Sheriff’s Office: Sandy “Moose” Jansen

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Sandy “Moose” Jansen


There’s nothin’ like the confines of a cubicle or a packed subway to give a man perspective. I was so caught up in the grind of office politics and the endless hunt for affirmation and money, I didn’t realise I was getting’ sick. Friend, I was no more alive than those things out there, and a sight less mobile. The disease that grew inside me was as black as theirs. “Freedom lies in bein’ bold,” said Robert Frost, so I boldly quit my job and traded my rent-controlled apartment on Christopher street for a vintage Harley and an old poncho. Found my salvation in the open road, and I haven’t looked back since.

The Fog

Travelling the open country, you learn to be prepared for whatever the land throws your way. Faced with the elements, you gain a new appreciation and respect for nature, and you come to accept how small and insignificant you truly are. Nature is neither good, or evil. Just is. But there was nothing natural about the storm that rolled in on Solomon Island, or the fog that followed. There was evil in that fog, whispering to everyone in its path. The townsfolk followed the fog back into the sea, as if possessed. It was Deputy Gardener – Andy – saved my life. He grabbed hold of me when the fog got into my head, tied a rope around us both, kept walkin’ the other way. It was like the whispers didn’t get to him. When I finally got my wits back, the fog had rolled back out again to where it is now. We shook hands, and we started lookin’ for survivors and building this fortress. That man saved my life, selflessly, and I love him for it. I’d go to the ends of the world and back for Andy…I don’t think I’ll ever win him over though.

The Secret World

Living on the razor’s edge of society your eyes open up to the possibility that there’s something more to this world, something most people are too blind or too preoccupied to notice. Even if it’s right under their noses, and has been all along. I only noticed small things at first. Roads that appeared and disappeared. Folks who traveled by way of gates drawn in chalk on brick walls. Houses bigger on the inside than the outside. Magic trinkets sold at yard sales. Street shamans capable of taking out the cancer inside you. But it wasn’t until I found myself face to face with werewolves in New Orleans that I realized there’s a secret war going on. After that, I couldn’t escape it. I saw signs and sigils everywhere. I’ve met recruiters for the Templars, Illuminati and the Dragon. They all seem to think I’d make a useful operative. I tell them I take no sides, and that I’d be little use to them. But the “united against darkness” thing I can get behind. We’re all in this together…and we all got work to do.


Andy and Helen – Deputy Gardener and Sheriff Bannerman – they are the reason I stayed behind when I could have just gone. I know the secret roads, I know how to ride out of here, through places the fog can’t touch. But folks like them, and like the rest of the survivors here in Kingsmouth, deserve better. I’m not putting you on the spot here, friend. I know you got other places to be, other wars to fight, which is why it’s doubly important I stay behind. There’s an honesty and an innocence to these people, and they genuinely know and care about one another. Of course, I can’t claim total selflessness. My heart’s gone soft for Andy, and even if he’ll never feel the same way for me, as long as this heart’s beating, I won’t let any harm come to him.

The Sheriff’s Office

I’ve spent the better part of two decades on the road, my friend, and I’ve learnt that there’s not a loose bolt these hands can’t tighten, not a broken transmission they cannot fix. You give me a handful of nails and some wood, and I’ll build you a house. When the undead came marching up Main Street, just a day or two after the fog pulled back, we did our best to prepare for the worst. Andy and me, with the help from the rest of the good folk here, built ourselves something better than a house. We built a castle. It won’t hold forever, but as long as we’re breathing, as long as we believe in salvation – with or without help from the likes of you – we’ll walk tall and stand firm.

Death, and the Instruments Thereof

Moose is assembling some homemade explosives, but is running out of ingredients. He could use someone to scavenge the streets and stores of Kingsmouth for materials.



Kingsmouth Municipal Park

Jack & Wendy’s Bed & Breakfast

Journey’s End Pier

The ingredients you have found for your friend should indeed serve many deadly functions. We look forward to the blood and violence. Killing always ends with the same result, but each unique way of getting there provides valuable information about our enemies. Do they abandon when a limb is lost, or swing it as a weapon? Do they run when they burn, or flap on the ground? Knowledge is precious. Concurrently (for everything is concurrent), we now know more about Kingsmouth's commercial layout and the distribution of its enemies. We are pleased.

Appetite for Destruction

Sandy ‘Moose’ Jansen has assembled a potpourri of homemade bombs. He aims to blow up zombies to give some respite to the remaining survivors, but the explosives still need to be tested before they’re used.

A convincing demonstration. We approve of diversified means. The Dragon cannot promise you strength in numbers. Fate decides how many we are. But, as you have shown, numbers mean nothing in the face of preparedness. Your data allows us to analyse our enemies' strengths and weaknesses. This will make us prepared. For now, we are excited by the early results of long-range fire tactics. The greatest gift is an enemy who runs toward you only to lay down and kiss your feet.

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