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Server time (UTC): 2019-11-16, 02:51
John Starks
Character information
  1. Alias
    Damek Ustroya
  2. Mental
    Stable, efficient, calm, collected
  3. Morale
    Disheartedned about the end of the world and the potential of never seeing his wife again
  4. Date of birth
    1975-09-20 (44 years old)
  5. Place of birth
    Loogootee, IN
  6. Nationality
  7. Ethnicity
  8. Languages
    English, Czech, Russian, Spanish, Urdu
  9. Relationship
    Samantha Greenwood-Starks
  10. Family
    Maybelle, and Kurt Starks
  11. Religion
    Baptist raised, turned atheist


  1. Height
    182 cm
  2. Weight
    83 kg
  3. Build
    Lean and strong. endurance trained
  4. Hair
  5. Eyes
  6. Alignment
    Lawful Good
  7. Features
    Tired eyes, and a wistful smile. Pretty average looking man.
  8. Equipment
    Small side arm, and a rifle, Rations, water, rope, and a Knife.
  9. Occupation
    CIA handler
  10. Affiliation
  11. Role


John Starks:
born 1975 to a Mabelle and Kurt Dezario, Loogootee at Daviess Community Hospital
Former CIA operative with specialization in foreign diplomacy, and stabilization.
John was always the golden child of his peers, and family. He worked hard to please his teachers in school, his coaches in baseball, and his employers throughout his various careers. He watched people. He was fascinated with how humans interacted with each other. When he wasn't pushing himself to be the best damn outfielder he could be; he could be found glued to various literature on the subject of the human mind. One of his first recallable school projects was on Maslow's hierarchy of needs. He read the great philosophers: Kant, Goethe, Spinoza, Plato; even at great ridicule from his teammates, and peers. To which he would always laugh heartily proclaiming "know thyself".
At the age of 18 John received a scholarship to Yale, on the terms he would play for the Bulldogs, and maintain a 3.4 GPA. He was eager to leave his small Indiana hometown of Loogootee, and saw so many opportunities awaiting him. Originally majoring in Ethics, he soon realized, Humanities was more suited to his tastes. Some of his collogues were dumbfounded that he would pursue such a seemingly useless degree, and would ask him if he was going to stay in school forever. He did admit he didn't really have a plan except he wanted to study abroad, and perhaps teach someday.
Johns sophomore year was many times more invigorating and rewarding. The Bulldogs were taking a shot at the Ivy league title, his studies were satisfying his love of the culture our kind has promulgated, and he even had made a very nice connection with a lovely Samantha Greenwood: another humanities scholar from Connecticut. Things were always looking up for John, but at the end of his Junior year particularly so.
It was 1990 when John was just about a month away from returning to school. He had been working for a book store in the summers, stocking shelves, and cleaning. He also, had found many rare and antiquated copies of his favorite books. This was his primary reason for choosing to work here. His secondary reason was the owner: Wallace Haverchezk. Wallace fascinated him. He was a prior service Marine who still despite serving in both Korea, and Vietnam bubbled with enthusiasm, and vigor. He was surly, but with a heart of gold, and always had a smart remark to every situation. "Why would you open up a run down little hole in the wall like this?", John would ask. "What are you the Fucking FBI?" Wallace would bark back. Wallace Paid John well, and they enjoyed each others company. John admired Wallace. He thought how this man never asked for anything, and gave so freely. One evening as they were closing the store. They heard over the small dusty radio Wallace would listen to throughout the day; of unrest in Saudi Arabia, and the potential for war in the middle east. "If there's one thing you do John." said Wallace. "Don't find yourself out there." War is never the answer. John argued that so long as humans exist there will be wars. "Yes, but that doesn't mean you should have to fight them". Wallace Turned and continued his work. John felt a fire within him. He knew there were evil people as well as good, and he was not unfamiliar with the tales of bloodshed and chemical weapons; of slain families, and nuclear weaponry. He felt helpless; maybe for the first time in his life.
Upon the continuation of his Graduation year, he enlisted with the Army Officer Candidate program. He had attained a cumulative GPA of 3.9, and had almost enough course load to be halfway thorough a masters program. The Army recruiter asked why he didn't try to go to the academy three years ago? John didn't have an answer. "I just feel I could be an asset to our country, had never really thought about joining.", "Quite the patriot" remarked the recruiter almost sarcastically. He was accepted. Yale did not require recompense for his breach of contract as the school policy was very clear about service members waivers for Active duty, and the Army was now paying for his degree. John and his now long term girlfriend Sam decided to get hitched. She hated the idea of him leaving for the service, but always joked that it was better than being a starving student for the rest of his life. They supposed they were in love.
During OCS indoc. one of the Cadre approached John. All candidates would stiffen up at these regular intimidation tactics, and John was no different. He stood at position of attention so hard his every muscle hurt. "So what Starks? You think you're smart?" " How would you like to get your ass shot off with some Rangers?" "Would you like that?" The Cadre shouted not two feet from Johns face. "No, Captain Roberts!" John sounded off. "I pegged you for a pussy, Starks." Captain Roberts right faced crisply. "Capt. Roberts, Candidate Starks, I respectfully request to get my ass shot off with the Green Berets!" John sounded off once more. Captain Roberts jerked his head left, and glowered. "Is that a promise Starks? Because I can make you a promise" at this Captain Roberts turned fully, Knife-Handed, and ready to fuck. john. up. "I promise you will be sorry you ever mentioned that specialized group of the hardest-charging, biggest-brass-balled, angels of god himself, and you will feel the wrath of the angel of death before you ever don on your stupid fucking head a Green Beret!" John stood frozen, but stoic. He had studied up. He knew the mission of the Green Beret, and could not stop thinking about it. Captain Roberts smiled. "This is gonna be good, Starks".
