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The Demented Diary of Doc Moxley


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-Day 1- Introduction -

Opening my eyes has never been such a chore. I slowly awaken to complete darkness, unfamiliar with my location. No noise, beyond the ringing in my head. As my vision begins to focus, I notice tubes, syringes, broken monitors, and various medical supplies. I must be in a hospital. Thoughts begin racing a mile a minute. Where am I? How long have I been here? Why am I here? Not the least important of which, who am I? I just can't recall a thing. Walking over to the door, I notice a light switch. I turn it on, darkness remains. As I open the door I shout for a doctor, a nurse, for anyone. No answers. The hallways are dark as well. The power is out. The building looks destroyed. Windows broken, shelves on the floor, massive holes in the walls. Looking outside of the window at the end of the hall, I see much of the same. This city looks destroyed. Abandoned. Once again the questions begin to manifest. What has happened here? Why have I just been left here alone? Going back into my room I notice on the edge of the bed, a clipboard. It has been fairly torn and I can't make out much. A ripped piece inscribed in an unfamiliar text. I can't understand it. It is not in a language I comprehend, maybe I have just forgot how to read. My eyes suddenly are drawn to a board on the wall. 'Moxley' is written on the top. Frozen in thought, I can't look away from it. Nothing else on the board makes a bit of sense. However, Moxley leaves me equally puzzled. Why do I understand this word so well? As rain begins to fall, I welcome a sound of familiarity. It is soothing. My mind begins to clear. I begin checking the room for anything that belongs to me, anything to help me remember. I open a cabinet which has some clothes and a bag inside. I put on the clothes, they fit well. Looking through the bag, memories return. A picture of a man in a suit, standing next to a boxer. The man in the suit is me. An unopened letter inside, with Moxley on the envelope begins putting the pieces together. The letter is in English, I understand it. It urges me not to go to Chernarus for this match. The money is not worth risking my health, and I have other options. 'Physicians already warned you, the next concussion may be your last. This guy you're fighting is an animal! They don't test their fighters in Chernarus like they do in the States! You won't come back the same from this fight.'. The States? I am an American. Memories hit me like a right hook. I used to be a boxer. Retiring due to the concussions, I became a fight promoter. After some struggles, I was left with just the clothes on my back. Accepting an offer for one more fight in Chernarus, for a purse which could leave me comfortable to retire on, is what brought me here. That fight did not go as expected, as I was mauled in that ring. Only a few brief visions come to mind, nothing important, just demoralizing. I was clearly knocked out, which I can only assume is what brought me here. Was I in a coma?

I grab my bag, and prepare to leave the hospital. In search of answers, for anyone out there. I know a little about who I am, and what brought me here to Chernarus. The only questions remain 'How long have I been here?', 'What happened to this place?', 'What do I do from here?', and 'How do I return home?'.

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