A twenty-year old male from a Rozhkow, a remote village in the Russian Caucasus mountains, had been a simple grain farmer's son with very little practical knowledge or experience other than shoveling pig manure from the stables and hunting with his father every so often. He was taught how to read and write by his doting mother- who kept a vast library of Russian and Georgian literature. From the works of Turgenev to the deep philosophical thoughts of Sholokhov, he studied deeply and tended to neglect his regular duties. This got him the occasional beating, but thankfully it seemed to get through to the little lad that living out in the wilderness, one can not afford to slacken or tire and must be vigilant with his skills. This led him to camp out in the forests every so often, contemplating under the stars about a better world. From the stories he heard from the cities, there had been many wars since he was born. Who fought them, he knew not, but the strangest thing he could remember was the news about a sickness going around. After this initial report, he remembered, the post stopped delivering mail. It was only until weeks later, when he was ordered by his father to purchase animal feed from the nearby city that he found out society was fractured during that period. Barely holding together by radio contact and in constant fear of demons that wandered the countryside, devouring anything they came across.
Then too, the radio signals stopped transmitting completely a few months later. At home for Arvo things were not much better as his mother had passed away from an animal bite, antibiotics all but gone in their region. Pilfered from the little stores that were left. Shortly later his father, unable to cope with the loss and the news of the world's devastation, took his old rifle to the field and committed suicide.
This was the last straw for Arvo, who buried him next to his mother outside the homestead. He grabbed his hiking pack and what little he could take with him from the home, mostly food and personal mementos and books. He recognized a map of Chernarus, a region just a bit to the west and pondered if he could make a new life there. The only way he could possibly go was south into the mountains, most likely to be lost forever before he ever reached any permanent destination. The amount of food he could carry was just enough to make the journey, provided he scavenged along the way. But he eventually made it to the vast province, astounded by the rolling hills and easier landscape then he was used to. Here, he thought, maybe a difference could be made. The towns he had seen on the way were absolutely abandoned, few survivors fighting over cans of beans and scraps of meat. It couldn't be the same way in this region, in a place so plentiful! Surely, something better can be made than the warmongering societies that came before. In his mind, Arvo knows that humanity cannot prosper and thrive if it will not cooperate and work together to create a better way of living. Maybe if he shows this kindness to strangers he thinks, they will pass these ideals on and make a change.