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The Death of Ganzo

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Chapter 1

Down the Rabbit Hole

I remember the first time I saw the reports on the nightly news about the events in Chernarus, it was so disheartening. The media portrayed it as some sort of epidemic sweeping the countryside, families were displaced, people lost their homes, and their military was spread so thin it was rendering them useless. Then came the call for help from the United Nations, "The people of Chernarus need volunteers! If you have any emergency situation experience they need your help!" I was thirty years old at the time and I had served in the army for four years, even had a combat tour under my belt. I had no wife, no kids, a shitty job, and felt as though I had nothing to lose. I thought to myself, "hey maybe I can help in some way," and signed up. I remember the day before we shipped out, saying goodbye to my family. They knew my intentions were good, but I could see the pleading in their tear-filled eyes begging me not to go. God do I wish I had listened to them, but I was stubborn, a quality I got from my father I suppose, and I just had to be the heroic type.

When I arrived in Chernarus, the moment I stepped onto that tarmac, I knew I had made a mistake. It was just too quiet, you'd think they'd have been lined up waiting for the aid, but only a handful of CDF soldiers and even less civilians were there. For all I know we may have been the last plane to land on that airfield, I don't even think they were expecting us. We were offloading the cargo when I heard the gunfire coming from the other end of the airstrip. A CDF vehicle came flying by...and then I saw what they were running from. They looked like they should have been in the morgue, yet they were sprinting with the stamina of track runners. The pilot must've have seen it too, because the plane started rolling down the runway leaving myself and three other aid workers in the hanger we had been moving the supply crate to. They were coming straight for our group, but detoured when they saw the family near the building not far from us. I don't know why the father didn't take the children and run, maybe they were just petrified with fear. The horde ripped them apart, and I did nothing. I mean we didn't have any weapons, but maybe I could have tried to grab one of the kids and ran, or found something to fight with, some hero I turned out to be. We ran into the forest, but night was falling quickly, and I lost sight of the others in the darkness, I heard a scream, but I just kept running. It all just happened so fast. 

It has been over two years since I arrived on this godforsaken continent, and I regret turning on the news that evening so long ago every minute of every day. There were a lot more supplies laying around in the beginning, it was much easier. It took me some time to get the lay of the land, but once I did I started searching for a way home, back to my family. I continued this for the first year or so, but there were no more planes in the sky, nor boats in the sea, and the supplies were running scarce. People were few and far between, and most weren't of the friendly sort. The one's that I've met that haven't tried to rob me or kill me  said they heard rumors that the infection has spread throughout the globe. I don't want to believe that, but I witnessed firsthand how quickly it decimated this place, and knew it could very easily be the truth. Hope drained from me like the petals falling from a wilting rose, and I gave up. Instead I prayed for those that I loved, that they found safety, or a swift end, and to set my focus towards surviving. To finding others that can help in these harsh times. And above all else, never trying to be the hero again...

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