Ever since I was 10, I’ve always wanted to make the world a better place and help people. I watched my best friend die and was powerless to help him. His death and the circumstances surrounding his death have driven and molded me into the man I am today. As soon as I was old enough, I signed up to become a paramedic. I learned the ropes quickly and became pretty proficient at taking care of gunshot wounds; Detroit’ll do that to you. I was also taught how best to avoid coming into contact with diseases and how to prevent it from spreading further. I didn’t realize how important that would be for me back then; I’m glad I paid attention to that fuckin’ class.
A little over a year ago, an old friend of mine contacted me asking for help. Albeit, it was help moving, but they still wanted my help. The tiny country they’d moved to was having near constant riots and there were rumours of some form of an infection going around. I hopped onto the next flight out and arrived in Chernarus October 21st, on the last plane to arrive safely in-country.
Well, shit went sideways and my friend, the man I’d known like a brother, had been killed. Trapped here, I dedicated as much time as I could to assisting in the Northwest aid tents. In due time, the foreign aid camp was overrun and we scattered like fuckin’ rats. I laid low for a long time- too long of a time sitting around on my ass not helping anyone, just listening to the radio broadcasts.