My story beings long long ago, about 25 years back I was forced to leave Estonia with my parents. Since Estonia is so close to Russia and was once even ruled by the soviets, most citizens know how to speak Russian, so going east was the only logical thing for us to do. And due to conflicts with the Estonian and Russian people, staying near the border was never an option. Took us around a year of looking for a new home until we finally ended up way down south in Chernarus and settled down in a small village called Zvir. For years i lived happily as the apprentice of the village hunter, getting along with everyone although i spent most of my time in the forest, sometimes for weeks even when not hunting for the village. Due to this i missed the initial outbreak of the infection, other than seeing increased activity from the air force i had no idea anything was happening. One day when returning to Zvir i was caught off-guard and nearly mauled to death by the few infected roaming the street. I managed to break free and get inside my house, but after that, I could not stay there any longer. I gathered my belonging and left Zvir to never go back. To this day I have nightmares of running into the little children from the village, and just being... paralyzed, and helpless. For that reason i stay as far as i can, because I know when that day comes... my life will end. When the time comes i wish to go back to Estonia, back to the forests and the bogs i grew up in. I often speak to myself, holding on to what I remember of the Estonian language. And i hope when i return, i can finally speak to someone other than myself.