The rest of his stay at OCS; Captain Roberts would make special effort to make his life a living hell, Every PT session, Every study period, and every Drill. John was sore, sleep deprived and sorry. Yet, something still burned hot in his chest, and he was not afraid. This dragged on for 28 weeks and three days. His Graduation coming almost before he knew it. All 338 of his class lined up receiving their honors one by one. When the ceremony was complete, and John made way to find his family through the crowed. Something made him turn around. "Your orders are cancelled to supply in Fort Bragg" it was Captain Roberts. John turned to see the bane of his existence the last few months wearing a warm smile. Also, wearing a freshly dry cleaned dress uniform, and among his ribbons and insignias that familiar dagger with crossed arrows. Cpt. Roberts noticed Johns gaze. "I told them you're a hard charger" Cpt. Roberts said as he extended his hand. John shook it and smiled back. "my wife is gonna hate that".
Nearly 8 tours, and 10 years later. John was offered a much higher paid advisory position with the CIA. His local knowledge of the politics, and culture of nearly 26 European, Middle Eastern, and Asian countries made him the subject matter expert in stabilization of the Global government offensive which was initiated in 2005. in 2009 John secured an airfield in the small Russian influenced Republic of Chernarus amid uprising, and turmoil involving the ChDKZ, and Chernarussian forces. It was the beginning of a civil war. A war the CIA all but completely lost interest in for nearly 10years. John acted as a handler for other up and coming operatives, helping them find resources, field training them, and acting as an advisor for interpersonal relationships, diplomacy, and linguistics. By 2016 He may have had 5, highly trained, specialized operatives working with him anywhere from South Africa to Mongolia. It was July in 2017 that would mark the end of everything John knew and loved.
John was in the Caribbean at the Agency's foreign affairs department annex when he received an email from the Secretary of Defense while awaiting the data analysis of the foreign interference with the 2016 American elections. No one else was CC'd on the email and it simply said "Red Flag" in the subject line. The email recalled a familiar place, one he had actually set foot on. Chernarus. Something peculiar had happened there. A chemical attack, or strange uprising. "they've been fighting for years he muttered to himself", as he scanned the email his eyes fell on a line "infected will attack anyone unaffected on sight". "unreal" he mumbled. The images attached were the stuff of nightmares. Cars piled up at checkpoints, bodies torn apart, soldiers firing on civilians. John called every contact he had in the regions, they confirmed it all. It was true. something was happening in Chernarus. John flicked on the TV in his office, and mashed through the international news channels. There it was. He then switched to the surrounding areas news channels. Damn, there it was "unknown suspected chemical attack in Chernarus", among other headlines scrawled on the screen. It was everywhere on the news already. "Fuck, Warren is gonna hate this." John reached for the phone: "Michael Warren" He said tersely to the tele-supervisor. He knew Michael would pick up. He never called unless it was an emergency. John heard the receiver pick up and hesitated before speaking. He knew the line would be secured and connected shortly. John barraged Michael with the news, and requested his presence promptly at "The Den". This was the most secure place he could think of to brief Michael. After the Brief, John began planning his own insertion into Chernarus. He had a sinking feeling. After all he had experienced, the hopelessness of war, and political turmoil, this somehow stood above the rest as the most supremely fucked situation. He did what he would always do when things looked dire. He hit the books. He read the reports anything that had been compiled in the last three days. He worked thorough the night. He poured over everything, and yet yielded almost no answers. There wasn't even a medical facility in South Zagoria capable of creating or rendering a virus like this (if it even WAS a virus). Is it airborne, is it water soluble? Were there militant groups that had ties to Biochemical weapons in the area? Nothing made sense. He called his wife. "Sam, there is something I have to tell you", He knew this violated every OPSEC rule in the book, but he had to warn her.
John watched over the next few weeks as the virus took over Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and worked its way outward. By this time he was certain he would never see his family again as he boarded an Airforce Pave Hawk from the Nimitz-class carrier CVN-68 in the inland waters of the Green Sea. He had lost satellite comms with both Michael, and Gen. Wayne; the commanding officer of the Chernarus operation dubbed "oversight." His last communication with Michael Warren was three days ago. By now it seemed that all hope was lost. His plan was to initiate a final effort with the aboard SEAL team (possibly the last remaining SEALs alive) to aid, or extract remaining forces in Chernarus, find out what happened, and if there even was a way to reverse it. John remembered his last words to Michael then, "Look, If we can't get you out of there, do everything you can to survive. Find out what the hell caused this and if there's a cure, if someone is responsible for this, put them in the ground." John let out a quick breath, and thought to himself "yeah, that about sums it up.".
The last logged report of AF-6065 to the Nimitz CVN-68
: AF-6065 is 15m to bingo, and making a heading of 350 in position: 50-66.9N, 14-16.8W. The helo crewman reported unusual chatter on the international hailing and distress freq. from above Chernarus. Determining it was an avionics issue the crew and pilot dismissed occurrence. 03m from the DZ AF6065 issued broken Mayday was heard over CVN-68's encrypted HF comms channel 442d. The crew of the CVN-68 Hailed out for 15m until Command ordered cease of operations. AF-6065 deemed MIA.
-End of Log-


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