Dimo
Well-known member
Hello, they call me Dimo, i used to be an Indonesian farmer and a soldier of the Khmer Rouge, now, I am an international self made man, money was made a legal way of course, and this is my story.
I was born in a poor Indonesian farmer family, West Papua. My momma spent all day on the rice fields in her straw hat, my dad worked in a weapons factory, often until midnights, 10 hours a day. But he wasn’t complaining, because some of the weapons that didn’t quite meet the quality standarts he could bring home, then repair them, and sell them for a lot of money. From chinese AK knock off Type 56 to American M16’s. That’s when i started to truly love weapons, i would often scavenge my dad’s for sale stock and bring them out in the forests with me to hunt wild animals so we could have some fresh food. At the age of 12 parents wanted me to have good education, so they sent me to a school in a city called Manado. I liked it alot at first, but the corruption in the school system was apparent, so the richer kids had better grades, while they completely ignored us, the poorer kids.
One day i was ravaging through my dad’s stock and i found a beautiful gun, I’ve never seen anything like that before. It was looking modern, sharp and it was a love on the first sight, i grabbed it in my dirty hands, it fits perfectly. I remember looking at the pictures on the wall, hearing legends about the indonesian tigers, gave me an idea. For my 13th birthday i got a pocket knife, and when the summer holidays began, i grabbed my new found love, the SIG 550. I went into the jungle, sat on a tree all day and then, i saw it. I saw a majestic creature, A tiger, tearing apart some poor bastard of a farmer who was unlucky enough to get into the vicinity of the beast. I aimed through the very bright tritium sights on it, i was hesitating to pull the trigger at first, boom, the recoil kicked me so hard into the shoulder i fell down from the tree, with my finger still on the trigger, and it caused some serious injury, i ignored at the time, it started to itch rapidly. I just sat there, bandaging my finger, while the tiger was lying dead down on the ground. I grabbed my newly acquired bowie knife and started skinning the creature, the skin was hard, and it made me feel sick at the times.
It is almost the evening, and I am finally done with skinning the creature. I decided to take a quick nap. When i woke up, i heard a vehicle approaching, I peeked through the thick line of bush, it was the POLRI, the Indonesian national police, a bunch crooked and corrupt bunch of goons that spend their days by harrasing the citizens mostly. If they had found me, i would be probably swimming with the fishes already. Time was a luxury i couldn’t afford. I had to pack the skin quickly into the rucksack i brought with me. I dashed through the jungle, dodging all the known landmine spots wishing that i do not step on one. An officer hears me dash and starts running after me. I am almost at the village when an officer crosses my path and explodes. The red mist, guts and blood start flying all over the place. This is the first time I’ve seen a person die, i didn’t feel bad for him at the time, but he was just an ordinary guy doing his job. When the guts and blood starting falling at me, i figured that it is not the safest place to hang around. So I got together and ran back home. The next day, i sold the tiger skin to a local black market dealer, got quite a few american dollars for it, 500 to be exact, even though the value was probably much higher. But it was good to finally get some good education.
Life was going pretty good for me, i found quite a business in selling hides of animals to the black market dealer, so i could eat pretty well, and as my dad sold more weapons to controversional parties, we got rich. So rich, that the goverment knew what’s going on, and wanted some of our richness. The police arrives at our house one day, and demands bribes in astronomical amounts. Since my dad refused to pay it, my mother packed me up, and sent me to Cambodia, so i could safely live with my cousin, because there was a big manhunt ravaging all the people with different political ideas, including the cartels, poachers and human traffickers.
After moving to Cambodia with my uncle that i’ve never seen before in my life, i knew this will go wrong. And it did obviously. I was in a place when indonesians are less popular than aids. So he sold me to the Khmer Rouge. I had no other choice but to comply, those guys are not a joke. If i thought that the Indonesian police are bad, these guys are really something else. Torturing, multilating, gutting, raping, stealing, burning, elephant stomping, all of this is the day’s norm for those guys. I knew this experience ain’t gonna be a warm glass of milk and a blowjob on top. Next 10 years i spent by rough military training, communist idealogy brainwashing and being forced to watch tortures and minefield runs. All of this has really gotten onto me, and when the Khmer Rouge started falling apart and the forces were slowly backing off, i finally had the chance to escape this hellhole. I sneaked into the armory, trying to find an SIG550, which i obviously did not, so i stole a rusty old AK74-S with a bayonet on it, a few mags and some food, and sneaked out of the compound. Hopped on a ferry and sneaked out of Cambodia, without shedding any blood of the Khmer plague.
