Clancy was a university student before moving to Chernarus illegally. He studied in Engineering, but a heavy lack of passion or care for his studies led to his new-found hobby turned short-time career of the cannabis trade.
It began as a passion, and that passion became a career. He had always hoped he'd be successful in life, but it was during his time spent as a cannabis dealer that be began to realise he didn't want to fall into the same mindless hole he felt the people around him were falling into.
To him, life wasn't about chasing the small rush of dopamine that flushes your brain everytime someone likes your photos and posts on social media. It wasn't about going clubbing each weekend and spending burnt money on wasted time. It wasn't about making small talk in the elevator making plans neither person wants to happen.
Life became an experience, something he knew he couldn't fully comprehend, but something he wanted to truly appreciate. This became a lot clearer to him once he began to use substances such as LSD and other psychedelics. He began to realise what was within his control and what wasn't, and through this his unnecessary worries, drama and stress faded away like dandelions in the wind. Bad memories turned into valuable experiences. Selling weed wasn't about the money, sure it was his source of income, but it was the interactions and happiness he shared with those he knew as he handed over their stuffed bags.
Clancy wasn't a druggie-lowlife though... Far from it. He had friends, and was considered close to many. What he did take, he did so carefully and with the intent of developing himself as a person as-well as those around him. He'd always had a love for helping others, especially when it came to the degree of intensity that psychedelics can reach. The little things started to mean a lot like asking how people are each time he was making a deal or doing small favours that were effortless from him but meant a great deal to others. It seemed he had a great path ahead of him, however disaster was soon to strike when Clancy's Uncle needed help, and the generosity Clancy showed to assist would land him in deep-water.
Now his Uncle was the backbone to his current occupation. The whole family knew about it, the Road family were honest with one another, but not only this, they were friendly with almost the entire town which meant Clancy wasn't running any risk with what he was doing. The cannabis being sold to the town was imported from a Chernarussian farm Uncle Road had a personal connection with. There was an issue in which Clancy's engineering experience would be perfect for, and his Uncle had to make a visit to check the farms anyway. No worries, no violence, no risks, everything had the green light.
After having enterred Chernarus illegally thanks to his Uncle's friends ties with some corrupt low-level government officials assisting with the operation, Clancy set out to meet the organised farming groups within South Zagoria. After months of overseeing the growing, as well as maintaining the equipment, tensions within Chernarus' political powers rose. Soon after, Clancy's Uncle decided it was time to leave, but there was no way of leaving the country given the on-going conflicts.
Staying holed up in the basement they were working in, conditions slowly got worse and worse for the boys in the basement. It was cramped for how many men were in there, and the general mood deteriorated as the days went past. Shit remained relatively repetitive till the outbreak happened, and most of the men left in search of their family and friends. Clancy, his Uncle and a few others remained and for as long as they could, they tried to operate as a small group pulling off small supply runs in pairs, but morale was evidently low and it wasn't getting any better.
One night, Clancy was woken by several loud gunshots from the basement. Shitting himself he grabs a knife left near him and slowly makes his way to the other end of the basement. No more shots. Something was weird. They couldn't be getting attacked otherwise there would be more noise. He kept repeating questions till he saw the open door and the four men he'd been living with, including his Uncle lay motionless on the floor. Two guns, four men, litres of blood.
After losing his Uncle, as well as the others working in the basement with him, he decided to lock-down the storage basement to minimize interactions with those outside as much as possible.
From here, the story continues on Fifty Two's group page.
- Psychedelics, Cannabis and MDMA -
- Dogs -
- Star Wars -
- Safety -
- Honest People -
- His group -
- Heroin, Meth, Coke and Spice -
- Spiders -
- Star Trek -
- Big Dicking -
- Supremacism -
- Fake People -
- Cultism, Cannabilism, Extreme Religion -