Geo is quiet, but not empty.
Serious, but not cold.
Intimidating, but not cruel.
He doesn’t waste words. He doesn’t fill silence. He doesn’t explain himself unless he has to.
He is:
Observant
Deliberate
Unimpressed by bravado
Uncomfortable with praise
He doesn’t posture. He doesn’t flex. He doesn’t try to be the biggest man in the room—
He already is.
And he knows it.
From a young age, Geo loved comics.
Not casually.
Not as a phase.
He collected.
Whatever he could find:
Newsstands
Yard sales
Base swaps
Overseas markets
Worn, bent, foreign editions
He read them all.
DC was always his preference.
He knew Marvel, but DC felt heavier to him. Darker. More complicated.
He didn’t just read—he studied:
Writers
Arcs
Alternate timelines
Retcons
Obscure villains
It’s one of the only things he will talk at length about if someone asks the right question.
You get him started on Watchmen, Batman, or Crisis-era lore, and the big quiet man suddenly:
Has opinions
Corrects inaccuracies
Remembers issue numbers
Gets animated
It surprises people.
He doesn’t mind that.
Rorschach became his favorite for one simple reason:
“He doesn’t bend.”
After his second tour, a man from a unit he pulled out under fire gave him a gift:
A Rorschach mask.
It was half joke. Half respect. All sincere.
That same action earned Geo a medal.
He never mentions that part.
He kept the mask.
And when things got ugly on later deployments…
He started wearing it.
Not as a joke.
Not as a gimmick.
As a switch.
When the mask is on:
He is not Geo
He is not a husband
He is not a father
He is not tired
He is a problem being solved
That habit followed him home.
And later… into the dead world.
Yes.
The 6'9", 375 lb war veteran went to comic cons.
And he went hard.
Bane.
Darkseid.
Heavy armor builds.
He didn’t do it ironically.
He didn’t do it for attention.
He did it because he loved it.
Kids loved him.
Photographers loved him.
People assumed he was a hired model.
He was just a big nerd in a mask.
That’s where he met Taylor Flemming.
Taylor didn’t see the size first.
She saw the eyes.
She was sharp, warm, curious.
Not intimidated by him. Not impressed by him. Just… interested.
They talked comics.
Then travel.
Then life.
They were married for 30 years.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Solid.
They had their son before they married.
They didn’t care.
They just built.
He named him Jurok after hearing the name in France and liking the sound of it.
No big story.
No legacy meaning.
He just liked it.
Geo was not an expressive father.
But he was present.
He showed up.
He fixed things.
He listened.
He didn’t bullshit him.
He raised him steady.
Not soft.
Not hard.
Just ready.
Jurok grew up around forests, trails, tools, and quiet strength.
Which is why he loved Yosemite.
Geo and Taylor honeymooned in Yosemite National Park.
They fell in love with it.
The quiet.
The scale.
The distance from noise.
So they moved to Groveland, California.
Geo didn’t say it, but it felt like:
A buffer from the world
A place to breathe
A place where nothing could sneak up on him
He built the house strong.
He built it prepared.
He built it like someone who doesn’t trust peace to last.
Taylor knew.
She didn’t argue.
Cancer.
Slow. Ugly. Unfair.
Geo didn’t break down publicly.
He didn’t drink himself stupid.
He didn’t spiral.
He just… shrunk.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The house got quieter.
The laughs stopped.
The comics stayed closed longer.
He stayed.
Because that’s what he does.
Jurok worked at the park most of his life.
Then he wanted more.
More world.
More experience.
Geo didn’t fight it.
He helped him pack.
The last thing he wants is his son living small because his father lived large.
Jurok went to RedHaven City to prep for winter.
Seasonal work. Ski lift operator in Breckenridge.
Normal. Smart. Responsible.
Then the outbreak hit.
The last thing Geo heard:
“I’m stuck in RedHaven.”
That’s it.
No address.
No location.
No follow-up.
Just… gone.
Geo is not searching emotionally.
He is searching functionally.
He does not cry about his son.
He does not talk about his son.
He does not monologue about his son.
He moves.
Because if Jurok is alive, he needs his father moving.
Not grieving.
With strangers:
Short answers
Polite but distant
Observant
With kids:
Softer voice
Slower movements
Less intimidating
With veterans:
Instant recognition
Minimal words
Mutual respect
With anyone who talks comics:
He opens up
He smiles
He engages
That’s the tell.
If someone ever sees his comics or mentions Rorschach, they’ll get a different man.
Still dangerous.
Still heavy.
But human.
And that’s rare.
Geo is:
A killer who loves comic books
A giant who is gentle
A war machine who was a husband
A survivor who is still a father
He is not broken.
He is focused.
And everything he is now is built around one simple truth:
The world can end. But he is not done.