Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by TheMadAsshatter
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TheMadAsshatter Guess who's back

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(Note: This story is largely based on my experiences in the DayZ mod for ArmA II, right down to the people and groups I played with. Some if it is also made up. This is essentially a fictionalization of the highlights of my entire DayZ experience, minus the hundreds of deaths.)

It happened again. I had hoped it wouldn't happen this time, but it did. I've seen it all before, but I refused to believe it would happen this time. I keep hoping that things will change and the chain will be broken, but it hasn't happened yet. Who knows if it ever will. I've seen too many decent people get turned into monsters; inhuman beings that will kill everything in sight. And no, I'm not talking about the zombies; no, these things are far worse than any walking corpse I've seen. I don't know if anyone will read this, but it's worth trying to warn anyone who does. Don't trust anyone. If you hear gunshots, run the other way. No one can be trusted anymore; they've either gotten cold or just fucking lost it. They'll kill you without a second thought and you may not see it coming. You're lucky if you get to say your last words. Speaking of which, maybe I should write mine. It's better I take a chance to immortalize my thoughts before I am no more, so here it goes.

I was just a guy on the shore of Chernarus, with absolutely nothing but a couple of bandages and a single can of baked beans. We didn't even know what was happening until it was too late. Next thing I knew, all of Chernarus became infected, and I found myself completely alone in this foreign place. But I knew I couldn't be completely alone, there had to be others who made it, there just had to be. So I did what I do and survived, if only for the hope that I would be able to interact with another human being.

I quickly found out that I was immune, for some reason. I was bit and beaten within an inch of my life at one point and was only able to escape detection by hiding in a bush. I knew I was doomed anyways, and I would have ended it there if I had a gun. Either way, I had already run through my bandages and thought I would bleed out from the bites eventually. So I bid the world farewell and waited. The minutes dragged on as my stomach grew uneasy and my vision blurred. Figures I would die an anticlimactic death in a post apocalyptic world. Predictable. What I didn't predict was for the bleeding to stop before my heart did, but by that point I might as well have been dead. After about a day I figured out that the blurry vision and intermittent loss of consciousness was due to blood loss rather than whatever virus was causing everything.

I took it as a sign; a second chance at survival, so I stumbled towards the nearest town and looked for some food and drinks. It took a few days of stuffing my face, but I began to feel better. I may not have looked the part, but I could feel my condition improving. It was also during this time that I found a hatchet to use as a weapon. Combined with the knowledge that I wouldn't turn, I went to town, becoming the zombie axe murderer extraordinaire. I must have killed over a hundred of them before I finally found a gun. Chernarus being an offshoot state of Russia, I wasn't expecting to find a British Lee Enfield, but it's what I got, along with plenty of ammo for it. I also found out about thirty seconds later that it's loud enough to be heard from the next town over.

It took several more days of close scrapes with zeds, frenzied attempts at fingering bullets into the Enfield and looking for enough food and water to last just one more day before I found someone else, someone just as new to this hellish wasteland as I was. He didn't seem to have anything more than I did, minus a rifle. We exchanged pleasantries for a short time before he decided to go off on his own. I was surprised at this and told him we should stick together, but he said he was looking for someone and didn't want me slowing him down. He came and went as quickly as the cans of food I found over the days. I found him dead on the side of a road a day later with several bullet holes in his chest. I know I should have felt bad, but I more felt... strange, than anything. It was the first time I had seen a dead human, so I didn't really know what to feel at the time. I just took what I could find and dug a grave for him. It didn't occur to me until the next day that he was killed my a person and not a zombie.

