Well the name's Deacon, Deacon Bennet, my parents were what they liked to call, 'retrievers' if you would. Just a fancy word for bounty hunters. They couldn't afford much through their way of life, and weren't all that well known, so we made do with what they could afford. One night pa told Ronnie and I that they were going to go bring a big bad guy to justice, and told Ronnie to watch after me...... They never came back from that hunt, the police wouldn't tell us what happened, but we weren't stupid, they were shot and killed by their target. Years down the road Ronnie and I started to hunt in their honor. I was twenty-two when we first started to hunt bounties. It's been five years now, and we got this job through the grapevine, heard some druglord/kingpin type feller had been screwed over by some punk dude or some shit. The man offering us this bounty was a man named El Carlito, the job was simple, find this asshole who shipped off in his yacht to flee the country, and bring him back in one piece. We left later that day on a plane, we were told it was 'first-class', bullshit. It was the cheapest pilot Carlito could buy, a man named Marty Carthride, some hippie lookin' weird bastard with a strange mustache, he smelled like onions, and couldn't fly worth a shit, we landed in Chernarus due to the hostilities with the Chernorussians and the Russians, had to check our passports and identification and all that shit. Carthride was refueling the plane, when we were attacked. Some sort of 'rabies' or somethin', so now were here, travel has been blocked off, and we're fuckin' stuck. Looks like we may or may not have luck findin' our target, but one thing we do know, is that we WILL survive.