Benjamin Harper, short brown hair, crystal blue clear eyes and a smile that represented a young enthusiastic soldier of Her Majesties Army. Joining at the age of 18 he dreamed of a career serving his country. He reveled in all that he learned. Shooting, cooking, hiking, map reading you name it. He took to each of these with great delight. He had traveled the world with the armed forces. Germany, Canada, Falklands, Africa. The most dangerous place Iraq in peace time. Never really tested under the horrors of war. Until 2014... Chernarus. A country that Ben barely heard of he was sent in as part of the international aid. His job was simple. Peacekeeping. Protect the doctors and helpers giving out medical care to the civilians. He had done it a number of times before in Africa with the red cross. Quite a boring time but he got to meet a lot of interesting and new people. The second he stepped of that chopper he knew this would be different. The scent of death clung to the air and the clouds grim to match the tone on the ground. Ben was there for a few weeks before they closed all borders and let no one in or out of Chernarus and the situation just got worse with each passing day. Civilians desperate for aid and protection from the infected. Those seeking to gain advantage of the poor bastards just trying to stay alive. He and his colleagues did what they could to keep what little order they had. But they were too few. Boiling point came when rumour of a incident at a roadblock just outside of Berezino. Thats all it took for light the match. Ben was getting ready for his shift when the screams and gun fire awoke him from his almost dead like stupor. Peaking outside of his tent he saw what this place had turned the helpless into. Animals. He witnessed his brothers in arms being battered, clawed, stabbed, shot.... young good men and women being brutalized by the very people they were brought here to help. All that Ben felt at that point was anger... It wasn't their fault the country had gone to hell, yet here they were dying for some god forsaken country barely anyone has heard of. As almost as quickly as it started, his anger turned to fear. He thought of nothing but his own safety. They would kill him, if they found him. And it was only a matter of time. So thinking of his feet he searched frantically for anything in the tent that could help him. Thankfully he was sharing a bunk with not only soldiers but the press and aid workers that were always left behind. Quickly taking off his uniform he put on some regular clothes and a press badge. Cautiously he left the tent. Carnage was all around him. Everything in his body told him to run. And run he did. At the first chance he darted the safety of the tree line. No one cared for one civilian running away from bloodbath that was unfolding. His friends, brothers, sisters people he had cared for for years... their screams echoing in his mind as he ran from them like a coward. He kept on running until the only sound was the wind and his useless sobs. It's now been over a year. All labels of soldier, aid worker, civilian all gone now. The only labels that matter are survivor and infected.