Over the next week or so I couldn't help but be paranoid. Seeing that guy dead, evidently at another survivor's hand put me on edge. I began to get the feeling that I was being stalked a couple of days later as I was wandering through a forest. I ignored it for some time, but after hours of looking over my shoulder in apprehension, hearing a twig snap just on the edge of my hearing range, my paranoia got the better of me. I took cover in the leaves of a large pine tree, hoping it would keep me camouflaged as I waited to see if I was right or wrong. I waited for several minutes, waiting for someone to come along, but as time wore on I started to wonder if my fears were unfounded. I was just about to get up and leave when I heard it; footsteps approaching from where I had come from. Shortly thereafter, a man in a ghillie suit armed with a sniper rifle and a pistol came into view. I figured if he didn't feel like talking he probably wasn't friendly, so I waited for him to pass. As he walked by, I sneaked out of my cover and brought the Lee Enfield to my shoulder, aiming it at his torso. I ordered him to freeze and drop his weapons, hoping that my suspicions were wrong and he was simply making a misguided attempt at making sure I didn't try anything. He stopped for a moment, then tried to draw his pistol. I didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. He slumped forward effortlessly, and the realization that I had just killed a man hit me like a freight train. I couldn't bring myself to take anything, or even dig a proper grave. I couldn't even think about the fact that he likely tried to kill me. All I could do was stand there, stunned at what I did. I blocked it out; pretended it didn't happen. To this day I don't know if it was a conscious attempt or a subconscious defense mechanism, but it was all I could do at the time.

Several weeks passed by, and I learned that there were a lot more people who would rather shoot you on sight than not. I made many narrow escapes, and I learned from all of them. My encounters made me more cautious and hardened me to the cruel reality that I was living in a dog eat dog world now; I even assumed the name 'Exile' to hide my identity. I still held out for the hope that I would find a group of survivors who just wanted to get by, but with every passing day that became more and more like a pipedream.

I got my wish one day as I was scanning stations on a walkie-talkie and heard a message asking for exactly that. The man's name was Zach, and he happened to be in Elektrozavodsk, a city that I happened to be a stone's throw away from at the time, but I did have my doubts. It occurred to me that it could very well be a trap, but my curiosity got the better of me, and I could hear other people responding to the call, so I decided to head over. I was surprised and humbled to find that everyone who came was just another guy trying to survive in this crazy rabbit-hole. It wasn't just me anymore; it was me, Zach, Squire, Dylan, and Alec. We grouped up and stuck together from that point on, making staying alive a lot easier for the time being.

It didn't take long for us to find some good weapons and supplies, more than enough to sustain us for several weeks, and even an old helicopter that we managed to get into working condition. We were damn near set for life, but we still had to make the occasional raid for supplies. Eventually, we stopped finding any food in houses and grocery stores and the like, so one of our guys put forth the idea of robbing other people of their stores. As much as I hated it, I couldn't help but agree. We needed to find food one way or the other, so it had to be done. I soon learned that that was just the tip of the iceberg. After about a week, we captured a guy and made him work for us, like a slave. I told myself we were doing it out of necessity; we had to stay alive, and this was how we would do it. That was before the others started beating him just for shits and giggles, and damn me if I didn't join in. Damn me either way.

It was too late when I woke up to the fact that what we were doing was beyond wrong, and it came to a head when one of us decided the "prisoner" was another mouth to feed. He was executed by firing squad. One I took part in. I told myself we had to do it, it was necessary... but I knew deep down it wasn't, that I could have saved his life. I had killed people before, so I was numb to that particular feeling of guilt, and I didn't really think about it for the rest of the day, but I started having nightmares about the incident. Yeah, I had killed people before, but those were people who were going to kill me or someone else; they were justified. What I did back then was cold-blooded murder; I had participated in the killing of an innocent, unarmed, defenseless man. I finally saw my companions... myself, for what we were. We were bandits. We had no regard or respect for human life other than our own, and it cost us far more than any amount of food, weapons, gear, vehicles, or any other stupid material goods we had found. All of it was tainted with the blood we had spilled.

I left them. Told them I was going to patrol an area, and never came back. I survived on my own for months thereafter. I put as much distance between myself and Chernarus as I could manage. All I wanted to do was put it behind me. Occasionally I would come across someone who wouldn't shoot me, and kill or outrun anyone who tried. Of the people who cared enough not to shoot me, I realized that most, if not all of these people, were victims of bandits at some point or another. With every person, every story of a hostile encounter, I felt more and more guilty for the crimes I had committed in the past. There came a point where I came across another group of people near Solibor in Taviana. Well, more like they came across me. I was picking through a house when I heard someone say "Drop your weapons and put your hands up." I froze on instinct and time seemed to slow as I pondered my next move. I thought back to the first time I killed someone. He was clearly hostile, and I gave him a chance. I figured these guys were trying to do the same, and I wasn't going to squander that opportunity.