I travelled for quite a while, to Vietnam, where i found a group of human traffickers, that promised getting me onto an island called „Altis“, which later proved itself as the best idea I’ve ever had in my life. I gave them all the money i had on me, my AK and all the magazines, luckily enough i dismantled the bayonet atleast. I remember barely anything out of this trip, i slept alot and read a book called „Starting your life in Altis“. Me and my yellow transport arrives in Kavala. A beautiful show of European architecture: modern houses tenements and old greek ruins. I began to look around, trying to find some new friends. I met a guy named Lil gamz, he seemed like a nice guy and all. He invited me into his „corporation“ called Zentrice. Soon i would find that lady luck really is a a hooker, and i happen to be all out of cash.
Our enterprise started out quite well, we were just casually robbing some citizens, or as we call them „hobos“. At first i couldn’t get the grip of it, but soon enough, i started to love it. It’s like a drug, it is addictive, all the money i made, i lived like a king. Soon a new fresh recruit showed up in the gang. Kazuhira Miller was his name. Guy of order, sometimes with dumb catchphrases, he liked to keep everything clean and fair for everyone. In the background, he was running a successful private army called „The Diamond Dogs“ you probably have heard about him already, so I won’t bother. He was also new on the island so we quickly became friends. We soon started to realise that robbing hobos is not enough to feed our lust, so we had to start doing some legal business, to give good name to our little enterprise. We started doing some cement, because Kazuhira „Kaz“ Miller found out that it makes quite a bit of money for the enterprise, because people of Greece want to rebuild their war torn country. A million pounds per truck, soon, we started being the most prominent and well known corporation on the entire island, only rivaled by even more rich and bigger corporations that were ironically enough sponsored by the goverment.
Cops soon began to be a real problem. At first, they were some not so strict muppets which you could pay off with a donut. Then suddenly, when we became strong, they became strong too, maybe too much strong for my liking. Soon the weapons that we had available: The rook, MK20, SPAR16 simply weren’t enough. I was rolling quite low on cash, when a gang member named ToxicBacon, had a masterplan. Since the old leader was on a vacation, and left an open vault filled with blood money awaiting for it’s collector. He stole it, and promised to give me half if i don’t tell anyone about it. As you can see, money does not change people, it reveals them.
Of course i did not tell anyone, i told everyone that i made that money by being a diamond exporter. Everyone believed me at first, but Kaz was very suspicous about it. In one heated up moment, I told him everything, he wasnt very angry about it when i told him that we did indeed steal all the money from Gamz himself, it was clear to me that he wasn’t here for the money, he was just on a vacation to clean his head from all the paperwork and troubles of the everyday troubles of running a private army.
When gamzi found out about it, all hell started to break loose. He quite lost his mind, because Bacon manipulated him into thinking that we stole the money. What a dirty traitor. I promise you that he wasn’t on the island for long after this incident. Let’s say he disappeared somewhere. We ran off, and created a new organization, but it wasn’t quite as sucessful as the old one. And another one, same old story. When we had a sustainable income, i went and checked the advanced rebel station and… I found it. It looked exactly as i remembered it, but in a more modern coat. SG556 DMR rifle, but let’s call it the MK-1, because that’s how most people around here call it. The silent killer, the weaponsmith’s masterpiece. By the time i found my old love, we already killed more cops than cholesterol and donuts combined, but the fun is just about to start. Like shooting a fish in the barrel. One hit one kill, that was my motto when using this german masterpiece. Cops were well aware of it, we had to change our identities, and joined the police ranks, to check out the procedures so we could be better prepared for our future rebel life.
The level of corruption in the police force was easily comparable to the corruption in the Indonesian police. Some people get special treatment, rank up faster, take bribes, harass civilians and are generally hated by everyone on the island. So we decided to leave the police ranks, after uncovering many money laundering, unfair and anti-citizen procedures. Kaz left the island for good, he needed to focus solely on his private army. He gave his goodbyes and left, saying that one day, one day he will come back. I tried many businesess after he left, making my name one of the most feared and well known on the island. I‘ve got quite a reputation now.
