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Alec McSmooth's Story

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My name is Alec McSmooth, not like it matters anymore, most people just call me "The Chef". The world has gone to hell. I used to live on the eastern coast of Chernarus before the country fell. I was a cook at a local restaurant. I specialized in cooking meat. I lived with my beautiful wife and son, Jake. A few years ago my wife lost her battle with cancer which devastated me and my son alike. Me and Jake just liked to go to the coast and go fishing and we loved to hunt. When we heard the first reports of the outbreak we thought nothing of it because it was far away in the west, but we were so wrong. Soon after the quarantine, we tried to barricade ourselves in our home with what food we could find; maybe we could ride it out. First a few days, then a week, then two then three. Soon we realized it wasn't going to work trying to hide. We went out together hunting for what I realized was the last time we smiled. After a few hours hunting we bagged ourselves a deer and went home to cook. We feasted that night; Jake's last night.

Early in the morning three men came in our house with guns pointing at us. They first handcuffed my son and put a bag over his head all the while he was yelling for me to save him. I tried to grab the gun to save him but they knocked me out. When I woke up I was in a warehouse handcuffed to a pipe in the corner. I saw my son laying on the other side of the room weakly breathing with a bloodied knife sticking out from his chest. "Help me dad, help me, help, help me" he cried out slowly over and over again. "Help me dad". "Help me". Then he stopped breathing. I cried and cried. I then noticed a gun next to me with a single bullet. As I put the gun in my mouth I heard a moan come from Jake. "Are you still there Jake?" I called out. He got up and started moving to me. He wasn't alive anymore, but he sure as hell wasn't dead. I was faced with a choice, end the misery of my ever walking dead son, or end my own life and force him to roam the earth for eternity. I pulled out the gun and aimed it at his head then gently squeezed the trigger.

I remember hardly anything after that other then the hysterical fits of pain and sorrow. During one of these fits while I was half unconscious with a gun in my mouth, the door slid open and a man took my cuffs off and carried me somewhere. When I woke up I was in a home and the man said to me, "I put more bullets in your gun, use it if you really want to die, but remember, all of us have lost". He gestured at a picture of him with three children and his wife. "A man saved me once, now I saved your life, don't waste it. somebody put you in there, find them". Then he walked out the door and I never saw him again. I raised the gun to my head but took it down, not because I wanted revenge for what the men did to me and my son, but so I could save another man like I was saved. Daily life is hell for me. I knew I was nothing now; a father that couldn't save his own damn son. Every time my eyes closed I saw his face in front of me and heard the gunshot that killed him. All I needed to do was shoot the men in the house, but I was too slow.

Now I am alone in this damn world that has gone to hell. I roam the forests hunting and scavenge what I can, giving to those who need it. Many a time I have hunted and given meat to a hungry man on the run. If I find a man in need I will do anything and I mean ANYTHING to help him. The anger for my dead son corrupted me. The animals started running short and it got harder and harder to hunt. "Do you need some food?" I asked. He said yes. I returned to him later with a load of meat. We ate all of it before we went to sleep for the night. In the middle of the night a man came in and pointed a gun at the head of my new friend. He shot him. Just before he was killed he looked at me with a fear in his eyes, the same look my son had given me when he was dying, a look of helplessness and despair. I heard the echo in my head "Help me dad". I grabbed my knife and stabbed the man over and over again.

I feel nothing after I kill. All I feel now is the sorrow from my son.

I only kill to save others. I soon learned to expect something in return. I knew what I was but didn't want to admit it. Every time I killed a man, I took his flesh. I ate their flesh. I would rip out his heart and consume it to gain their courage. I am still a hunter today, but I don't hunt for deer. Every time I pull the trigger on the gun, I think of the smiles on mine and Jake's face when we shot the deer. I think of the feast we had when we got home. Then as I bite into my kill, I think of the faces of the men that took my son.

A lot of this is what I put into my application, although I changed some detail and added some. I have somewhat of a bounty hunter feel. I also wrote this to be a kind of Non-traditional hero adding in some psychological insight. He is clearly grieving over his son and that has made him very unwell.

Tell me what you think.


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