Born in West Virginia on July 20th, 1990. Raised in a nuclear family as the only kid it always got whatever it wanted. The parents spoiled it because they could and because it was the only thing that kept the child from having tantrums. It's dad was a senator for the state and it's mother an unofficial designer trying to make it in the fashion industry. To each their own, it never minded the solitude. Even at such a young age it never felt afraid. His mind, just worked in different ways than the rest of us, his mother often said when describing it to other parents. At age four it killed for the first time. A baby bird had fallen out of it's nest and hurt its wing. It heard the cries of something and stopped playing with it's toys. Opening the screen door and walking towards the insufferable noise. It picked up the bird, and crushed it in it's fist to make it stop. At age six it beat up one of it's playmates so badly the poor kid had to get facial reconstructive surgery. A broken jaw, missing teeth, you get the idea. It's first day of school it ran up to it's homeroom teacher and kicked them in the balls for mispronouncing it's name during roll-call. It never once cared about others, not until it's social isolation began to become a problem.
It made it through high-school just fine. By then it had been taking prescribed happy pills for years, and as long as it took them it wouldn't hear the voices. The voices screamed in dreams. Never ending. Police officer, enforcer, physical domination. It enjoyed the idea of being paid for hurting things. Vacation, not now. Not when there is still so many fires, so many faces, so many bugs to crush. Shove their heads down into the curb, hold them their, crush their skulls but only a little. Never kill a soul. Start fires in the streets, throw bottles at the weak, set the whole world on fire. Chernarus, a wife, a job, family, it can't remember. What brought it there didn't matter. It was stuck there for good. It's entire life was like a lucid dream, fading in and out, always out of reach of the dreamer. A brilliant and exciting nightmare filled with red and black.
Pain, pain is the only thing that gives something like Coby purpose. It's the only thing that makes it feel alive.