How does one end up at the hub of the outbreak? A small country bordering the Green Sea, well. Doctors without Borders, for one young Physician's Assistant.
Doctors Without Borders. It is..or..was, an honorable cause, right? Michael Whaley being a Physician's Assistant fresh out of school signed up for the program. Growing up in the Upper East side of New York City, his family had money, he had never faced any sort of real adversity in his life, or done anything worth doing, outside of becoming a medical provider. When the war initially broke out in Chernarus, he signed up for the DWB program, and flew out to Chernarus. Helping refugees and the civilian casualties helped him feel like he had some sort of substance in his life. He loved the country of Chernarus, he stayed to work in a local hospital once the war was over, and continued to work.
He lived a peaceful live in an apartment in Chernogorsk, until the outbreak started. It seemed like nothing at first, a cough, and a sneeze, give the patient some sudafed, and they would be fine, no? Treat symptomatically, with these things, is what he learned. Then, he heard of the discourse, entire city governments falling, their people fleeing, in the middle of the first week of the infection, he wanted to leave, go back home. This place was NOT safe. He got to the coast, just to be denied. The country was quarantined off.
He went back to his apartment, determined to wait out the infection, and not become one of them. The Creeps, Zs, Others. When he got word of a wave of infected heading towards Chernogorsk, he left. He grabbed what he could, and left. The streets of Chernarus were wild. Looters ransacking the stores, fights breaking out in the streets, gun shots rang throughout the city, sounding like an American Independence Day celebration. The dead littered the streets. No one was immune. Men, Women, Children, Dogs, Cats, everyone was someone else's victim. He walked the streets armed with a kitchen knife. Escaping was more difficult than he thought. Moving through alleys, avoiding, or sprinting away, from gangs.
He ended up on the outskirts of the city, his knife had gotten stuck between someone's ribs. They were attacking him, and he had no real choice, right? So now, on the outskirts of Chernogorsk, the waves lapping at the shore in front of him, he stood looking out over the sea. This is where his story truly begins.
Slain by bandits in Novy Sobor 11/4/2019