Bennett Brown's Questionnaire

I don’t really live anywhere, not in the normal sense. I move from place to place in an old Helix Defense lazaret, part ambulance, part chapel, part coffin if I get careless. Home used to be St. Louis, in a church-run orphanage with cracked stained glass and kind hands. But that’s gone now. These days, I park where the wounded lie and the devil’s work still burns. Highways, cratered villages, makeshift bases those are my pews. My lazaret’s packed tight: a prayer corner, worn medical stretchers, cabinets of gauze and scripture. There’s a crate for my dog(Benjamin Williams), and a sidecar bolted to the bike for emergencies or passengers. I live in motion because evil doesn’t stay still. And I go where I’m needed, because that’s what peace demands.

I am enlisted with Helix as a frontline field medic. My pay was regular, but not generous—enough to keep myself supplied and the lazaret moving between assignments. The Church supplemented what they could, especially in the early years, when I was just starting out. Donations from congregations, charity networks, and sometimes grateful survivors helped me stay operational.

I didn’t spend money on much. My needs were simple: medical supplies, fuel, tools, and scripture. When possible, I stocked up on rations and water purification tablets. I sent what I didn’t need back to the orphanage near St. Louis—the one that raised me. If I was ever seen spending money on myself, it was usually to buy a hot meal for someone who hadn’t had one in days.

I want to be a sign of peace in this shattered world. My visions showed me someone who can bring true peace, and I’m determined to find them and stand by their side. I’m striving to heal not just wounds, but the fear and despair that come with this chaos. I believe the only way forward is to face evil head-on, not run from it. I’m willing to go as far as I have to, even if it means risking my life. I’ve seen death up close before, and I’m not afraid to face it again. I’m a healer at heart, but if taking a life is necessary to protect others and stop the darkness, I will do it. It’s a heavy burden, but one I’m ready to carry. Peace is worth every scar, every sacrifice, every breath drawn in the face of danger.

The Gates opening was the moment that changed everything. I was just sixteen, living at the orphanage near St. Louis, when demons poured through the sky and tore the world apart. Chaos, fire, screams I thought it was the end. But Sergeant Marcus Hale found me in the wreckage. He saved my life and showed me how to hold on to faith, to hope, to calm when everything falls apart. He became more than a soldier; he became my mentor and family. That moment didn’t just save me physically it gave me purpose. It taught me that even in the darkest times, there’s a light worth fighting for. It’s why I became a priest and a medic. It’s why I signed on to Helix. Because I want to be that light for others.

The person I’m closest to was Sergeant Marcus Hale. When the Gates opened and everything fell apart, he found me in the wreckage and saved my life. More than just a soldier or medic, he became my mentor and the closest thing I had to a father. He taught me how to stay calm when the world was shaking and how to hold on to faith even in the darkest moments. His sacrifice still drives me every day. Before Marcus, there was Sister Agnes, who ran the orphanage near St. Louis where I grew up. She was gentle but strong, always making sure we had hope and kindness even when things seemed bleak. She gave me my first lessons in faith and still sends letters and care packages whenever she can. And then there’s Father O’Malley, who guided me through my training and ordination. He challenged me to look beyond just healing wounds to believe in healing hearts and souls too. He reminded me that faith is more than comfort; it’s a call to stand up and act, even when it’s hard. These three shaped who I am a healer, a believer, and someone who refuses to back.

I never knew my parents. I grew up in an orphanage near St. Louis, run by Sister Agnes. The memories of them are just stories I heard from othersnkind, gentle people who, for reasons I’ll never understand, couldn’t keep me.My childhood was quiet, sheltered in that small church orphanage. It wasn’t easy there were plenty and plenty of kids, and not much to go around. But Sister Agnes made sure we had what we needed, and she taught us faith and hope, even when the world outside felt dark. I did attend school, though it wasn’t anything fancy. I wasn’t exactly the most outgoing kid, but I kept to myself and worked hard. I didn’t stand out, but I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere either. Maybe that’s why I found comfort in faith and medicine the chance to make a difference where it mattered most now and in the future.

I haven’t been in love not really. There were people I cared for, friends and close companions, but love… that’s been harder to find. Between the war, the chaos after the Gates opened, and my duties as a medic and priest, there just wasn’t space for it. Part of me wonders if I’m too focused on the mission the search for peace and the one I’m meant to find. Maybe i find someone maybe love will come someday who knows, but for now, I hold onto faith the Bible and the hope that I’m doing what I’m meant to do.