My name is Max Hanson.
I was born in San Francisco, January 3rd, 1985 to a very young mother and father.
Both of my parents were still in highschool, both didn’t have a job, or any means of income besides the loyalty cheque from my grandfather, which of course went straight to booze and take out food.
Around the age of 4, my parents had decided they did not want me anymore, and took me to the Church to where I was brought in as an Orphan.
I grew up, bouncing from house to house, no actual school, besides a few days here and there of a “teacher”, or so she called herself, teaching us english.
When I turned 11, I had enough of the orphanage I had grown up in, nobody talked to me, so I wasn’t missing much.
I decided I would go out on my own, try and survive with what I could afford, beg for change, anything really.
During my time on the streets, I had made a few friends, I went to gatherings, which had countless police all in a line most of the time.. We used to yell, and throw shit near them, for I guess not letting us cross.
I later found out that these were riots, for a man they called “Spike Johnson”, who had been arrested for false counts of rape, from there on out, I made every single “gathering” I could, and I was usually the front man.
"Gatherings in Central San Francisco - 1996"
After about ten years, I had been overrun by fellow members supporting our cause, they were rushing the Police.
I was taken into the hospital, and arrested after I had recovered.
I had been charged with 8 months in jail, I was sent to a Medium Security Prison not to far from my old house.
During my time in jail, I was alone, I was afraid.
One day, an officer approached me and asked if I would like to become a work detail for a huge renovation, in another Country.
I thought this may be my best chance to escape, in another Country, a new life, a new me.
I arrived in a Country named Chernarus, working at the Factories. I knew absolutely nothing of their language, but during work hours, I would talk with a guy I had made friends with.. Vasily.
Vasily was a big, muscular man, short hair, and lots of tattoos, he could speak English, just enough I could understand what he was saying, he was always drunk too.
I was given the option of staying in Chernarus, so I took it. Vasily taught me Chernarussian, and some Russian.
A lot of it, I had picked up my own.
I have been in this shithole, long enough. My attempts at making a break, are always cut off, by either the dead, or others.
When I came here, I had no idea I’d be trying to fight for survival day in, and day out.
I guess that's my mission now, survive.. Try and find Vasily.. Try and remain a decent human.