Jack Warren grew up in Brooklyn. His father was hard, his mother was quiet, and it really seemed like those two things went hand in hand. During his childhood he never questioned his fathers work. He never bothered to ask what he did or why his mother talked didn't talk about it either. Not until he turned 18 of course. He grew into the business. He didn't grunt work. He basically did anything the higher-ups told him to. He grew a reputation as a wild card. No emotion, no remorse. His bosses didn't always like that, but he was worth keeping around.
They put him on a plane headed to Russia. Some sort of big gun deal. Apparently, they needed a little more persuading on the price so they sent Jack. He and a couple of his associates stepped off the plane in what they thought to be Moscow. It looked like an empty airfield. No buildings, no people, no anything. He knew what was happening. He turned around and shot both the men he came with. He looked down the runway only to see a convoy coming towards him. He knew they weren't exactly a welcome party. He didn't know how to fly a plane, but what else was he going to do? He did what he could to lift the plane off the ground and into the air. He flew for a little while but due to lack of experience, he had to crash land. He landed in Chernarus. He had no idea where he was, and no idea that he was about to become stuck in a hell hole. Jack's story starts here, and so does his descend into a lower section of his soul.