I did as they said, half-expecting a bullet to the head anyways. A tense moment passed before they took my weapons... but then they lowered theirs and began talking as though I were an old friend. The leader introduced himself as Satolbo, and the rest followed suit. I realized then that there were still decent people in the world, and I nearly broke down crying right then. I, thankfully, managed to avoid embarrassing myself in front of them and told them that I had plenty of equipment, and even asked to join them. After a short exchange of words, they let me. They even gave me back my pistol and some extra ammo for it.

I stayed with them for a couple of weeks, helping them hunt bandits and learning some more advanced tactics. They taught me all sorts of new things about surviving, along with detailed instructions on detecting, evading, and hunting bandits. I dedicated their lessons to memory and helped them with a few more crusades of justice, but something just didn't feel right. It wasn't that I didn't feel proud to be part of this band of survivors, but I didn't feel at home. Not like feeling at home means anything during the zombie apocalypse, but you get the idea. I'm not sure what it was or why I felt the way I did, but I knew that I just had to go on my own. At the beginning of my third week with them, I thanked them, grabbed my gear, and went on my way, and from that point on I made a sacred vow to follow their example of heroism.

I traveled for about four months more when I found myself looking at a familiar landscape. I hadn't realized that I had returned to Chernarus until I found myself at the port city of Elektrozavodsk. I couldn't believe I was back here; back where it all started. There were hardly any zeds anymore, but I had long since learned that they were hardly a threat compared to the people who won't waste a second to put a bullet in you. I had to wonder if any of the people I once knew were still around, but something told me I didn't have to worry about them anymore.

Soon after arriving back in Chernogorsk, I ran into another survivor who told me about a camp of so-called "heroes" nestled in the mountains to the North. I couldn't help but wonder if the people I had run into about 4 months prior hadn't somehow gotten ahead of me and established this place. Either way I was interested in seeing what all the fuss was about. I was able to make it to the camp within the day, and I was greeted by friendly faces and a base that put any other I had seen before to shame. Even with the lack of any zeds around, the place was heavily barricaded and contained several buildings. It looked just like a proper community of heroes and survivors. Soon after arriving, I heard a helicopter approaching from the distance. I learned that it was one of several bandit hunting squads when a guy who called himself Stalker started asking for volunteers. I joined him and his crew as quickly as he had asked.

After some time, myself, Stalker, Ironwolf, and several others split off entirely from the main group of heroes, and we made bandit hunts a frequent event. I didn't have fun killing people, but I knew they would kill innocents on sight, and I wasn't having any of that. I had learned long ago that there was no line with these people; they would kill anything that moved. I killed several bandits with extreme prejudice; any and every bandit that happened to be standing in my sights ended up dead moments later. Knowing that I was helping to make Chernarus a safer place helped me to exorcise my personal demons in the process, but I soon learned that all good things must come to an end.

There came a point where I started to notice things happening in our group. It started with a guy we were trying to urge to drop his gun. One of ours ended up killing him because he didn't do so after so long, despite the fact that he was yelling out that he was friendly and wasn't making any threatening gestures. It escalated when one of our guys killed someone on impulse who was in a common place for bandits to camp and wait for an unsuspecting victim, but he didn't confirm it and ended up killing an innocent survivor.

There came a point where it started getting to me because it reminded me of what happened with the first group of people I had met. It felt like these people were undergoing the same process of dehumanization that happened the first time. I found myself making up excuses to not go on more "bandit hunts." Thankfully none of them caught on; I sure as hell wasn't going to take part in what was happening. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew there was no stopping it, but I refused to see it. I eventually asked to leave, and they surprisingly let me go, saying I could come back anytime and there would always be a place for me.

