An orphan at birth Daff grew up in the system. A rough childhood in a halfway house in the bad side of Seattle made him street smart and bit cunning. By the age of 16, he was dealing cocaine from cartels to Russian freighters. By the time he was 22, he was the kingpin of the Seattle docks. He thought money and a gun could scare anyone and soon small gang wars ensued. One night a year later leaving a nightclub him and a couple of his associates got lit up by the automatic fire. Three 7.62 rounds had hit Daff as he jumped behind a car. His associates' blood watered the pavement as there bullet filled bodies hit the ground. Daff had been shot in the upper right abdomen, the left shoulder and a round had curved around his skull nearly scalping him. Barely conscious he grabs the 1911 out of his belt preparing for a firefight but the car just shots off down the road. Daff ran to his safe house as he was bleeding. The cartel had betrayed him, no longer believing that his cut was necessary. He got a paramedic buddy to come over and patch him up as he had a long conversation in Russian to a few of his contacts on where he could lie low awhile. Chernarus was soon decided and he got one of his smuggling contacts to give him a ride. Ignoring the news as usual Daff went to the freighter and got settled into his container which had some weed food and water for a week. the ride was long and turbulent and soon Daff suspected something was wrong as the engine hum had gone away. Not being able to open the container from the inside he was stuck not knowing what was going on. It was day 10 when he ran out of food. On day 12 he ran out of water. On day 13 the loudest crash Daff had ever heard sounded off as he was launched to the roof of the container then boom. as the container hit the ground Daff went to the bottom of the container with a thud crack, as his two ribs broke. Getting his bearings Daff grabbed his 1911 with 8 bullets and went to the door which was cracked open. As he went outside he saw the ship he was just on split in half and beached on the shore. He soon found out that the apocalypse had started from all the infected people trying to kill him. He ran through towns realizing he had indeed reached his destination. He ran up higher north and found an infected with a rifle on his back and confiscated it. He found a small deer stand to call home and hunted for survival for a long time seeing almost nobody. Which brings him to today, as he was checking his small game traps he spotted a man slowly crawling through the woods. As Daff approached the man he weakly tries to raise a pistol with a bloody arm. Daff "Woah their nobodies going to hurt you now, what happened to you?" Man "The house... they attacked us..." Daff "Who? doesn't matter lets see if I can help you." as he takes off the man's shirt he sees three bullet wounds in his center abdomen and when takes of the mans mask he sees that the bullets had fragmented across the mans face and head. Daff "Fuck man you got shot up." Man "My name... is Jerry... go to the... safe haven and... tell mont I fucked up... I'm sorry." As the Jerry finishes he raises the pistol to his head. Daff "No wait!" Boom his brain matter litters the ground beside him.