My name is Stanley Sullivan. I am 42 years old and have led a life I never wanted. I was born and raised in the South West region of the United States. My youth was rather uneventful, I spent my childhood in high country with only my brother and father. There my father taught us how to make repairs on our own home, keep the vehicles running, and how to feed ourselves off the land. Upon completion high school in 2016 I had moved away from home to become an apprentice for Caterpillar Equipment. During my apprenticeship I gained invaluable knowledge and skills on repairing anything from a large machine all the way down to a small fleet pickup truck. I also met the love of my life, Mikayla, and had a child with her. My son's name is Donnavan and he is all I could've asked for. We lived comfortably for quite a few years, our country faced a pandemic, social unrest, creations of new political parties. Me and my family chose to ignore these events, we thought all of these chain reactions had no effect on us and were simply out of control. March 8th of 2027 my son had turned 7 years old and we had promised to let him spend the summer with my father. Unlike when I was a child, we were then encouraged to put our children through online learning out of fear of another pandemic from mass congregation. It is hard to remeber the date, but mid April of 2027, My wife and I had taken off of work to spend a week with my father. One sunny afternoon, sometime in the middle of the week, my family and I were swimming in the creek near my father's home when the water began ripple and we felt strong shake at our feet. Not just one, but multiple, this continued for alost 30 minutes and stopped almost immediately. By that time we had reached the top of the hill out of the creek and found it to be snowing. Although this is not out of the ordinary for April in these areas, we found it strange regardless. My wife had went to check the weather, but her phone had no signal, none of ours did. We were isolated. 16 miles from the nearest neighbor and nobody to call for help, we did what weve always done, rely on ourselves. We spent about a month going about our business, all knowing what had happened, but delusional to provide a sort of comfort. Winter of 2027 I found half of my father in the woods behind our home. At the time, I believed a mountain lion had attacked him while he was hunting. I was so foolish for beliving this. We burned what we could to make it as dignifying as we could. Summer of 2028, my only child, had passed in his sleep. I could not bury him that morning, I bundled him in his blankets with his favorite stuffed animals and left him in the shed while his mother and I sorted our emotions. The next morning, I returned to bury my son, but he was no where to be found. I was overwhelmed and I dare not tell my wife that I lost our dead son; I told her he was buried by the creek, where he loved to swim with my father. We could not do this much longer. For this first time in my life, I took control, my dad had an old '93 F-250 that he drove until everything went to hell. He loved his truck more than he loved me. In his garage he had plenty of oil to keep the truck healthy and replacement parts ( I will leave out the tedious bits of restoration) By this point, nearly I think a year and a half after the world crumbled, finding fuel is not an option. A preper book my dad had explained making bio diesel, now I did not do a great job. I am a mechanic, not a chemist. My wife and I left my father's home, leaving behind my deceased father and missing deceased son. This adventure is mostly uneventful. We had our eyes set on Texas, north of Austin we hit a settlement who gave us advice (and fresh fuel) to head east to cities called "bastions". This settlement had named itself prosperity and they claimed that their goal was to send asylum seekers east to an international safehaven cooperation. With this in mind my Wife and I headed east to "Zone 20" formerly the Virginias. We had arrived and were stripped of our personal belongings. We were assigned "life skills" in accordance to NCC needs. My wife was a school teacher before the war and was re-educated as "financial organizer" for the NCC, and I was assigned the job of Medical responder. We both were able to continue our old careers, but when needed, we had to perform our "NCC occupations" as well.
Years passed. I think it was to be between 2030 and 2034, a local rebellion was crushed by NCC forces and we sure as hell knew when the NCC had arrived. ISF agents laid the law in writing on the streets with a zero tolerance policy. The love of my life had left me, left me for some man with connections to another zone in western europe. I was left with 18 credits and a note telling me that both she needed a new life for this new world. Her son was dead and I was a changed man. I was destroyed. I never recovered from that incident. never will. I spent the following years doing what I could. Keeping NCC equipment running, and stopping people from dying in the streets. Im a great mechanic, but by no means a life saver, couldn't even save my own child. I do what I can.
About 8 months ago I was approached by an ISF agent. He told me that my life skills were required elsewhere. I was given nothing to take with me. I was told my business and my belongings were to be "redistributed". The next day I was on the boat, at sea for what felt like an eternity. At the processing station I was stamped with the words BKG-023 | 03.18.40 on my wrist and loaded onto a train car. I do not know what to expect. I have wrote this short autobiography as an old man's last call into the wild. I am looking to start my life and leave the past behind me. If you are reading this, I am sorry for my wrongs in the past. If you are NCC customs, please know I have no ill will to the NCC. I am simply a man trying to make the most of what life he has left.