Lateralus Gaming

A life is a funny thing to create. All it takes is a little push. In the same way it’s just the same way to end. It just takes a little push. We'll start in a dark room with a rope hanging from the rafters, attached to the rope was a woman who never quite made it how she wanted to, she wanted to be famous but she turned out a **** and a mother of two. She just couldn't stand the emptiness that was her life, her children not seeming to make her happy enough to be alive, her partner not supportive enough or something else. It’s between god and her now. No one else knows the exact reason, it’s not like she can tell anyone.
A boy watches in silence, tears running unburdened down his face as he sits on the floor, out of breath. Unable to sob any more. He can't understand what’s happening, the finality of death twisting what he thought was a safe world into something out of a nightmare. His mother won't wake up from this sleep. He stays there watching for some time until the door is opened and a large man with a beard walks in, his arms covered in tattoos and his face set in a frown. He keeps a small girl from entering the room herself despite her cries. It’s the boy's sister. She wants to know what’s wrong with mommy.
"Russell." The man sighs, not wasting words even in this sad time, "Get up son. She's gone."
The man's eyes are a hard read even for his own son but no matter what his feelings, he wasn't surprised. He grabs onto the boy's shoulder, Russell's shoulder, and pulls him to his feet and tries to lead him away. Russell resists at first but even if he wasn't consumed by his emotions he wouldn't stand a chance against his father's strength. As Russell looks to his mother's corpse he doesn't realize that this is the last time he'll see his mother outside of photographs.

The death made Russell grounded in reality but detached from his own life. School didn't come easily to him, there was always a distraction. The only subject that he never faltered in was music, any class to deal with the subject was easily conquered by the boy. Reading music and playing it was as simple as reading and writing for the child. But that didn't spare him from the bullies that assumed he was stupid, that he wasn't as good as them. Not a day went by as he got older that he wasn't harassed or bullied. Sometimes there was the threat of violence, other times it was simply violence. He never took it and left it. He lashed back out at the bullies with as much anger as they attacked him with, sometimes even more. The teachers ignored it back then, it was boys being boys. But Russell would never take something like that lying down. Not then, not ever.

He managed to graduate from school and lived in that house, the house his mom died in, with his sister and his father. It was his sister's senior year and she had become very religious. A very kind soul some would say, taking her mother's death in a different way than her brother. Russell worked at his father's workshop to earn his stay, he owned little and generally didn't care about his life. Every day was the same. He'd get up early to prepare for the day, getting in his shoddy used car and putted to his father's workshop to work on cars and motorcycles until it was time to go home and back to bed. Until one day a shabby character knocked on his door. This man that Russell saw was lanky and ill kept, his hair coming to his shoulders, his clothes ragged. He was searching for a bassist for a punk band. Russell shook his head and was about to close the door as he remembered that he could fit that role. And so began his venture as the bassist for a small punk group. Russell began to be happy, he had a purpose. He actually enjoyed himself.

One night after a gig this same shabby figure approached Russell, offering a syringe. It was heroine. At first Russell was reluctant but did it anyway, the high making him feel amazing. So began a ritual for him of rewarding himself with the drug after every gig, soon it changed to before every gig. As his addiction became evident he was doing it before and after every gig and in the morning before he got ready for work. Everyone noticed his addiction but didn't move to help. He quit his job with his father and became homeless for a time, living in his car. He quit the band but not his addiction. He lost contact with his family and most of his friends. His life was at an all-time low.

One night as he was running low on both gas and heroine he picked up a hitchhiker. The man pulled a knife on Russell and tried to steal the car. But Russell wasn't going to take this man stealing his property. He beat and stabbed the man with his own knife before realizing how close he was to killing him. He shoved the man out of the car and sped off. Trying to escape the crime and himself. He winds up at his sister's home. She lives with her husband and son. He breaks into the house and tries to wash the blood out of his clothes, after some time he notices that she's watching him. She's in her bathrobe with a cross around her neck, her eyes filled with tears. Russell tries to open his mouth to explain but he finds that there's nothing to say. She shakes her head and points to the guest room as she walks away. Leaving Russell in a deafening silence.
Come that morning she washes his clothes and Russell gets to know his extended family. Her husband cautious at first of the strange bearded man with bags under his eyes and is confused on how this thing could be family of his wife. He relents and allows him to stay with them. His nephew at once loves his new uncle, the child not being old enough to understand what Russell has been through, his innocence bringing his own life into a sharp contrast. His sister loans him some nice clothes later, bringing him with her to church. Russell at first is nervous, not belonging in a house of god. But as the songs and prayers of the devoted soothe his soul he begins to see the light, the warmth of the faith. He makes a promise to god, to everyone to become a better person, to quit the drug that ruined his life, to start again.