The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but the more you run, the deeper, more terrible it grows behind you. It is like pieces of broken mirror, you try to pick them up, but only end up cutting yourself deeply. Sometimes, I’d like to forget my past, the Khmers, Indonesia and everything. I try to be the man that’s living in the present, not in the past. I have quite a way ahead of me, and I’m sure it is going to be worth the grind. I am a changed man, i am not a grim reaper like i used to be, i don’t rob people on sight, i need some sort of a redeem in my life…
I was born in a poor Indonesian farmer family, West Papua. My momma spent all day on the rice fields in her straw hat, my dad worked in a weapons factory, often until midnights, 10 hours a day. But he wasn’t complaining, because some of the weapons that didn’t quite meet the quality standarts he could bring home, then repair them, and sell them for a lot of money. From chinese AK knock off Type 56 to American M16’s. That’s when i started to truly love weapons, i would often scavenge my dad’s for sale stock and bring them out in the forests with me to hunt wild animals so we could have some fresh food. At the age of 12 parents wanted me to have good education, so they sent me to a school in a city called Manado. I liked it alot at first, but the corruption in the school system was apparent, so the richer kids had better grades, while they completely ignored us, the poorer kids.
One day i was ravaging through my dad’s stock and i found a beautiful gun, I’ve never seen anything like that before. It was looking modern, sharp and it was a love on the first sight, i grabbed it in my dirty hands, it fits perfectly. I remember looking at the pictures on the wall, hearing legends about the indonesian tigers, gave me an idea. For my 13th birthday i got a pocket knife, and when the summer holidays began, i grabbed my new found love, the SIG 550. I went into the jungle, sat on a tree all day and then, i saw it. I saw a majestic creature, A tiger, tearing apart some poor bastard of a farmer who was unlucky enough to get into the vicinity of the beast. I aimed through the very bright tritium sights on it, i was hesitating to pull the trigger at first, boom, the recoil kicked me so hard into the shoulder i fell down from the tree, with my finger still on the trigger, and it caused some serious injury, i ignored at the time, it started to itch rapidly. I just sat there, bandaging my finger, while the tiger was lying dead down on the ground. I grabbed my newly acquired bowie knife and started skinning the creature, the skin was hard, and it made me feel sick at the times.
It is almost the evening, and I am finally done with skinning the creature. I decided to take a quick nap. When i woke up, i heard a vehicle approaching, I peeked through the thick line of bush, it was the POLRI, the Indonesian national police, a bunch crooked and corrupt bunch of goons that spend their days by harrasing the citizens mostly. If they had found me, i would be probably swimming with the fishes already. Time was a luxury i couldn’t afford. I had to pack the skin quickly into the rucksack i brought with me. I dashed through the jungle, dodging all the known landmine spots wishing that i do not step on one. An officer hears me dash and starts running after me. I am almost at the village when an officer crosses my path and explodes. The red mist, guts and blood start flying all over the place. This is the first time I’ve seen a person die, i didn’t feel bad for him at the time, but he was just an ordinary guy doing his job. When the guts and blood starting falling at me, i figured that it is not the safest place to hang around. So I got together and ran back home. The next day, i sold the tiger skin to a local black market dealer, got quite a few american dollars for it, 500 to be exact, even though the value was probably much higher. But it was good to finally get some good education.
Life was going pretty good for me, i found quite a business in selling hides of animals to the black market dealer, so i could eat pretty well, and as my dad sold more weapons to controversional parties, we got rich. So rich, that the goverment knew what’s going on, and wanted some of our richness. The police arrives at our house one day, and demands bribes in astronomical amounts. Since my dad refused to pay it, my mother packed me up, and sent me to Cambodia, so i could safely live with my cousin, because there was a big manhunt ravaging all the people with different political ideas, including the cartels, poachers and human traffickers.
After moving to Cambodia with my uncle that i’ve never seen before in my life, i knew this will go wrong. And it did obviously. I was in a place when indonesians are less popular than aids. So he sold me to the Khmer Rouge. I had no other choice but to comply, those guys are not a joke. If i thought that the Indonesian police are bad, these guys are really something else. Torturing, multilating, gutting, raping, stealing, burning, elephant stomping, all of this is the day’s norm for those guys. I knew this experience ain’t gonna be a warm glass of milk and a blowjob on top. Next 10 years i spent by rough military training, communist idealogy brainwashing and being forced to watch tortures and minefield runs. All of this has really gotten onto me, and when the Khmer Rouge started falling apart and the forces were slowly backing off, i finally had the chance to escape this hellhole. I sneaked into the armory, trying to find an SIG550, which i obviously did not, so i stole a rusty old AK74-S with a bayonet on it, a few mags and some food, and sneaked out of the compound. Hopped on a ferry and sneaked out of Cambodia, without shedding any blood of the Khmer plague.
