Warren Teller

Warren Teller, better known as Wasp by most of Camp Hope, is a wiry, sharp-eyed man in his early 30s with calloused hands and the twitchy energy of someone constantly running on just enough sleep and far too much caffeine. He starts each morning with a desperate rummage through his dwindling stash of brew grounds or barters frantically for the bitter syrup that keeps his hands from shaking and his mind from slipping into poison-laced Exhaustion. Caffeine is not a vice for Warren—it’s survival.

Warren Teller was born and raised among the stubborn roots and rusting roofs of Camp Hope, and he’s never known any other home. The scent of churned soil, old metal, and burning wood is as familiar to him as his own hands—and it’s in those fields, among crops and buzzing hives, that he’s spent nearly every day of his life.

When Warren was ten, his world changed. His parents left camp one day—quietly, without farewell or warning—and never came back. No bodies were found. No explanations were given. Just silence. Some claimed they ran off to escape their debts. Others whispered of something darker in the woods beyond the fence. Warren stopped wondering long ago. He had other things to survive.

He and his two siblings—Whitney Teller (his sharp-tongued, no-nonsense twin sister) and Gavin Teller (their serious, steady older brother)—were left in the bitter care of their aunt and uncle, Mara and Clive Teller. Both were Farmers like their lost parents, but lacked their warmth or sense of duty. Raising someone else's children clearly wasn’t what they’d signed up for. Their discipline was cold, sometimes cruel, and their resentment lingered like mold in the walls. Even now, Mara and Clive still work the land and pretend the past never happened.

Despite the rough upbringing, the Teller siblings stayed close. Not always in lockstep, but close enough to check in, help when needed, share field tips, or split a bag of roasted roots after a long day's work. Whitney tends to the camp’s western greenhouses, and Gavin specializes in grain rotations. They’ve got each other’s backs when it counts—and that’s more than most can say.

Warren found his place with the The Farmers Guild through The Apiary, where his natural patience and affinity for bees quickly earned him the nickname Wasp. He has a gift for nurturing hives that others consider temperamental, and the Honey he cultivates is as valuable as it is potent—an asset that’s brought him both attention and trouble.

Years ago, a dispute with Jail Officer Malrick over unpaid trade taxes escalated beyond threats and warnings. Warren, ever proud, stood his ground and paid for it. A forged document. A public shouting match. It ended with him behind bars for three bitter months, locked away in one of Camp Hope’s repurposed bunkers. The sting of it still lingers. Malrick hasn’t forgotten either—and Warren knows their feud could draw blood next time.

It was in the Apiary that he met Dr. Elira Vasquez, a brilliant and frustratingly charming intern with The Doctors Faction. She was supposed to study the honey, catalog its medical effects, maybe even secure a future supply. Warren was supposed to keep her at arm's length. That didn’t happen. Their collaboration quickly turned competitive, each subtly undercutting the other’s findings, challenging methods, arguing late into the night in the sting-filled shadows of the hives. But something tethered them. Shared ambition? A reluctant respect? Maybe something more tender. Neither could quite cut the thread, even when they both knew they should.

Warren finds comfort in his friendship with Sandra Bradshaw, a fellow Farmer's Guild member who shares his appreciation for soil, sweat, and the simple pleasures of clean graft. Their bond is easy—rooted in shared values and long hours in the fields or buzzing around the Apiary. With her, there’s no games, no professional pride to prove. Just an understanding of what it means to grow something honest.