He left the military at the wishes of his wife who wanted him in a safer occupation now that they had a kid of their own. He was relatively new at his job and was eager to prove his worth and make money to support his family back home in the states. Unfortunately, in the beginning of July of 2017, his journey brought him to Chernarus waters.
After the outbreak, he tried to survive with the crew members of his ship through all the confusion and chaos that ensued. Eventually the crew shrank as people began to fall ill to the sickness. Somehow he remained unaffected as he watched his friends die around him. As time went by, he and his last surviving crew mate made their way by scavenging for supplies during the day and sheltering for the long cold nights.
Though the goal was always to make it back home, hope began to fade though neither would speak it. After all, a positive mindset is all that keeps you going when you have nothing left. The pair lost track of the days as they roamed and wandered looking for any way to make contact with the outside world. Both had lost contact with their families and assumed the worst while hoping for the best.
The nights were long, and food was always in short supply. An argument over food rationing late one night (or early one morning) led to the pair squabbling more intensely than normal. They realized their mistake a little too late as they heard the disgusting, guttural noises of the infected outside the small home they had set up in for the night. Anger led to confusion as the pair struggled to defend themselves. Ammunition was in even shorter supply than food, and they both knew the consequences of firing a weapon; the noise would draw even more unwanted attention.
They were tired. They were hungry. Was it even worth fighting anymore? Desperation took the heart of the shipmate, who grabbed the shotgun they had been sharing and began blasting at the infected pouring in the front door. The pair retreated up the stairs and attempted to barricade the small room they found themselves in. The infected grew louder. The door grew weaker.
"Fine shooting!" the survivor screamed at his ship mate, his back against the door in an attempt to hold back the infected. In the darkness, he had not noticed his last remaining crew member suffered a sizable gash on his leg while rushing up the stairs. He did notice his friend's expression had changed to an almost emotionless state.
"All this for this?" the shipmate said in an unusually calm voice, pointing to his leg wound, and then towards the door holding back the infected. Without a chance to respond, the survivor watched in horror as his only friend put the shotgun under his own chin and pulled the trigger. His back still against the door, and now partly covered in the remains of the last human he knew, the survivor had no time to think. He ran towards the small window in the room and threw himself out, the infected pouring in as soon as his weight left the door. The last gunshot drew even more infected to the area, the sounds were all around as the survivor hit the ground. Though most were focused on tearing their way into the home, a few happened to hear as the survivor hit the ground and let out a cry as the wind was knocked out of him.
Relying on pure instinct and adrenaline, the survivor ran as hard as he could for as long as he could, stopping only briefly to throw up and see if he was still being followed on the way. As the land ran out and turned to coast, he stopped to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. He was now more alone than he had ever been in his entire life. He sat down. The sun was rising. He was thirsty; he knew he couldn't sit for long. He had to keep going. There's still hope, he told himself, with unblinking eyes and a face partially covered in blood. Thought of his wife and young child filled his mind. Still shaking, in too much of a state of shock to cry, he rose to his feet. He began walking up the coast.