*A stack of papers can be found in a tent deep in the woods of Chernarus. With them is what looks like something that used to be a makeshift lab that was run at one time in the tent, but is now abandoned.*
I'm going to make this simple for whoever happens to find this and read it because I'm not so naive to think that I'm going to survive in this hellish place forever, and when I go I'm the selfish type of person to want someone- anyone, to know my story.
How about we start this from the very beginning; I was born on October 24th, 1975 in the small Irish town of Moate which is some miles south of Ballymore. I was born 6 pounds 3 ounces and given the name Scott Jr, coming from the middle-lower class Connolly family and named for my father. When I was 5 years old my mother told me that I would have a little brother on the way, and when he was born he was given the name Brian.
My father was a good man for the first several years of my life until around the time I turned 12, then he got on with the local Shamrock brewery and such like many of the other men who worked there, turned to confide his problems to drink rather than his family. It wasn't long before the depression and alcohol mixed together and eventually made him a monster in our home but to all others having the appearance of an honest man and a saint. They would never know what he would come home, piss drunk, and do to my mother, or to me. He'd get angry and start breaking things, knocking around anything he could and when he ran out of things to break he would turn on his own family. I tried my best to keep him away from my mother and brother, but I was only a pre-teen and couldn't do much against an adult man who hailed from a life of generally hard labor. Not long after this we left while he was passed out when the drink finally knocked him over for the night, going to my grandparents' house which my mother would eventually inherit. I don't know if it was my grandfather's doing to keep him away, or if the old man had finally succumb to his grief and offed himself, but either way we never saw Scott Sr. again.
When I'd turned 18 and Brian 13, he insisted that he go to a pub and get the bartender to serve him a drink as they had for a many of his friends. Despite my protests he'd very much had his mind made up and I was more than aware that most pubs would serve a pint to a 13 year old as long as they could pay and knew the right people. I finally conceded and decided to go with him and watch over him for his safety. The night ended without real incident but Brian kept talking about how he felt like he was being confined, and how one day he might like to go out and see the countryside one day.
As it was, I'd held jobs myself from the time we left my father and did work for anyone willing to give me an honest day's pay. I would help my mother support us as her waitress job simply didn't always cut it after we recovered our bearings and our family moved out of my grandparents' house to a nice apartment. My uncle had later hired me to work in his antique shop and my wages did a great deal to keep the bills paid and the bank off our backs about my mother's loans. Despite being my father's brother, my uncle was always a good man and remained that way, being a good and gracious man to us from day one. This way of life over the next few years led to stability, and I'd found the money in my wages to put away for the future.
It was when I was 23 and Brian was 18 that his talk of wanting to go on his adventure came to fruition. He'd been working since he was of age just like I had, and also put away money just as I had but had done so for a longer period than I, and he wasn't required to help with bills. It was then after things had become stable at home that I gave my own savings to my mother, and accompanied him on his trip around the Irish countryside in the name of finding himself and his purpose in the world. We set out on his bankroll with the most minimalistic of possessions as possible for lighter traveling. I must say that I took some pride in him for wanting to go out and better himself, he was always like that. He wanted to be better than what people expected and never let himself be put down, he would always shoot back up.
After talking with my mother, we agreed that she could support herself on the help that my savings provided and encouraged us to go, and we wasted no time in leaving the very next morning just going on a road and following it somewhere, anywhere. It really didn't matter where we were going or where we ended up, we just went and enjoyed every moment of doing it. I must say that I'd never felt more free than I did in those days of making the countryside our own. We passed through many towns and met even more people, when you travel aimlessly you find yourself being more socially aware of the people around you and not trapped in the same little box every day. We saw a varied populace and all the beauty that only Ireland could offer.
