"But sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts, always being ready to make a defence to everyone who asks you to give an account for the hope that is in you, yet with gentleness and reverence;"
*Deep in the Night, there was nothing but silence, only the faint crackling of the campfire, sending feeble sparks to die in the air; time seemed to have stopped in a land where Evil never sleeps. The old man felt when the Earth started moving again. How long had it been? A heartbeat? A lifetime? His mind was confused, the thin veil of insanity looming over his wearied mind. It had only been a few months, but he felt like he had lost a part of himself already. He took up his pen and his notebook, looked for a blank page and started writing frantically; he layed down his story on the paper, to remind himself of who he his, should he ever forget*
"My name is Benoit Moreau, I was born on the 28th of December 1965 in Avignon, France. I am a Catholic priest. (Have I always? Can’t remember.) I was sent by the Holy See to provide moral support to the Christian population of South Zagoria, some time ago. (Months? Years?) I travelled through Europe, following the wretched scent of chaos. It's in the town of Vladikavkaz, north of the Chernarussian/Russian border that the outpost, Russian military had already fled, leaving the people here to fend for themselves. Good folks, decent folks. Think they would have shot me on sight was it not for the cross I bore, fashioned it out of two birch branches, must have looked like a fool with my wonky cross and ruined cassock. They didn’t shoot, good folks. Even though I had a mission, I shamelessly put it on hold to help these people out a bit, Lord knows they had it rough. I had to leave eventually, these folks survived without me before and I hope they’ll all outlive me. Poor souls, I did all I could. (I didn’t. Yes, I did.) My mission is still to be accomplished. It's with a heavy heart that I keep walking. But Chernarus needs God, needs me. The Lord has a plan for us all …"