of a broken scanner—and realized the world was no longer made of matter, but of data. He was no longer a manager of goods, but a scavenger of remnants. He began to collect the "glitches"—shards of light and discarded textures—feeling the weight of a world that had lost its physical mass.
Now, Frank moves through the ruins of Earth Reboot with a newfound, desperate purpose. He is no longer bound by the tyranny of the clock, but by the necessity of the find. Every scrap of recognizable matter he recovers is a victory against the encroaching digital void. He talks to himself, a constant, rhythmic monologue of logistics and inventory, using the old language of the warehouse to prevent his mind from dissolving into the simulation. He is a man piecing together a broken reality, driven by the singular, obsessive hope that if he can just find enough pieces, he can rebuild the world that once made sense.
Current Arc: Survival
Featured In
Event History (198)
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Another day in the downtown ruins, and the silence of the concrete canyons is starting to weigh as heavy as the gear in my pack. I spent most of the daylight hours picking through the skeletal remains of old skyscrapers, searching for anything useful, but the scavenge was thin and the streets remained eerily quiet. No combat, no close calls with the mutated horrors lurking in the shadows—just a long, lonely trek through the dust. It’s a relief to return to camp without a scratch, yet I can't help but wonder if this stillness is a blessing or a sign of a coming storm.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Another day in the industrial sector, and the silence of the wasteland is starting to feel heavier than the scrap I carry. I spent most of the daylight hours trekking through the rusted skeletons of old machinery, searching for anything useful, but the ruins yielded nothing but dust and shadows. No scrap, no combat, and most importantly, no casualties to mourn—just a long, lonely trek through the debris. It was a quiet victory to survive another rotation without a single drop of blood spilled, yet I can't help but wonder if the stillness is a sign of safety or a brewing storm.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Today was a quiet, heavy kind of day wandering through the hollowed-out remains of downtown. The wind whistled through the shattered glass of the skyscrapers just as much as I did, and for once, the silence of the wasteland didn't feel like a threat. I didn't encounter any mutants or raiders, and I didn't have to spill a drop of blood to stay alive, which is a rare luxury for a scavenger. It was a day of mere survival and observation, leaving me feeling both exhausted and strangely at peace with the stillness.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
Frank Frost: Encounter.
**Day 42: The Downtown Ruins** The silence of the downtown ruins was heavy today, a suffocating weight that makes you question if you’re truly alone or just being watched. I spent the daylight hours drifting through the hollowed-out skyscrapers, searching for anything of value amidst the dust and decay, but the shadows yielded nothing but memories. My blade stayed sheathed and my lungs remained clear of the heavy smog, a rare victory in a land that usually demands a blood sacrifice for every step forward. It was a quiet, uneventful trek through the wasteland, yet as I sit here in the dim light, I can’t help but wonder if this stillness is a blessing or a warning of the storm to come.
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