Robert Coxx
New member
I left my dear home of Montreal Canada looking for adventure. The flight to Altis was a bumpy one I admit. The sky marshal had to taze several men trying to "declare themselves in control of the plane." After the taser darts hit each one of them, it's safe to say they weren't even in control of their own bladder let alone the plane. But wait I am talking of my flight here....I suppose I should give a little background on myself. I will try to keep this brief though I make no promises. Bloody hell here we go.
See I was born a wee lad. I was scrawny in every possible way really. I weighed next to nothing, and resembled that of a malnourished midget till I was at least 19. Even after my "growth spurt" I noticed many 10 years were still taller than myself. I wasn't blessed with strength or stamina of any kind either. I truly lost the genetics lotto at birth. Many times in my youth I became winded just walking to the bathroom, or sitting up....or sleeping. Quite sad really.
When I was teenager growing up on the mean streets of Montreal; I often found myself being robbed for beer money or the occasional hockey ticket. What I lacked in brawn and stature I made up for with trustworthiness and work ethic. Oh yes these qualities get you far in life...if dying by 18 is the goal of course. I worked at the time in my father's clothing sweat shop... I mean manufacturing plant. I started my career in the mail room and worked my way up to floor disciplinarian...I mean "manager". It was in this position I learned that overcompensating with rage can make one appear bigger than they truly are. Least that's what I told myself at the time. It was a trying time for me. I learned how to yell, scream and threaten the livelihood of our employees. Oh those were the days. A cigarette in one hand and a pistol in the other. Though my father got tired of paying men to patch the bullet holes that always magically appeared in the roof. I played dumb of course, but I knew how they got there. About a year went by; I was away on holiday when I learned my father's plant had been raided by local law enforcement. Seems threatening the families of those that work for you for missing a deadline is frowned upon these days. Who knew right?
I decided to move to America after the raid in search of a brighter future. When you live in a place where even the wild life is packing an assault rifle however; you tend to tread lightly. I was once mugged by a bunny that called himself Biff. He saw me purchase veggies at the local market and wasn't about to take no for an answer. I regressed back to feeling like a low man on the totem pole truth be told. I went to University while in the States hopeful of finding my calling. I learned that running a practical business with the occasional ethics violation can be rewarding. After completing business school, I settled down with a young woman named Amanda. We decided to open a potato farm on the out skirts of town. It was quite profitable for awhile, but like all things; it wouldn't last. My wife started adding chemicals to the potatoes that would create a state of euphoria to those eating them without consulting me. Business was suddenly booming for nearly 2 years. Here I thought I had cracked the code of potato farming. I was called a living legend in the spud growing community (it was a short list, we take whatever titles we can get). Then in the Summer of 2016 it abruptly ended in glorious fashion. While plowing the fields one hot July day; I saw a helicopter fly overhead. Moments later a barrage of gunshots rang out from the direction of the farmhouse. Much to my dismay I watched as DEA agents raided my home gunning down my wife. Little did I know she was quite handy with a hunting rifle. I later would learn she fired first, and the agents were merely defending themselves. Upon capture I was given 2 options:
A. Be arrested as an accessory to multiple charges including: possession, distribution, and homicide of a DEA Agent.
B. Go back to Montreal, be banned from returning to America, and be shamed in the potato industry forever.
I chose option B of course. Within a month of returning to Montreal I grew bored. Hockey and Canadian Football didn't tickle my fancy. Nor did the thought of starting over once more in a place I knew all too well. So I boarded a plane with nothing more than the clothing on my back and a little spending money to get situated. After 13 hours in the air, witnessing 4 men get tazed by an air marshal I wouldn't want to fuck with, and a nasty case of diarrhea from the kosher in flight meal; I find myself in uncharted territory once more. As I de-boarded the plane, I was handed a leaflet from the flight attendant that simply read "Welcome to Altis."
See I was born a wee lad. I was scrawny in every possible way really. I weighed next to nothing, and resembled that of a malnourished midget till I was at least 19. Even after my "growth spurt" I noticed many 10 years were still taller than myself. I wasn't blessed with strength or stamina of any kind either. I truly lost the genetics lotto at birth. Many times in my youth I became winded just walking to the bathroom, or sitting up....or sleeping. Quite sad really.
When I was teenager growing up on the mean streets of Montreal; I often found myself being robbed for beer money or the occasional hockey ticket. What I lacked in brawn and stature I made up for with trustworthiness and work ethic. Oh yes these qualities get you far in life...if dying by 18 is the goal of course. I worked at the time in my father's clothing sweat shop... I mean manufacturing plant. I started my career in the mail room and worked my way up to floor disciplinarian...I mean "manager". It was in this position I learned that overcompensating with rage can make one appear bigger than they truly are. Least that's what I told myself at the time. It was a trying time for me. I learned how to yell, scream and threaten the livelihood of our employees. Oh those were the days. A cigarette in one hand and a pistol in the other. Though my father got tired of paying men to patch the bullet holes that always magically appeared in the roof. I played dumb of course, but I knew how they got there. About a year went by; I was away on holiday when I learned my father's plant had been raided by local law enforcement. Seems threatening the families of those that work for you for missing a deadline is frowned upon these days. Who knew right?
I decided to move to America after the raid in search of a brighter future. When you live in a place where even the wild life is packing an assault rifle however; you tend to tread lightly. I was once mugged by a bunny that called himself Biff. He saw me purchase veggies at the local market and wasn't about to take no for an answer. I regressed back to feeling like a low man on the totem pole truth be told. I went to University while in the States hopeful of finding my calling. I learned that running a practical business with the occasional ethics violation can be rewarding. After completing business school, I settled down with a young woman named Amanda. We decided to open a potato farm on the out skirts of town. It was quite profitable for awhile, but like all things; it wouldn't last. My wife started adding chemicals to the potatoes that would create a state of euphoria to those eating them without consulting me. Business was suddenly booming for nearly 2 years. Here I thought I had cracked the code of potato farming. I was called a living legend in the spud growing community (it was a short list, we take whatever titles we can get). Then in the Summer of 2016 it abruptly ended in glorious fashion. While plowing the fields one hot July day; I saw a helicopter fly overhead. Moments later a barrage of gunshots rang out from the direction of the farmhouse. Much to my dismay I watched as DEA agents raided my home gunning down my wife. Little did I know she was quite handy with a hunting rifle. I later would learn she fired first, and the agents were merely defending themselves. Upon capture I was given 2 options:
A. Be arrested as an accessory to multiple charges including: possession, distribution, and homicide of a DEA Agent.
B. Go back to Montreal, be banned from returning to America, and be shamed in the potato industry forever.
I chose option B of course. Within a month of returning to Montreal I grew bored. Hockey and Canadian Football didn't tickle my fancy. Nor did the thought of starting over once more in a place I knew all too well. So I boarded a plane with nothing more than the clothing on my back and a little spending money to get situated. After 13 hours in the air, witnessing 4 men get tazed by an air marshal I wouldn't want to fuck with, and a nasty case of diarrhea from the kosher in flight meal; I find myself in uncharted territory once more. As I de-boarded the plane, I was handed a leaflet from the flight attendant that simply read "Welcome to Altis."
