I was born January 4th, 1995 in the Appalachian Mountains. My family was dirt floor poor, but we were rich with family and heritage. Our family's livelihood was strongly based upon the furs and pelts of the woodland creatures. We wouldn't waste any part of the animal that we had taken. Meat use for obvious reasons, bones used in olden medicine and utensils, and the pelts and furs to live off. At the age of 7 I had already killed and worked my first buck, at 12 my first mountain lion, 19 my first brown bear. I loved what I did and I had chosen to do this for my livelihood and career. At the age of 20 I had become a local man, myth and legend, trapping and killing ol' mountain myths and legends. I had grown bored of the local wildlife and heard a few stories from a few city folk about a great white bear in the northern mountain ranges in the country of Chernarus. Feeling a need or an obligation to feed my own ego I went searching for this great white beast. But after a week of being in the country it seems that the hunter has become the hunted and I'm no longer the top of the good ol' food chain. These past few months being in the northern mountains of this country have landed me little results on my great escapade for this great beast. Now my aims have been turned on survival. But.... This Great White Beast will always linger in the back of my mind... But as a taunt or as test is still unknown to me.