A Bad Start
Born into a criminal family can be hard on a kid. No chance to have a real childhood, no long lasting friends, no traditional education. Only the Family.
I was born in Alaska. My father, a ruthless Russian man who drank and abused his own family. My Mother, a strong American woman who spent all her energy on her children. I had one older sister who ran away from home with some excuse of a man. Then there was me, Poor little Derek. I grew up to hate my life. The only fond moments I could remember were the times my Father was sailing to Russia, and it seemed like the whole month belonged to me and my mother. But then our short dream would expire with his return.
The day I was old enough to work, I was forced to be on the boat with my father. I knew mother didn't like it, but she was never given the right or luxury to decide what became of her children. I soon learned the true purpose that I was to be a part of. My father was a part of the largest smuggling trades in the Atlantic, "Da Vlad Highway" he called it. He claimed it to be a secret trade route that has been in his family for years, and that this was a special day because I was the first American who knew about it. He always called me “first generation” every chance he got.
I spent years of my life on the trade route. My father later retired from the family business, only to sit at home drinking himself to death. I was now captain of the route. I even retired my father's boat and bought my own. I named it the "Monomak". She carried me true between two worlds.
Beaten between two worlds
Times eventually became bad for business. There were still people in Russia who my father owed a great deal of money. They began to deny me port, making the route more dangerous in regards to the authorities. Things were not looking good in America either. The US government were cracking down on illegal trades transpiring on the west coast. They already ceased businesses in San Diego and San Francisco. It would be only a matter of time till they reached our docks in Alaska. I knew that I would have to burn down the route that my family built up. I knew that I would have to find legitimate work to support myself. This I was ok with. This was never the life I wanted in the first place. But I still had a full shipment of Colombian goods that needed to make their way out of the US and my boat was among the only still afloat in the business. Because of this, it was going to be good money, a good start for a new life. Just one more route on The Vlad Highway!
A terrible End
A small crew and a Captain. A boat and the sea. Simple and free!
And the Stately ships going on to their haven under the hill.
But O for the touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is still.
A ship is safe in the harbor, but that's not what ships are for.
To do the will of the father takes courage to walk out the door.
Step out to sea, to see what we can do for this War!
None of the usual port was going to make themselves available for us. Not only because of their wanting of a debt collection, but there was something else happening on all shores. I knew this because no one in Russia would respond to any radio frequencies. I was about to pull the trip and head for home, but one of the crewmen told me of a brother of his who owned a dock in the southern outskirts of Russia. We could drop the cargo there, his brother would resupply us, and we could head home within the day. Seeing how we would most likely be stranded on the route if we turned back now, I agreed to the crewman's proposal.
Half a day we charted our way to the Providence of Chernarus. A small country that had gained its independence from its former, Mother Russia, from the break of civil war. When we reached the coast, I instantly noticed how quiet it seemed. Russia was quite too, but this was different. It was like someone had taken a picture and time was at a standstill. The crewman guided us to a small port of a very small town. We made our way to dock. But there were no workers, no dockmaster. Nothing!
We tied down the Monomak. I tried using my cell to figure out where we were exactly, but with our luck, I found that there was not even the faintest signal. I decided that I would check the port house there on the beach. Walking over to it, I called out to see if there was anyone around, but no one answered. When I found that there was nothing to be found in the port house, I went to check the town. At this point, the crew was with me. We walked down a road that met with the main coastal highway, that also acted as this town's main street. The town was just as still and quiet as ever. No signs of life, no signs of anything. I could see and make out a law enforcement building near the other end of town, so I decided to head there with my crew. The short walk was eerie and uninviting. We reached the building and walked in. It was a poor excuse for a police station. There was no one to be found.
"I have a bad feel'n bout this boss!" one of my men said.
I turned to respond to him before I saw what was behind him. A containment cell. In the cell were the bodies of about half a dozen, no, ten men, women and children lying dead on the floor. When the crew saw the expression on my face, they looked back to see my discovery. Many of them startled, jumped back in fright.
"WHAT THE HELL!" one of them screamed, as the other next to him vomited, "What kind of people would do this?"
I moved closer, seeing something that interested me. Lying amidst the bodies was a man in a local police uniform. At least I thought it was a uniform. In spite of the smell, I reached into the cell to lift an arm that would be covering his patch. That's when my arm was suddenly pulled away by one of the crewmen.
"LOOK!" he said.
I saw what he had noticed.
Eyes! All of them! Looking right at me.