Meet Fredrick Caulter.
He's a simple man, working late night shifts at the office, except he isn't an office drone.
He's a fair-skinned man, with thinning hair and in his rough thirties, not a spring chicken anymore. But he doesn't really care about that. Why would he? He just cleans, he doesn't fight or run or jog. "Too much effort," He'd say.
He's a cleaning guy, the one job nobody wants, especially during dead hours. Dead hours is the most requested job however, because nobody wants it. Fredrick takes the job offer knowing the pay is sub-par, but that doesn't concern him. A job is a job. Fredrick always lived in Chernarus, even before the incident. It was a simple life that he enjoyed, and didn't seek much else in that aspect. Why would he? "Because I'd rather not." And that rather not would be considered a mistake to some.
He doesn't mind, it's an easy pay. Alot of people would love an easy-pay job.
Atleast, until things hit the fan. He had no idea what to make of it, the chaos was too overwhelming for a man like him. It scared him, confused him, probably nearly gave the poor man a heart attack while the conflict was fresh and new.
Now he's a lost man, wandering Chernarus with a grim outlook to everything, praying for deliverance. A place to call "Home," or "Safe." Something.