George Donnel was sitting at the sofa with his wife, watching the news from Chenarus develop. 'This looks pretty bad, eh', he muttered to his wife. 'Thank god I've got nothing to do with that any more', he said. The ex-British secret service language analyst giggled to himself, joking that his new job 'wouldn't call [him] into work to help sort this shit out'.
George had spent the first five years of his working life as a language analyst -- fluent in Russian and Mandarin, his skills were frequently called on, and was often called into work at unsocial hours to provide language support for international crises. You see, George was pretty unique -- he specialised in operations pertaining to biological and chemical warfare. You could give him any piece of jargon associated to chemical/biological warfare and he'd be able to tell you it in Mandarin and Russian without skipping a beat. George was fluent in Mandarin and Russian by the time he finished university. His degree in biochemistry, focusing on it's application in warfare was snapped up by the British intelligence services, and after two years of intensive language training pertaining to his field, he was thrown into the deep end, translating and analysing an endless flow of documents obtained from China and Russia concerning their chemical and biological warfare advancements.
'Ding-dong'. The doorbell had rang. George strolled towards the door, expecting a parcel of clothes for his unborn child to arrive -- a life in the intelligence services isn't suited to a man who has a child on the way. George opened the door and was greeted to two men -- one dressed in military garb, and the other smartly dressed in a suit. Parked across his drive was a Land Rover bearing the words 'Ministry of Defence'.
'Are you George Donnel', the more smartly dressed man asked. 'That's correct', George replied. 'As you may be aware, your security clearance is still valid with us -- you only left two months ago'. 'We'd like to ask for your assistance concerning the crisis in Russia', said the man. George complied -- with his deep expertise, it would do the world a wealth of good if he could provide some of his assistance. Just like old times. 'It wouldn't hurt to take a couple of days out to help, wouldn't it?', George thought. He couldn't have been more wrong.
Using a clause of one of the contracts he signed when he first started his job within the intelligence agency, he was forced to board a plane to Russia. There wasn't much he could do.
His job was to assist an envoy of British and American scientists, soldiers, and biological specialists in investigating the cause of the infection. 'I mean, it's not going to be too bad if I'm in a nice research laboratory', he thought. Yet again, George's thoughts were wrong.
Before he knew it, after landing in Moscow, flying there in a luxurious jet, George was put into a British military Chinook. He was on his way to the scene of it all - Chenarus. Accompanying him were two soldiers, an American scientist, a British scientist, and a Russian scientist.
George was in awe of the Russian wilderness -- never before had a seen such a luscious array of green. The natural beauty of Chenarus was a real contrast to the chaos unravelling below.
**BEEP BEEP BEEP** 'ENGINE TWO FALIURE', 'PREPARE EMERGENCY ---'
I awoke to a bang. next to me was the body of the scientist I was with. Blood poured from a wound in his head, and he was slumped up against the wall, with a pistol in his hand. We were in an abandoned house... Next to me I found a note.
'The helicopter crashed. It was just me and you. I got us to safety, it's fucking chaos out there. They got me though. I'm so sorry. Good luck.'
I looked out of the window... Chaos... It was at that point it dawned on me... I've gotta get out of here...