Born to an Irish immigrant father and mother, and as far as Neil knew; a simple odd job man and nurse, and given the annoyingly traditional naming of Niall Muireach. Given he could barely speak a lick of Irish for most of his childhood, and nobody could in his schools, this quickly became Neil Murray. Neil was brought up in a childhood best summarized as 'Spare the rod and spoil the child', where much was expected of him and all the more it was enforced the more he defied it even just for the sake of defying it, though even with this there was no escaping the one expectation of working for his father. Whatever work that may be, legal or otherwise.
Ending up as little more than a jack-of-all-trades, and not a man with any specific career in mind, he took advantage of the post-civil war work boom to scoop up easy construction contracts and score jobs with some bigger companies. That it got him out of the country, and put quite a few miles between him and both his family and Ireland, a little was a welcome bonus. He later got stranded in Chernarus when prospecting for work in the outdated area of South Zagoria. The martial law had, in effect, grounded his commercial plane out of the country, as it had been delayed already pending a legal inquiry into proceedings regarding the flight.
Lost in the exodus westward, the slow mass herd plodding to the borders to escape, he could feel either Europe would shut them out or they'd simple not make it out ahead of whatever was following. Doubling back to the place he started, now much more vacant as many of the locals had left or vanished by then. Not that Neil knew of the latter. Taking to a policy of keeping to himself, avoiding the rioters, soldiers and any remaining law enforcement especially, as such predicaments likes to create dangerous situations, he settled on an attempt to hole up and wait for it all to blow over.. It's not like it's criminal to just keep alive, right?
(More to come, W.I.P)