However not all things are beautiful, and it still rains in even the most shining of meadows. We got into trouble with the wrong people many times over our travels because my protection instinct was still strong from my childhood, and I couldn't leave well enough alone at times when I saw someone at the mercy of someone else for no good reason. I still did well to keep Brian away from it, but there was one single occasion on that journey that I couldn't protect my brother. We'd stopped off in Mullingar one night and rented a room at one of the local inns, Brian wanted to go to a local pub and just like when he was younger he was insistent when he made his mind up. I went with him and at the end of it he got far too hammered and his cocky attitude reflected poorly with the other patrons, nearly leading to several fights. At this point enough was enough, so I started walking his piss-drunk ass back to the hotel with the misfortune that a small storm had started up while he was getting wasted. Out of nowhere from an alleyway two men jumped us, and pressed us against the wall of a nearby building. One of them drew a gun and demanded all of our money, they looked desperate but didn't really look like they wanted trouble. I was just about to hand over my wallet when a man who dressed like a low income, if not homeless person appeared and intervened. He had a revolver and started to fire at them thus distracting the men and allowing us escape. Brian wanted to stay and watch the outcome, but I grabbed him and drug him away to the safety of the hotel.
The next morning the man came up and demanded praise for his actions. We tossed him a few euros for his ammunition but were completely off-put by the way he acted and went on our way. That was the only time that we were put in so much danger but all throughout the trip it continued to bother me; I couldn't do anything against the muggers. When the gun was on me I couldn't move, froze up just like that with Brian's life, as well as mine in the worst danger we'd faced in our lives. If that man hadn't come along we might not have survived as we did.
Eventually we found ourselves in the city of Dublin, which was byfar the most beautiful city we'd come across. We spent a significant amount of time there, and Brian had found a girl by the name of Dana who he dated for a while. A very pretty girl in her own right but every time she looked at him she didn't seem to be really looking “at” him, but instead seemed almost detached. Brian never noticed this however, love can blind better than anything else in this world and make people look past all kinds of minor details. It was only a matter of time when she'd left him to go into the industry of having her photos taken for dirty magazines, and starred in equally dirty films.
We left Dublin after that and went back home. I resumed working at my uncle's shop and Brian took up a job as well, but he wasn't quite the same. He seemed like he was really torn apart after that, and despite his attempts to find other women none of them simply took to him. After our mother passed a few years later, we decided it would be best if we left Ireland entirely and went to the USA. There we started new careers and furthered our education, both going into the medical field. After years of study we achieved our goal of becoming doctors. Fast forward to 2014 when word got out on an unknown and officially unnamed infection began to hit the country of Chernarus, a small country bordering Russia. Brian and I had been a part of Doctors Without Borders for some years, going with the initial group that dispatched to provide aid to the region and attempt to slow or stop the infection. Certainly I'm sure that we're all aware of how that turned out, right? Brian and I survived much longer than our colleagues because despite the infection spreading all around us, it simply never took to effect us and we'd later gotten away from the hot areas with some of the equipment that our now crazed or dead colleagues could not use. As it was, once things got to this point there had been no rescue coming back for us up until then, and it was obvious that we would be stranded in this God-forsaken country for an indefinite period of time.
For a time I'd tried to find a vaccine or a cure for the infection using that equipment, doing test after test with my own blood and obtained fluids from the infected. This venture was entirely fruitless but all the while I maintained hope that I might just reach that breakthrough that we so desperately needed. I'd been attempting to do so for weeks after running off of nothing but a tiny little generator in a tent in the woods. Brian and I were the only ones left of our particular MSF camp as far as I know, so we were all we had when it came time to go scavenge for more gasoline and hope the supply wouldn't run dry anytime soon.
This pattern kept on until the day that ruined all of it. Things were fairly normal, we worked in the tent and Brian went outside for a moment to stretch and relax his over-exerted brain for a moment. After a few minutes there were shouts from a voice I'd never heard before just outside the tent. They were telling Brian to get on the ground and put his hands on his head. I rushed out and opened the flaps of the tent, and I saw the man with his back turned to me and a handgun aimed for my brother's head. I never stopped running toward him but I ran for what seemed like an eternity as images of the Mullingar mugging ran through my mind, remembering how helpless I was to do anything then. In those moments I knew that things couldn't be like Mullingar, I was behind him and he was ignorant and alone; I could take him and save my brother. It was a horrible mistake.
