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JesterInPeril

A Bomber's Jacket and a Press Vest

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Since a a young age, Carter Dunlap always saw those, "cool guys on TV reporting from a warzone," as heroes. He wasn't sure whether it was the awesome vest or the fluent dictation that peaked his young interest, but he knew he wanted to be one of them. His dad always told him that to be like them, he'd have to be smart, athletic, and very charismatic. Looking back on it now, his father was really his only supporter. At the age of ten, Carter was going through his checklist of goals to be a reporter. Athletic. He'd been playing baseball since he was eight, and won various championships on his young level. Smart. A straight A student, he aspired to stay that way, whether it be easy curriculum or hard. Charismatic. When he reached his high school years, Carter immediately enlisted in the Debate Team and School Newspaper, hoping it would heighten his wordsmithing. He thought he had his life all planned out, perfect family, almost to his dream job, everything a kid could want. Little did he know, I would be visiting his family very soon.

At the age of sixteen, Carter's father was taken from him, by unknown causes. Oh how I enjoyed the middle-aged man's final breaths. His mother, distraught and juggling three jobs to keep the house afloat, could hardly take it anymore. Carter did his best to help, but he also tried to secure his job and honor his father's hard work to help him. Donning his father's blue bomber jacket, handed down through the generations, Carter set off to a local CNN agency, trying for an internship, hoping they needed more people to cover the recent outbreak in the strange land of Chernarus. Alas, the now seventeen year old boy secured a ticket on a military chopper over to the land, hoping to make a name for himself, but also to stay safe from my creatures running around the mainland. But still, little did he know, I would be visiting him once again.

"This is Sgt. Randolph, Crew Captain of NATO Blackhawk, Code Delta Echo Foxtrot Niner-Oh-Seven-Oh-Five. We're suffering engine failure over mainland Chernarus. Three civilians on board, hard landing imminent. If anyone reads this, we are going down! Grid coordinates Oh-Seven-Four, break, Oh-Three-Seven. I repeat, we are going do-"

The poor Crew Captain's radio cuts to static, the helicopter burning in a field of undead. And Carter, poor, innocent Carter. He was terrified, but it wasn't his time, not yet. I made my visit down to the crashed bird, taking the names of those who had reached their expiration dates. Sgt. Randolph, the Crew Captain. PFC Lincoln, just a combat medic. John Lannister, the pilot. George Walksy, the head reporter. Walt Kreel, the camera man. Carter was the only survivor. Before I depart from this crash, I bid you one word of advice, Carter... Run.

I awoke to the sounds of shrieks and fire. Blood was running down my forehead and I was extremely sore. I think to myself, "My name is Carter Dunlap. I'm a reporter. my helicopter has just crashed and I need to leave, now." My eyes scan the horror of the scene. The pilot is missing an arm. The Crew Captain, oh my God, he's cut in half under the rotor. My head reporter and camera man are both dead, huddled up next to each other. Those dead things are closing in. I scramble to my feet, take the bulletproof vest from the head reporter labeled PRESS. "Wait, why didn't I get one of these?!" I say out loud. Gah, I need to stop wasting time. I turn to face the mob of the undead, and begin running through the gaps, dodging and swerving any that come towards me. Athletic. I escape into the treeline and realize there is a gash in my upper arm. It must have taken an overdose of adrenaline for me to not notice that. I tear off a good section of my undershirt and rip some bendable branches off some shrubs. I tie the makeshift bandage around the wound, hoping to stop some of the bleeding. Smart. As I make my way to the next town, I encounter a small group living in a few of the houses. They see my beat up shape. "Please.. you have to help me... I was on that helicopter and I just need a safe place to rest for a bit... that's all..." I plea for their help, pouring as much influence into my words as I can. They agree. Charismatic. I don't know what the future holds, but for now, I'm just going to get some much needed rest in a Bomber's Jacket and a Press Vest.

Ah, such a lovely story. A brave young boy, Carter was. I suppose that it is my time to bid him farewell, however. Who knew that a mere seventeen year old boy could avoid Death himself by following three words of his father's advice. Smart, charismatic, athletic. And my, my, was he all three. Whilst I realize that he cannot hear me, and never will until his time has come, I bid you these deathly words as farewell, Carter Dunlap. Stay quick, stay vigilant, and stay alive, for you never know when I may be around the corner. I like you Carter Dunlap, I really do, you inspire me, and it would be a shame for me to have to take you.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

This was the backstory to my current DayZRP character, Carter Dunlap. I'm writing this section to clear up any confusion, as my writing style tends to confuse certain people. The bold section is a character other than Carter. The italic section is the narration of events from Death himself. The regularly written section, such as the font here, is from Carter's perspective. I hope you all enjoyed my backstory, see you in Chernarus!

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