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| Profession (Post-Apoc) | Monroe Guard |
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| Profession (Pre-Apoc) | Ordained Priest |
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| Likes | Cajun Food, Jazz, Basketball |
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| Dislikes | Smartasses, Friendly Fire |
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Biography:
Reverend Gerald Sidney Bechet was a good man. He volunteered his time at local homeless shelters and soup kitchens. He coached a youth basketball team in the summers and he spent winters playing jazz piano in retirement homes. He was the first to offer a helping hand, an understanding ear, or a word of advice. There wasn't a man or woman in his community that didn't know him or offer a smile and a wave as he passed by, which he would undoubtedly return. He wasn't perfect, no living soul truly could be, but that didn't prevent one from striving to be. He led his small Baton Rouge parish by example, teaching the mercy and humanity of his beliefs through kind acts rather than dry sermons - though he did have a number of those on hand. If there was a Heaven out there, and Gerald was certain there was, then there was no doubt he had a VIP ticket through the pearly gates.
If there was a Heaven out there, Gerald was certain this wasn't it. When the Oculurubrus disease struck, he tried desperately to remain a pillar of strength within the community. He tried to rally the spirits of his flock. He tried to bring them together in strength and unity. But the disease had no mercy to be found. No humanity. It swept through the land like the plagues of old, like a biblical flood to wash away the righteous and unrighteous alike. The good Reverend watched in horror and helplessness as the world fell to chaos and his community crumbled around him. His parish and his people died, and so too did his faith.
But Gerald lived. He was a man of dedication and strong will before the apocalypse, and that will remained twisted but unbroken. Overcome by a sense of betrayal, he vowed to live, if only to spite the sick Creator that wanted to see him suffer so. He fought to see every next sunrise, committing sins that once he wouldn't have even dare dreamed of just to keep breathing. Bodies lie before him, some from his own hand and others from his indifference. With his home in ashes, Gerald drifted in a sort of self-imposed exile, traveling the ruins of the old world. He saw a land that could only be described as God-forsaken. Monsters roamed free, and the small pockets of survivors were hardly better. Civil order had long since broken down, and ruthlessness reigned supreme. He bore witness to acts of great cruelty, of darkness and base human desires, and the sight of this new world sickened him. As the years passed, Gerald came to a slow revelation; this was a world without faith. Without the hope of something more. But it didn't have to be this way. People could be better. They
should be better. When the former Reverend discovered the small community of Monroe, he saw in them an opportunity. A chance to be more than what he was, more than the bitter husk he had become.
Gerald Bechet was not a good man. But maybe, just maybe, he could be one again.
