Unlike many of the Liška, who grew up in the poverty and crime of the various “Blocks” such as Dubky, Jarek was born into a perfectly comfortable middle class life near Krasnostav. His father made his living raising cattle, his mother working at the local school. His life during childhood was relatively normal, he was never an outstanding student nor an underachiever. Jarek found himself drawn towards photography and journalism, creating his schools own student newspaper. Naturally, after school Jarek pushed himself to enter a career in journalism and found himself working for a local newspaper. As a photojournalist in Chernarus in 2009 he spent significant amounts of time following and documenting the actions of the Chedaki. Watching these Russian supported communist murderers destroying his country ignited anger within Jarek that would stay with him for the rest of his life. Eventually he would snap, fed up with the murderous savages he was shadowing.
"No more photos! Seriously! I will break that fucking camera, Jarek!"
The polaroid fluttered out of the camera and landed on the deck before I leant down to pick it up to my face, exploding in laughter at the sight.
"You look great, Andrej, I'll be keeping this one, for memories..."
I sat there for some time, staring at the photo, at the memories so close yet so... distant, preserved like a pterodactyl in a tar pit. Seemingly gone forever but still there in a sense.
"It's crazy how times change, reporter boy."
The voiced caused me to stir, and I slowly looked over to the older man, a face I hadn't seen before. How many people were there on this boat?
"Ah... Yeah, they do." I meekly responded, stuffing the faded photograph into my wallet awkwardly.
"Nearly at Utes now." He continued, "You better get some good photographs for that newspaper. You're about to see just how much the movement can do."
I don't quite remember what that made me feel, I just looked up at him momentarily before going back to fiddling with the camera, idiots like him weren't the reason I came here.
"Suit yourself then, faggot." He muttered deliberately loud enough for me to hear, shaking his head as he clutched the rifle close, walking to the front of the boat.
I just rolled my eyes and grabbed out my pen.
'How Times Change'
SEPTEMBER 21, 2009
The ChDKZ continue their forward push, the movement seemingly gaining supporters everyweh, Utes being the next target.
It didn't seem too long ago that this country was freed from communism and its influences and, although times were tough, our nation was at one if the strongest points in history. Things were looking up.
Here we are however, not 25 years after the fall of communism, back in its clutches. The dangers seem ever real, our military forces feel weighed down, almost as if the battle is already lost. If the rumoured military interventionn from the United States doesn't come, Chernarus may soon fall to this rebellion. Only time will t-
The boats impact with the sand sent the pen flying. Very quickly the world came tumbling back to me.
Somehow, I didn't freeze up and curl into a ball as I'd expected every time this scenario went through my head. No, I pulled out my camera and started shooting, following them up the beachfront, taking photographs of everything I possibly could.
A corpse, head down in the sand, blood flowing from the remnants of his skull.
The man from earlier, trying to pull himself into cover, blood flowing out of his thigh and staining the sand as he bled out, dying within inches of his friends and safety.
The look of horror in a younger man's face, curled into the foetal position as he bawled his eyes out.
Despite this, we moved quickly and were off the beach in next to no time, heading along at a steady pace. I still to this day have no clue how the Chedaki managed to push in so easily against a fortified force. Surely the CDF should've won, or at least the ChDKZ should've lost more men. But no, the going was easier than I expected, the CDF was just utterly unprepared. That had to be it. Slowly the clothing of corpses and wounded changed from the berets and clothing of the ChDKZ to the helmets and camouflage of the CDF, old surplus soviet gear turned into new AK's complete with plastic furniture.The Chedaki managed a pretty solid pace, and quickly pushed the CDF back to a church in the town of Strelka, executing those captured without hesitation. Eventually the ChDKZ overwhelmed the entirety of the CDF on Utes. The fighting died down and I was left alone with my thoughts as the men celebrated the way that people of their character did, by drinking and singing awful songs, not a care in the world for the carnage they caused.
I can't remember how it went after that, but the feeling I was left with was indescribable, my mind was a mess and all I could do was think about attempting to get off that island. I made my way towards one of the smaller docks, praying that I could manage to escape on a boat. Finally the boardwalk came into view, and on it was a single guard, lit cigarette in mouth and rifle hanging from his sling.
"Okay... I can manage this..."
Eventually, Jarek would find his way back to South Zagoria. He’d killed for the first time to get off Utes, and it wouldn’t be the last.
A deteriorating mental state and growing hatred and anger eventually found Jarek in prison at the beginning of 2016, a hefty sentence after being convicted of the attempted murder and aggravated assault of a Russian. It was during this prison stay that Jarek found the Liška.