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Jackington6600

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About Jackington6600

  1. //Disclaimer// I'm in the whitelist process and I saw that I had to write a 1000 word Character bio. Well it turns out it's 1000 characters, and now I have a big 'ol story that has nothing better to do than sit on my computer, so I thought I'd post it here. It's pretty average and a bit boring because I made it so long. I was kind of tired towards the end because I did not expect to have to write that much... But better than it going unread I guess. //Disclaimer// Pavel Schultz. Not a very English name I know, but that’s where I was born and raised. In-fact, if you were paying very close attention, you may have noticed that half of it is Russian and the other half German. So were my parents inept at choosing names? Not particularly, but you’ll come to find out why this name haunts me so. My mother was German and my father Russian, and they both moved to England to find better lives and found each other, they got married, had a child and named him Pavel Dmitriyev (that’s me if you hadn’t guessed). Seemed like the perfect love story until my dad left just over a week after I was born. Suffice to say my mother decided to revert the both of us back to her maiden name, Shultz. It wasn’t until I was about 5 that I actually realised that I was supposed to have a dad, and when I came home screaming and crying “Why don’t I have a daddy?”, I can imagine it was pretty hard for my mother to explain it to me. Life went on from there pretty normally, I never knew my dad and mother never spoke of him, so it was pretty easy to forget that I should even have one. I got into a good school, doing best at the more academic subjects. I have and always will be pretty shy and nervous, so I only made one or two friends and stuck with them for my school life; I just sort of kept myself to myself most of the time. It’s also worth noting that I can often look on the bright side of things, I’ve had a lot of time to think about the bad stuff, and somehow that’s made me more… Positive I guess. Skipping ahead a little, I was 18 and I had just finished my A-levels in Maths, Physics and Chemistry and done very well, without tooting my own horn too much. Speaking of horns I was pretty terrible at music, but I’ll stop getting side tracked. My mother came to me one night, a couple of days after my results and spoke to me about my dad. She told me about the short 2 years between them meeting and the day he left. The details were pretty vague and I was suitably confused at the time, so I can’t really recall most of it. It was like she wanted to tell me something, paused, and then started on something else. Like there was some reason she couldn’t actually tell me the things she wanted to tell me about my dad. The last thing she said as she walked out of my room was: “I think you should see your dad again someday.” And then very quietly: “Find him.” Those were the last words my mother said to me. We had always got on very well, and I only had fond memories of her. The day after she spoke to me a man came to my door and said that my mother had gone missing and that I was going to live with my grandparents. Some people that looked like police turned up shortly after. He had told me to pack my things and gave me a flight ticket and about £500 to get me on my way. I had never known that I had grandparents in Chernarus. Hell I didn’t even know Chernarus was a place. After 2 planes, a bus and a long walk, I arrived at my “grandparents” house. It was on the outskirts of Mogilevka, if you head directly south you’d probably walk past it. The whole couple of days of travel had been a blur, I was in shock. I hadn’t really had time to think. That and I was never really someone to speak up if I didn’t like something. I won’t bother with their names but I stayed with my grandparents for the next few years, working on the farm and such, more or less keeping myself to myself as per usual. I did however start tutoring in Maths, Physics and Chemistry. You’d be surprised how many English speaking people there are in Chernarus. I also spent a lot of my time walking; navigating through the woods to various places nearby. I got pretty good at it, studying maps and learnt a lot about the landscape in the surrounding area. Although I met some very nice people and I got along well with my “grandparents”, I was never really at rest there. Why should I be? I shouldn’t have even been here in the first place! What happened to my mother? Why did the “police” send me here? Why did my mother say those things about my dad? “Find him”? Why? I don’t even know his first name for Christ’s sake! I really should have tried to listen to my mother’s deranged mumblings about him that night. Maybe more of this would have made sense. It was at some point in Autumn when we heard the first mention on the radio of “disruption” in Myshkino. It affected us in the same way any other news report of similar topic would, not all that much. I went back to reading my book, grandma kept cooking, and my granddad took another sip of his tea and looked back down to the newspaper. The next couple of weeks got a lot worse. Or so we heard. Things tend not to be quite the same when you live in a little house, a good walk away from civilization. Our lives did change a little; we stayed in and around the house every day. I cancelled all of my tutoring sessions, and everything ground to a halt. With what we heard on the radio, we were terrified to go just a short distance from the house. The stories they told… What they described… We lived on the large stocks of canned food pretty easily. Like I said, nothing really changed but the broadcasts on the radio. My grandma would keep saying “It’ll all blow over, it did last time.” I wasn’t really sure what last time was, but from what little information I gathered it was some sort of uprising. In the middle of October I received a letter for the first time since I’d been there. It had Pavel Schultz written on the front. I hadn’t seen anything like it in years. It was strange. What was written inside was worse. In a small font, in the top left corner of the A4 piece of paper were 3 words. “He is here.” Who? Here? As in, in Chernarus? Who knows? There was no stamp on the envelope, just my name, but it was delivered with the rest of the post. I told my grandparents it was a silly letter from one of my students and never spoke of it again. I’d rather not talk about the day I left that house. I saw things I’d prefer to forget sooner rather than later, and it’s why I didn’t bother with the names of my “grandparents”. They were hardly in my life longer than my dad was, so I didn’t really want them to have names. And I feel like it’s better that way, what with them… I’ll stop there. I left the house, grabbing what I could on the way out. I was in a bit of a hurry at the time, so I didn’t grab much. Grabbing a gun or something might have made sense, but truth be told I don’t think I could put it to good use. I’ve only used an air rifle once or twice, and I’m not really sure what I’d do with a gun anyway… Shoot someone? Shoot one of those… Others? Hunt? I’m not sure I ever could. I kept myself to myself, hoping that this damned piece of paper might mean something. I have sense of direction, a compass, and a map, but still I feel so… Lost.
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