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Pinkerton last won the day on November 1 2016

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About Pinkerton

  • Birthday 07/18/1997

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    Ronald "Worm" Bennet

    Entry 1: April 21, 2019

    I don't even know where to start with this. . .

    I sit here at this pond that I've never come across before, writing this. I never felt like writing before, just seemed like a bullshit way to get out of my own head for a while. Though now that I'm sat here at this pond, leaning on a post of the fishing dock that extends over it to give off this scenic view. . . I am, for the first time in a long time, calm. 


    It brings back memories of a place I haven't seen in a few years now. . .



    Sister running around the house, feathers on her head. Younger brother loading up the truck to go fishing, the smell of honeysuckle and sweet country air flooding my nose. It comes back in waves, just sitting here.


    I forget about what I am now. What I'm being forced to do. Who's forcing me to do it.

    I forget about gathering dirt on people. The murder, the enslavement, the psychotic rampages.

    It all leaves me and lets me see straight for once.


    I got got, the Chedaki pretending to be good people, took me and marred my face with a phosphorus flare. Leaving me looking like some freak. . . but, unlike them. . . the Toy Makers. . . the Cult. . . every other sick bastard out there, I have something they don't.


    They tell me I'm their Dog, a lost piece of shit that they scraped off the road that is chernarus and plan to use as fuel for their war machine. I don't want this, I won't let them have this, but I have to think about my home. Sitting here made me think a lot more about getting back to there. Finding my brother, going home to my sister. . .

    They're all I've got left besides my own sanity and this rifle. I don't know whom it will be upon, but I plan to use both to ensure my freedom from this Hellish land of vibrant colors. A rose-tinted wasteland that blinds you with beauty just long enough before the shadows creep from beneath the trees and snatch you up.

    I'm earning their trust, earning a place so that I can be safe enough to think about more entries and record my thoughts. I've done enough to get them to stop calling me Dog and have earned a new name amongst one of their people . . .

    "Tovarishch" . . . In English. Friend, Ally, Comerade. . .

    The last bit of info given earning my right to this new title and a new employment. Direct Deployment. They want me to search Cernaya Polana for the Chernarussians. . . I pray I don't find them. If I do, I can only hope I'm sane enough to make the right decision.


    Fuck it. That's enough for now. I don't wanna reflect on the bad. I just want to sit here and take this in for a while longer. 


    If I can live long enough. . . I can promise myself that I'll come back here again someday.

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