I tackled him and in doing so the bandit's gun fired, and hit Brian in the back. I'd hit him and he flew straight over Brian with me on top of him, and as we landed I looked over at my brother to make sure he was all right while the guy was dazed. There was blood coming out of his back, and I could tell that my brother had to be dead or would be in moments if he wasn't already considering where the bullet had struck, it had to be in his heart. At this point all time simply stopped, my brain raced at a million miles per hour for a moment and then just went blank. What thoughts remained were instilled with rage and hatred for the man laying underneath me, and at that moment it felt as if my being had shattered into several pieces. The brother I tried so desperately to protect was now dead, and perhaps he wouldn't be if I hadn't done anything.
I turned my head back to the bandit slowly, I can tell in hindsight that when I turned my head back toward him there was no rage, no sadness, just the desire that he would suffer for what he'd done. It hadn't been but a few seconds, so the bandit was still winded from my weight collapsing on top of him and now in a seated position, so it wasn't particularly hard for me to grab away his gun and stuff it in my lab coat. Simply killing him would not be enough for someone like this, someone this terrible who would go on to hurt more and more people. I may have taken an oath to “Do No Harm”, but by letting this man walk away I would be doing more harm than I could ever inflict on him. I still felt nothing as I grabbed one of his arms and pulled it back behind him, at this point he was at my mercy in an armlock. I took the scalpel that I kept on me for occasions when I might need to dissect into something for my research on the infection, and I remembered that if you keep a brain active it can assist a patient in not slipping away into unconciousness.
I allowed the man to get a bit of his breath, and he attempted to swat at me with his other arm, however I simply gave him a deep cut into the locked arm when he did so. He quickly gave up the notion of resisting and pleaded that he was just hungry, and should be let go. I continued to stare at him as blankly as before and asked him a question.
“What is one thousand minus seven?”
He looked at me with a scared and confused look on his face, but said nothing. I gave him another cut into the muscle of his forearm.
“I'll ask again, what is one thousand minus seven?”
This time without hesitation, the bandit replied. “Nine hundred ninety-three”. I put down an elbow into his back and winded him once more, and stabbed the scalpel into the back of both of his knees to keep him from running. “I didn't tell you to stop subtracting”, I instructed. He did continue counting down in sevens out of fear, and continued to mutilate and torture the man as he screamed numbers that only served the purpose to keep him in more pain. This went on for some time until he finally went into shock, and I simply stood up and shot him through the head once I was satisfied with what I'd inflicted upon him.
Once that was done, I threw away the scalpel before checking my brother again. There was no doubt he was dead, and at this point my sensibilities started to come back to me, and I felt horror at what I'd done to the poor man and my bloody coat and hands were the proof of my deeds. However as much as I might have liked to turn myself into authorities to receive punishment for what was certainly the most horrid of crimes, there were no more authorities to report to; at least not here, not anymore.
I buried my brother and prayed his soul be sent to heaven. I gathered what supplies I would need from the tent and left it there, along with the generator, as a testament to the work my brother and I had done. As things were, I could not bare to continue to work in the vain hope of a cure without him and ultimately our research never made progress anyway. From that point on I simply wandered and put that murderous side of me into the farthest reaches of my mind and survived from day to day until we get to the point I am at now. I've abandoned the Connolly name, someone like me couldn't possibly keep such an honor. I've decided to change it to Harm, to symbolize the evil I've committed.
I will do my best from here on to be more like the man I was, the man that left Ireland with his brother and only wanted to do good for the world and protect it's inhabitants. That's the man that Brian would want me to be, not this Bird of Hermes that I've become.