Birthplace is not important, parents are not important, how much money you have is not important; the only thing that separates the strong from the weak is who they know. I make it my business to know as many useful people as possible. It's how I ended up in the army you see, you can never have too many friends who know how to use guns and don’t mind some shady business every once in a while. In this respect, communication is everything. That’s why I started taking off the books lessons from a translator. School wasn’t much for me, I never saw the point of it, but even I could see the benefit in speaking English.
Now you might be asking yourself what my plan was with my new friends and English speaking skills? It is simple really, after leaving the army I joined up with an aid organisation that will remain nameless for no other reason than its none of your fucking business. Northern parts of South Zagoria had been devastated by civil war. Much of the central region of the province and southern parts too. The whole place was a shitshow really, a far cry from the fond rural memories my babushka raised me on. I could have gone to Moscow to seek my fortune in the city, army boys can make a good living in private security or police, but I wanted to make a difference for those families in the north. That was my region you see, where I was assigned to, handing out fresh water, food, helping old women cross the road, that kinda thing.
It was not to last, after about three months I realised that any meaningful work that I had been assigned was slowly being reassigned to other areas of the organisation. In effect, as the politicians are so fond of saying, I was being put out to pasture. Retributions on people like me were ramping up, homes and businesses burned out, men beaten in back alleys, women raped in the night. A contact of mine was able to procure significant amounts of food rations for me to distribute through inroads made with local families, but even then, it was a question of how long they would be alive if they even smelled Russian. Those who could leave had left but a significant population remained.
I’m not getting into the details but, suffice it to say, I was pointed in the direction of a capable man. We worked something out and those young lads that wanted to leave the region but couldn’t suddenly found themselves with jobs in companies nobody had ever heard of; paperwork, passports, the whole shebang ready to go. Those who wanted to stay were given a fighting chance with some small arms to defend their homes. Illegal of course but jail is better than dead, even in Chernarus. I ran into some trouble with the law shortly after I made this arrangement, but the deal was done, I had done as much as I could.
Anyway, gonna wrap this up here, I don’t usually talk this much. Oh, you want to know how I ended up fleeing from local authorities? Well that’s a story for another time.