First things first, mom's dead. We stole some military boat in order to get out of Chernarus and we took some fire off the slip. She got hit, so did Mikula, Iggy, and Imran. None of them made it. The rest of the Lagisi went their separate ways when we made land in Turkey. Trevor tried to kill me like I expected, but that didn't end well for him.

I met these people in Turkey that called themselves "vagabonds." I'd been traveling alone for almost a month by then and the half-mag of 9mm in my glock was starting to look a little too friendly. I decided I had nothing to lose by joining up with them. At first they called themselves a roaming band of traders. They'd take people in from time to time all under the condition that they help out, pull their weight, and offer something worthwhile down the road if we ever come across it. I met a woman there, her name was Sabina - she and I hit if off rather quickly, and from then on I was a vagabond. It didn't take very long until I noticed something was off with the Vagabonds, however. People we'd pick up along the way would mysteriously disappear or take off, but the odd thing was that I never saw them leave. It was always sometime during the night or when I was out on a run. The more time went on, the more suspicious I became. Finally, I confronted Sabina about the nature of the Vagabond's practices, and she confessed and confided in me that they weren't really traders at all, but rather bandits that murdered and stole from anyone that they came across that had anything worth taking.

I wasn't sure what to do with this information. I was traversing the persian plateaus with murderers and thieves like an idiot. Sabina and I hatched a plan, and enlisted the aid of her younger brother Kasim. We stole a bunch of supplies and made a break for a small town airport where Kasim knew there was an old plane stashed away. He'd been a pilot in the Turkish military for nearly three years before all of this started, so I foolishly trusted him with my life when we all crammed into this tiny dusting craft. We narrowly escaped a life of banditry from the vagabonds and our plan was to head north across the Black Sea into Romania and eventually up to Poland where Sabina and Kasim had distant relatives who owned large swaths of land. The vagabonds would never follow us north, it was too cold for their liking and Istanbul was a bitch to navigate these days.

We were flying over Poland after stopping in a Romanian airstrip to siphon some fuel from some abandoned planes, but that's when we took fire from some unknown enemy. Somebody didn't want planes snooping around, and to this day it's unclear whether this was the military or some other frightened survivors. I'm going with military though, because they shot us with pin-point precision, took out both of our engines with two bursts and send us barreling into some swamp land. Neither Sabina and Kasim survived the landing, but I did.

I carry the guilt of surviving that plane crash with me everywhere I go. And since then I promised I'd live a full, worthwhile life until the day I die. Whenever that is. It's summer right now, but I've got to find a place to ride out the winter real soon. I've met a few travelers (not vagabonds) on my way north, and many of them have told me of this place up in Norway called "Nyheim," where there's a strong remnant of Civilization that takes in strays. Norway's quite a long ways away from northern Poland, but I've got a lead on a boat... But after everything I've been through, I might just fucking walk because boats and planes can both go fuck themselves.