I travelled for quite a while, to Vietnam, where i found a group of human traffickers, that promised getting me onto an island called „Altis“, which later proved itself as the best idea I’ve ever had in my life. I gave them all the money i had on me, my AK and all the magazines, luckily enough i dismantled the bayonet atleast. I remember barely anything out of this trip, i slept alot and read a book called „Starting your life in Altis“. Me and my yellow transport arrives in Kavala. A beautiful show of European architecture: modern houses tenements and old greek ruins. I began to look around, trying to find some new friends. I met a guy named Lil gamz, he seemed like a nice guy and all. He invited me into his „corporation“ called Zentrice. Soon i would find that lady luck really is a a hooker, and i happen to be all out of cash.
Our enterprise started out quite well, we were just casually robbing some citizens, or as we call them „hobos“. At first i couldn’t get the grip of it, but soon enough, i started to love it. It’s like a drug, it is addictive, all the money i made, i lived like a king. Soon a new fresh recruit showed up in the gang. Kazuhira Miller was his name. Guy of order, sometimes with dumb catchphrases, he liked to keep everything clean and fair for everyone. In the background, he was running a successful private army called „The Diamond Dogs“ you probably have heard about him already, so I won’t bother. He was also new on the island so we quickly became friends. We soon started to realise that robbing hobos is not enough to feed our lust, so we had to start doing some legal business, to give good name to our little enterprise. We started doing some cement, because Kazuhira „Kaz“ Miller found out that it makes quite a bit of money for the enterprise, because people of Greece want to rebuild their war torn country. A million pounds per truck, soon, we started being the most prominent and well known corporation on the entire island, only rivaled by even more rich and bigger corporations that were ironically enough sponsored by the goverment.
Cops soon began to be a real problem. At first, they were some not so strict muppets which you could pay off with a donut. Then suddenly, when we became strong, they became strong too, maybe too much strong for my liking. Soon the weapons that we had available: The rook, MK20, SPAR16 simply weren’t enough. I was rolling quite low on cash, when a gang member named ToxicBacon, had a masterplan. Since the old leader was on a vacation, and left an open vault filled with blood money awaiting for it’s collector. He stole it, and promised to give me half if i don’t tell anyone about it. As you can see, money does not change people, it reveals them.
Of course i did not tell anyone, i told everyone that i made that money by being a diamond exporter. Everyone believed me at first, but Kaz was very suspicous about it. In one heated up moment, I told him everything, he wasnt very angry about it when i told him that we did indeed steal all the money from Gamz himself, it was clear to me that he wasn’t here for the money, he was just on a vacation to clean his head from all the paperwork and troubles of the everyday troubles of running a private army.
When gamzi found out about it, all hell started to break loose. He quite lost his mind, because Bacon manipulated him into thinking that we stole the money. What a dirty traitor. I promise you that he wasn’t on the island for long after this incident. Let’s say he disappeared somewhere. We ran off, and created a new organization, but it wasn’t quite as sucessful as the old one. And another one, same old story. When we had a sustainable income, i went and checked the advanced rebel station and… I found it. It looked exactly as i remembered it, but in a more modern coat. SG556 DMR rifle, but let’s call it the MK-1, because that’s how most people around here call it. The silent killer, the weaponsmith’s masterpiece. By the time i found my old love, we already killed more cops than cholesterol and donuts combined, but the fun is just about to start. Like shooting a fish in the barrel. One hit one kill, that was my motto when using this german masterpiece. Cops were well aware of it, we had to change our identities, and joined the police ranks, to check out the procedures so we could be better prepared for our future rebel life.
The level of corruption in the police force was easily comparable to the corruption in the Indonesian police. Some people get special treatment, rank up faster, take bribes, harass civilians and are generally hated by everyone on the island. So we decided to leave the police ranks, after uncovering many money laundering, unfair and anti-citizen procedures. Kaz left the island for good, he needed to focus solely on his private army. He gave his goodbyes and left, saying that one day, one day he will come back. I tried many businesess after he left, making my name one of the most feared and well known on the island. I‘ve got quite a reputation now.
The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but the more you run, the deeper, more terrible it grows behind you. It is like pieces of broken mirror, you try to pick them up, but only end up cutting yourself deeply. Sometimes, I’d like to forget my past, the Khmers, Indonesia and everything. I try to be the man that’s living in the present, not in the past. I have quite a way ahead of me, and I’m sure it is going to be worth the grind. I am a changed man, i am not a grim reaper like i used to be, i don’t rob people on sight, i need some sort of a redeem in my life…
