In my experience and my opinion, it matters very little what individual members have done to compromise neutrality in the past; rather, it depends what the group does as a group and what members do as members of this group. Past events are and should be all but irrelevant. Neutrality is a goal, not a given, and if the leadership strives for neutrality, then it can be obtained regardless of whatever members have done in the past7 (to the degree that it is dramatic and conducive to roleplay).
IGN: JW Havenshire (short for Johannes Waldebert Havenshire) Country: United States Age: 25. English skills: Native DayZ Mod Experience: None. DayZ Standalone Experience: 3,000 hours. Don't let it fool you, I have no idea what I'm doing. Roleplaying Experience: 10 years. What kind of In Game role best describes you: Desperate survivor as of the moment, but JW is very ambitious and I see him eventually finding himself trying to do something that he hopes will improve greater society. Have you been in any clan/group previously: No. Additional notes: My play time is limited, but I'm dedicated to the idea of running with a group in my free time and helping to improve the community in some small way.
Backstory: My guy is far from the typical military man, rather he is physically weak and his only real strength in this new world is his wits. I decided to try to keep his backstory fairly open as I wasn't sure what direction I would go in when I first joined. So, JW is a Catholic priest who was sent to work with the WHO. He was stranded when a group of Russian militants captured him and his peers during the outbreak. Unfortunately, the two groups I geared the character for have both seemed to have become inactive when I returned to play after work-related gap. I am considering re-creating him a bit, but I don't want to give up just yet.
For additional information, see character profile.
Despair filled Havenshire as the low battery light flickered on the transmitter, and it rushed over him again as he heard the refusal of distraction. It occurred to him that he might be leading himself into yet another trap.
"This is Havenshire. Major Holem, perhaps we have something confused. The detachment that I was sent with was entirely of researchers before the outbreak bloomed, and we were all captured by Russian nationalists. As far as I can tell, everyone is dead but me."
He gulped, swallowing his suspicions. "I would be glad to meet with you, Major, though I do not anticipate that I have very much left in me. The news that you have given me weighs down."
He releases the PTT and rakes his thinning hair through his fingers in exasperation.
"To the first speaker referring to unfriendly territory, and to the second referring to the closed police station, your words reassure me. I would be happy to meet either or both of you... and if you can do what you say and get me to a 'hub' as you say, my life, my friendship, and any meager possessions I have in this world are yours."
Doctor Havenshire sighed as he heard the news.
"First Emergency Response. And no, I'm afraid I don't remember the officer's name. There was a bit of a language barrier.
I'm in no position to make any demands, Doctor, but certainly if there is UN-friendly presence, I'm most interested in how to get back to my peers. My skill sets are not suited to the end of the world."
He could hardly contain his excitement as Doctor Hawk broadcast.
"This is Doctor Havenshire. I was researcher for the Emergency Response Unit brought in near the onset of the epidemic. We were captured by militants after everything started falling apart. Not many survived the outbreak. WHO ID card number is Alpha-504-3016-980-Charlie. Full name Johannes Waldebert Havenshire. I've been lost since I escaped the compound, Doctor, and the police officer in Chernogorsk must have been giving me old intel."
He lets off of the PTT button for a moment before reiterating.
"Doctor, this battery doesn't have much juice left. I am requesting a location on the UN compound and, if possible, extraction."
Johannes had made his way from the living dead and found the sign he had been looking for - Kabanino. Just as he was in a field, a thunderclap sounded and rain followed shortly. He sprinted to Kabanino - the same town he had been looking for since he gained his freedom.
He rummaged through the homes in Kabanino and searched high and low for the UN encampment... nothing.
He depresses the PTT button as he sits in one of many abandoned homes with his back to a wall.
"This is Reverend Doctor Havenshire of the World Health Organization. I'm going black on supplies... I've found myself to Kabanino, but the Blue Helmets aren't here. I rationed to make it here and there's not a damned soul. I am requesting extraction to the headquarters of UN, WHO, NATO, Catholic Relief, or whoever the Sam hell is still out there... Barring that, I'm hoping someone is around Kabanino. I'm not going to make it out here by myself."
With trembling hands, JW sped a reclaimed Lada into the heart of Chernorus, where he was told he might rendezvous with his lost companions. The survivors he met up with hadn't been able to tell him where the UN was - or anywhere an old man like him might make it, really. As a last gambit to protect himself from other desperate survivors, he spray-painted a blue cross and "non" - an informal word for priest in Chernorussian, on the side of the Lada that he had pieced together in Elektrozavodsk.
He hadn't much nerve to reflect on the past as he sped through what he had hoped was Pogorevka. But it was just as dusk was falling that the sedan was littered with automatic fire from multiple sources. Unarmed and unnerved, he drove evasively, but was hit near center mass. He lost control of the sedan, going off-road while he was still taking fire. Just as he was barreling at over 100 KPH into forestry where he hoped to find cover.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, t-the Lord is..."
Just as he was muttering his prayer at full throttle, a loud crunch filled his ear as he immediately was stopped on an unseen tree trunk. Panicking, he stomped on the gas, throwing it into reverse to try and loose himself.
"T-the Lord is with thee..."
He got out and tried in vain to push the car. He was too preoccupied to realize that the gunmen were gaining on him on foot. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by Russian militants, laughing and crunching on apples as they beat him into a prone state. Once they had taken what they wanted from him and tried to move the Lada, eventually stripping it of all of the parts that hadn't been ruined in the crash, they left him for dead.
Johannes laid there for hours utterly destitute and consigning himself to death. Much to his dismay, his eyes did eventually flutter open again. He limped to the nearest home and, almost as a twist of fate, found a walkie and a battery not far from one another, a stroke of luck (or divine intervention, he thought) that he had prayed to come across. Starving and dehydrated, he barely had the energy to fumble the battery into the walkie.
The battery was well on its way to the end of its cycle. But he determined he wasn't.
That's when he heard the groans of the living dead coming closer to him. He was lucky enough to not have to deal with many of them before - but there were several of them. He heard them right outside of the door of the farm house. He smashed a can of spaghetti and slurped up what wasn't lost as if it were his last meal and bolted out of the farmhouse door to get cover behind a rock and signaled his message in Morse to preserve the battery. His condition was surely prohibitive... and this was his last risky resort.