Fozzun never knew his parents, only knew how to survive among the many children that were abandoned in orphanages. He remembered the sirens that would sound constantly. The loud explosions that never seemed to end. The screams. Fozzun knew how to survive thanks to his good friend, whom he only knew as Gwar. News reports seemed to be endless about the deadly virus used as a weapon. Fozzun wanted to get away, far away. He didn't think much of government that clearly didn't care about him or others like himself. He saw the corruption, the lies. He wanted to escape, all of it. Gwar knew someone who worked the port in Los Angels and was smuggling various individuals overseas for profit. Fozzun had no money and he wasn't ready to go looting like so many had in those days. On his way to meet up with Gwar he noticed a man running, out of breath. He was badly beaten, bleeding , but Fozzun ran to him to help. He ripped the sleeves off his shirt and began to bandage his wounds. The man fell to his knees, breaking down in tears. "Their all dead!" . Before Fozzun could say anything, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet full of cash and handed it to Fozzun. "Take this and run!" Off in the distance Fozzun could see several men coming in their direction with rifles in hand. "GO! NOW!" the man yelled. Fozzun grabbed the man and tried to carry him out sight, but now he noticed the gaping wound on the man's side. He was as good as dead. Fozzun stared at the man's eyes and said "thank you", before running off. Fozzun ran as hard as he could until he made it to the port where Gwar had been waiting for him. Examining the wallet the man had given him, was a large stack of bills that easily would be enough to pay for himself and Gwar to be smuggled overseas. They boarded a freight container, stowed away as cargo. They had enough food and water with them to last them the trip. Where were they going? As long as it took them away from the Hell they knew, they didn't care. Fozzun and Gwar made it safely off the cargo ship at port, they didn't know where they were, just that it was frinkin cold. They could see the Hell they had left behind had followed them here as well. They eventually made their way to a countryside, where they found an old man who spoke very broken English. Fozzun paid the man what he had left over and was able to secure residence upon his farm. They agreed to assist with duties around the farm in exchange for food. In time the old man grew accustomed to Fozzun and Gwar. In time, the old man revealed that he was a soldier in the military. He felt it was his duty to train them in the use of firearms, as the chaos was no longer far off. It wasn't long before looters came to the farm one night. Fozzun and Gwar tried defending the farm and the old man, but in the fight, the old man was killed. Fozzun and Gwar, angered by the looters killed them all. They decided to use the farm to take care of fellow survivors that happened to need residence. They would protect those who did not have protection. In time, Fozzun and Gwar decided to make trips into the nearest city to gather supplies and to recruit more survivors. They would bring an end to the lawlessness that had seemed to prevail amid the chaos.