So there I was, Bulletlogic, the beautifull, if slightly masculine survivor, scavenger, and all around bad ass of Chernarus, posted high atop a hill north of Stary, waving farewell to the numerous, if slightly paranoid 6th contingent after a solid hours good work of clearing out the tents and equipment of the former Chernarus military. My time working along side the 6th had born much fruit. A DMR, seemingly just stamped out of the once glorious Chernarus factories, a M9 SD strapped securely to my thigh, and a Coyote Elite pack bursting with ammo and provisions... as well as a mind cracking headache from all the staticy radio chatter concerning who sat where in the duece and a half and how there was no space for delicious beans and franks next to the weapons of the glorious dead.
As the dust of the 6ths hasty departure was just beginning to settle and I popped to few painkillers to soothe my aching skull I heard a familiar voice from down in the tents. Yes I think that's Sir Hobbit. "Whats that you say?" I yell down to him. After a brief moment of friendly back and forth banter I agree to take position in a covered location and provide overwatch whist he too pilfers the military camp. Sir Hobbit, with the agility of a mature female mountain goat fleeing from an unwanted courting male, moves from one tent to the next. As he enters a tent, a crack sounds off to the south east. "Shots!" I yell. "It wasn't I," he confirms. My eyes peeled, my ears open, senses now cranked to the absolute max of human tolerance. I scan the surroundings south of the difficulty defended military camp. I see nothing. I hear nothing. I being to utter an off color jest about local survivors and goats when a twig snaps just behind me. I try to stand and turn when suddenly a thunderous noise and a blindingly bright flash hurls my senses to the far corners of the globe before descending into the soothing embrace of darkness....
My eyes snap open. Salt spray at my back. Gritty sand beneath my boots. The cry of gulls assaults my hearing. I crouch, taking in my surroundings. A tall grassy dune to my front, endless beach to my left. To my right I see a mighty industrial crane piercing the sky. I dont know what kind of terrible post zombie apocalypse voodoo has flung me from my familiar haunt of Stary to this depressingly overcast strech of coastline but I was determined to find out and seek a reckoning with whomever was responsible. I reach over my back for my trusty M24. My hands grasp at air! Not only have I been kidnapped, I think to myself, but I've been robbed! My M9, Coyote Elite, and all my provision as well! I have only a my old flashlight and a bandage I been originally planning to use for my afternoon constitutional. (A diet of beans and sardines is almost as much of a challenge as fighting the undead after all) Frustrated but not beaten I push my hands into the sand to push myself up. MY HANDS!!!! They are huge! I look down at my body with a creeping sense of dread. I'm a man!!! My once lean, tanned, perfectly formed vision of the female physique, a much sought after, but never attained prize for after the camp fire burned low, had been transformed into the hulking, goliath form of a man! I splash down to the water and wait for the sea to calm for a moment. And there it is. What can only my my reflection. Dark hair, slight stubble, piercing eyes grayer than the thickest fog. I am looking at a stranger.
As my mind reels from this realization my stomach give my powerful rumble. I feel suddenly exposed and in need of safety and substance. Without of weapon and food I know I will not last long. I look again to my right and set my gaze upon the crane breaking the sky. I harbor I think, maybe even a town. I leave the water, powerful, but unfamiliar legs surging forward as I reach to crest of the dunes. I stop. Elektra! The city sprawls out before me. A multitude of sensory imputes assaults me. Sporadic gun fire can be heard deep within the urban jungle. Burned out vehicles and abandoned businesses and homes painted a depressing picture. My nose curls at what I at first think must be the smell of lowtide. That is until I hear the moan. From behind the cottage 200 meters in front of me shambles out the gruesome form of one of the undying. This one's legs, like so many other seem have been damaged to the point that it was reduced to hopping around like an ape I once saw in a zoo from before the Rising. My stomach rumbles again, so loudly that I think that the zed will surely hear it. Instincts, honed from months of surviving kick in. I drop into a low crouch and speed forward, making a large loop around all the undead I encounter as I dive into the death trap known as Electra.
I have made my way past the outskirts of town, through the harbor teeming with rotting, walking corpse. I am now in the town proper. I can see a fire stations tower pocking above the city skyline. Possibly food and weapons I think as I continue forward. I have not seen any zeds for some time, but do not allow my focus to waver. I approach the fire station from the SE when I spy two other survivors in the fire stations tower. I squint and take a closer look. Though I do not know who they are, they bared the familiar patches of TG! I decide to take a chance and yell to them, signalling my approach and that I am a friend. Their heads snap in my direction, Makarov and Revolver held in shaky hands. The relax when they see me. I think this odd for how can they know me? I dont even know me in this new form I have been cursed/blessed with. One waves his arms frantically, signalling me to enter and to do it quick. I sprint into the bottom of the fire station and am greeted my two female corpses. One still firmly grasps another revolver, bullets spilling from a torn hip pocket. I dash over, and relieve the less than fortunate owner of its firearm and ammo. What that? BEANS!!!! NOM NOM NOM. They are gone in an instant. I turn and approach the stairs when one of the TG survivors races down and yells,"She's coming! Bulletlogic cover the back! I'll take the front doors! I leap to comply. I go prone and snuggle up beneath the stairs, trying to use as much cover as possible while still being able to maintain a visual on the back door while still wondering how these TG members can know who I am in my new beefy form. Moments later the back door is gently pushed open. In steps another female survivor. As I raise my gun to fire I reflect that she looks much like one of the corpse resting to my right. I dont hesitate. My gun belches flame and pain as I unload its fury in the trespassers direction. I mange a glancing hit to the shoulder. Two other bullets slam into her torso from the other TG survivor. A look of surprise followed by horror flash across her features as she turns and flees. The TG survivor still up in the tower races down to pursue. As he exits the rear door a cacophony of noise erupts. What must be 3 other automatic weapons speak for only a few moments to be followed by silence, only broken by the sounds of a body crashing to the ground.
I turn and sprint to the top of the tower, seeking to know what has befallen the brave, if foolish TG'er. As I reach the 3rd landing I hear yelling from below, followed my more murderous gunfire. I drop to the floor. I'm alone again.......
Part II coming soon.
*****All of the previous events are based on actually happenings in the land of Chernarus. Some literary liberties have been taken to protect identities and provide of more wholesome and family appropriate dialog*****
**Lee Enfield equals LOTS, again LOTTTTSSSSS of zombies!
***A friends sacrifice and revenge!
****More Voodoo??? but of a different sort. Possibly of an even more evil sort......
*****Whats he doing with that hatchet! O GOD! WHY?!?!?!?!
"I was never much a fan to playing anything online without having to manage my own private server. The Internet Gaming community has evolved to cater to the lowest common denominator and practically ruined my desire to have any part of it. But not here. It is something wonderfully different." - frozenchrome
"Teamspeak doesn't make the tactics in DayZ any better. It just let's everyone share in the agony of waiting to connect." -Warlab
Proud Former member of the 19th Mechanized Infantry