The following letter was discovered in a briefcase in the back of a van on the outskirts of Berezino sometime in late 2017. The scavengers who found it left it on the side of the road. "My Dearest Emily, My flight to the UK leaves in one week. I cannot wait to be with you and the kids again! I told you not to worry. All those rumors about political unrest just seem to be partisan bluster. There are plenty of angry people here (for obvious reasons), but we have been relatively safe with our escorts. The installation of the new generators worked wonders and I am proud to say that the people of Dubrovka are on their way to being the first step in a nation-wide co-op! Your parents should be proud you decided to marry an engineer and not some pompous lawyer, huh? Anyway darling I miss you so much and after a quick stay in London, I'll be on my way back to you. I can't wait to take you and the little ones out to the beach again. For all my complaining about Los Angeles, I sure am glad we built such a wonderful life there. See you soon my love. All my love, TM 04/30/2017 P.S. - I am glad you and I are single-handedly bringing back letter writing, kids these days will never know the excitement of getting something in the mail! P.P.S - I will still call you later tonight to let you know this letter is on it's way!" Turner MacBain is a broken shell of a man. 48 years old with his entire family back in Los Angles presumed dead, he has given up on life numerous times before something drags him back in, forcing him to stay alive just that much longer. He came to Chernarus to make a difference in peoples lives. He was part of a group of engineering contractors brought in to shore up local electrical grids to be compatible with each other. For over a year he worked with locals in central Chernarus. Training civilians and military alike in the newest energy technology and writing numerous correspondence back to his home office to request additional supplies. When martial law was declared, him and his team attempted numerous times to leave, but were always held back, with the government citing "National Security" as the reason no one was going in or out at the moment. For 6 weeks he was left with members of his team in temporary housing with their armed escort standing guard and not answering their questions. Until one day he awoke to find that every one the soldiers was gone. Sometime in the night they had taken their gear and their trucks and fled the town. Fearing something bad had finally ignited in the conflict strewn area, Turner and a few members of his team borrowed a locals van and drove South on a winding road toward Berezino. It was at a crossroads later that night, that they came across a military escort making their way in the opposite direction where everything went horribly wrong. Forcing Turner and the few people with them out of the van, the soldiers stripped them of all their food, water and as much gear as they could carry before turning their weapons onto the shocked Americans. In a choice he would come to regret later, Turner dove into a small ditch and then ran into the woods, the shots of the rifles and the horrified screams of his former colleges and friends ringing in his ears. Realizing the town was not far away, yet knowing he had to avoid the road, he became hopelessly lost. A day later he ended up in Gorka, where he was immediately picked up by a local military patrol who wanted to know what he was doing outside a safe zone. Unable to provide answers, he was locked in a makeshift cell and promptly forgotten about. With no one giving him any answers and the old woman who brought him his one meal a day only laughing at him about the End of The World, Turner sunk into a deep depression. He hated himself for running away from his friends and worried constantly about his wife and two children. He lost track of how long he spent in that cage. It wasn't until the second day with no food that he realized just how quiet the town had become. He had become used to the sounds of vehicles driving and soldiers talking and yelling throughout the day and night. But now he could only hear birds and a slight wind through the barred window. Realizing he had to make it out and get back to his wife, he began screaming for someone to come talk to him. After an hour, his throat was dry and his head fuzzy from the lack of food. In desperation he threw himself at the bars. Surprisingly. The entire metal barred door and frame came right out of the cheap plaster wall. Laughing to himself hysterically about building codes in the country, he made his way out. After scavenging some dropped food and water that seemed to litter the road as if thousands of people had been fleeing by, he walked down the middle of the old highway. Turner somehow manged to make it to Berezino, where he went to the home of a local friend he had made months earlier. The streets were mostly deserted and the few people Turner did see, seemed to be walking around in a haze. Stumbling around and mumbling under their breath. He avoided them by way of the alleys and side buildings as he made his way to Mikhails shop. He knew that Mikhail had a working a satellite phone (a rare luxury for anyone, especially an elderly mechanic)and hoped the old man was still home, or had at least left it in his haste to flee. After crawling through the back window, Turner was overcome with a stench so strong it made him gag. Crawling low on his hands and knees, he slowly pushed open the door to Mikhails duel bedroom-office, where he found the old mechanic. It's one thing to be told about seeing a body that had been ripped apart. It's a another thing to have it in front of you. What was left of Mikhail seemed to be a pile of browning meat covered in a yellowish and green sheen. The only reason Turner knew it was him was the wrist watch still attached to a perfectly preserved hand. Mikhail had treasured that watch almost as much as his satellite phone. Remembering the phone Turner tore his eyes away from the body and quickly found it tucked into a side table near the bed. Almost crying out in joy when it powered on he dialed his wife's cell phone number. *ring...ring...ri* " ...Yeah?" "WHO IS THIS? Where is Emily? Why do you have my wifes ph..." "Found it on some dead bitch, man...sorry" *click* Trying to call the number back over and over while it just rang, Turner sank to the floor and sobbed. He kept trying until finally the batteries in the aging satellite phone gave out, and then he cried even harder. It wasn't until much later, when Turner was found by a group looking for food that he learned the truth about what had happened to the world. He wanted to deny it but after hearing so many of the same stories he finally accepted it. Since that time Turner has been alone most often. Living in the woods and coming out to trade food and crafts for gear. He has betrayed and been betrayed. He has helped saved lives and when ultimately necessary, he has taken them. Someday he hopes to be made whole again. To find the will to get back home. To live the dream and wake from the nightmare. Until then, he just tries to survive the world, and his own demons. Currently, Turner is wandering the land, putting himself in considerable danger while hunting for letters he claims are from his wife. The letters, according to him were stolen by hostile military forces with a grudge against any foreign aid. On especially bad days, he uses his axe and knife to carve words into chicken breasts that he then offers to unsuspecting wanderers.