His life at his sister's house was a pleasant one. He started working with his father again. The silence between the two was heart breaking until his father told him that he understood. Every Sunday he went with his sister's family to church and prayed, cleaning himself up. He shaves off his beard and lets himself be happy. To the outside observer it would have looked like nothing could go wrong. The outside observer is a **** idiot.
One dark night he was at a bar he'd grown to become a regular of. He never drank himself stupid. He wouldn't abuse anything like he did heroine. A figure tapped him on the shoulder, it was the same shabby figure that had invited him to the band all those years ago. He offered to take him to a party that was happening, for old times. Russell was torn between the life he has now and the life he left behind. But it was just a party he said to himself. What could happen?
Russell had a good time there, old friends chatted with him like he was still in the band. He enjoyed himself and politely refused another beer every time he was offered one. He was going to leave as he was offered a syringe. He froze like a statue, his mind going at hyper speed as he tried to decide what to do. But his own will failed him as he accepted the syringe.
Ashamed and high he returned to his sister's home, she and her husband were leaving for a night out and it was Russell's job to watch their only child. He was taking a bath they informed Russell. Make sure nothing happens to him they warned. He sat on the couch, frozen with self-pity as his nephew drowned in the bathtub, unable to climb out. The child was helpless. And Russell couldn't help him let alone himself.
His sister returned to find her child dead and her brother on the floor. He was ordered to go to rehab. It took time but he worked through it after months of therapy. But his sister wouldn't speak to him. He was alone again. He knocked on his father's house, the house he grew up on. And he waited until a passing man informed him that his father passed away from a stroke. And no one told him.
Russell tried to pray again, to ask god for guidance. But no one answered. Having lost his faith, his family and his life, Russell became a ghost, wandering around as he regrew his beard.

His will to be alive was slim to none as everything he ever loved or cared about came crashing down in front of him. It was only with slight disinterest he looked up as his only remaining friend would tell him the news about him traveling to The Zone. That's when it hit Russell. Having nothing or no one left to lose, he forced his friend to take Russell with him to Ukraine. Whether it was cause he needed a new start, or just simply had a death wish wasn't too hard to tell. But the time he would spend in the zone, would definitely change him.

Russell’s arrival in the zone was far from welcomed by its native inhabitants. He did not speak a lick of Ukrainian, and neither did he have any interest in learning it either at first. Instead he clutched to his friend and people who had knowledge of the English language for support. Still, he showed no interest in learning or helping out in any way. Russell never came to accept or find himself accepting the harsh nature and bringing of the Zone. Even if he had the ideal roughness and values needed to survive hell on earth. Instead he took comfort in the bottle- Or anything that gives you a kick really. He made his living on doing odd jobs that no one would willingly take, but never kill people. That was his one and only moral to follow. Maybe it was the ghost of his religion still haunting him… Russell would watch his friend prosper and gain renown in the zone while ultimately leaving Russ in the grave he’d dug for himself as he hits a new all-time low.

Things went on like this for a good couple of months, slowly as he began to learn the native language of his new so called home. By now Russell is scraping by the bottle of the barrel, scrounging together whatever he can to keep his kick going. It was then he found the Englishwoman- The young, one eyed archeologist with her roots planted in England. She had come to the Zone to study it, and perhaps one day make something out of it. She only barely caught Russell in her field of interest, as she seemingly out of a kind heart, decided to help him out and put him on the right path. Reluctant and very withdrawn at first, Russell finally agreed to let her help him. The woman reminded him so much of someone he had held very dear back in the states, if he had said anything but yes he’d just have felt bad and remorseful.

Things went great between Russell and the Englishwoman- who he’d learn went by the name of Delta Buxoy. He had been in the Zone for about a year now, two of those months spent together with his new friend. They had decided to set up a small mercenary group in Rostok with Delta as their leader, recruiting whatever friends and contacts they had made over the short time they spent together. The mercenary life was hard and well paying, but extremely tough on Russell. This was easily seen on his many scars and bruises scattered all over his body. But as long as he knew there was someone watching his back, he was satisfied.

Unfortunately the dream didn’t last for long. The group would soon begin to find themselves at a loss of members, and soon there was only three of them left around. Having been worn down to a numb, and pretty much being left as a borderline cripple after a close encounter with a blood sucker almost ripping his arm off, Russell began to doubt if he still had it in him to be a hired gun. Maybe it was finally time to just put down the guns? Russell thought so and acted upon it. This was close to year two in Russell’s story inside the Zone now. His knowledge of the Ukrainian language and relationship with the locals had increased something immensely. He had grown fond of a trader in the area which he also worked for as a guard. He suggested the idea to her to remain under her employment- but as a technician. He already had certain skills within the area, having worked in a workshop before his life in the Zone. She agreed on helping him set up shop with her, supplying him with tools, scrap and general equipment.

Russell never did pick up his guns again. He found himself actually liking his purpose for once- to fix others equipment. It was relaxing and rather easy-going on his crippled arm, and there was no risk of ending up as lunch for a Bloodsucker. He decided this was what he was going to do. Either ‘til he died or actually found a reason to leave the Zone.