I remained isolated for about five days. On the sixth day I woke up to find that everything of mine had been stolen, save for a can of beans and some bandages, similar to how I was when I first started. I suddenly felt very naked without any of my weapons; I felt truly vulnerable for the first time in a long time. I knew there was only one quick way to get kitted up again, and that was to go back to the group and ask them to give me some gear. We had bagged plenty of supplies, and they would have no problem completely re-stocking me. I heard about a place nearby that some were staying, but as I approached it I heard shots fired in my direction. I immediately ran for cover, but after hearing yelling and shouting coming from where the shots had also rang out from, they stopped. Someone started walking towards me, and I realized they were a part of our group.

I froze up as the realization that they had degenerated in the same way as the first group of people I met hit me harder than a bullet ever could have. It wasn't the fact that they shot at me personally that bothered me. What bothered me was the fact that they were shooting at someone who was completely unarmed and had hardly anything useful. I saved my outrage until after I got my gear back, and then I shouted my disapproval to the point that I got people to turn heads. These people were giving me a completely incredulous look, as though my basic respect for human life was a foreign concept to them anymore; that they shouldn't shoot anyone who was no threat to them whatsoever seemed something of a joke to them. I had to fight back the urge to vomit as I turned my back and stalked off. I almost expected one of them to shoot me in the back right then, but the shot never came. I almost wanted it to so that I didn't have to keep going. It's an endless cycle of good people turning into mindless killers, one that will never go away. It's plagued the world far more completely than any zombie virus ever could have. I'm not sure if that's a world worth living in, but dammit I'll keep trying. I have to.

That was earlier this evening. I don't regret my decision. I don't compromise on the moral system that I've adopted, not for anyone or anything. Not anymore. I used to think I knew where my priorities lie, but I didn't. I thought it was more about survival, but it's not. It's not about how many guns you have, or whether you have a damn chopper or not, hell it's hardly even about avoiding the zombies anymore. No, it's about preserving your humanity in a shitsack world that tries to rob you of it at every turn; it's about playing the game, win or lose, knowing you fought the good fight; it's about being a hero, and knowing you tried your goddamned best! So go on. Be a hero. Even if you end up bleeding out alone on the side of a road, you'll know that you tried. You tried to keep hope alive as long as you could when so many others have given up or taken the darker path. You did everything you could; be proud of that.

We've all made mistakes. God knows I have. But they've made me the man I am today. And you know what, I can die happy knowing that I am that man. I am a hero, and that's something to be damn proud of.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by Derpestein
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Derpestein The Neckbeard Stroker

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This story makes me want to go and buy DayZ.

Sad tale, though.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by TheMadAsshatter
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TheMadAsshatter Guess who's back

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Yeah it is. I know it's just a game, but it really sucks when 90% of the people you run into will just kill you on sight. It's not supposed to be a deathmatch type game, but all of the CoD degenerates that joined DayZ have essentially turned it into that. It really is sad when a game that, in my mind, is meant to be an RPG is turned into a PVP circlejerk.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by Derpestein
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TheMadAsshatter said
Yeah it is. I know it's just a game, but it really sucks when 90% of the people you run into will just kill you on sight. It's not supposed to be a deathmatch type game, but all of the CoD degenerates that joined DayZ have essentially turned it into that. It really is sad when a game that, in my mind, is meant to be an RPG is turned into a PVP circlejerk.


But bandits have become a real threat now, like a real ZA.
Doesn't mean it doesn't suck, but, when the possibility of PVP is there...

Still, shoot on sight is stupid. And when you get shot on sight, then you shoot others on sight. Terrible cycle.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by TheMadAsshatter
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Derpestein said
But bandits have become a real threat now, like a real ZA.Doesn't mean it doesn't suck, but, when the possibility of PVP is there...Still, shoot on sight is stupid. And when you get shot on sight, then you shoot others on sight. Terrible cycle.


Bandits have always been a threat, but it was manageable before. Now practically everyone kills on sight, and it really pisses me off. I remember when the Mod just came out. It was awesome, a good balance between bandits and normal players. Just enough of a threat to make you watch your back, but not enough to make you want to kill everyone you see. Now it's about an 3:1 ratio of bandits to everyone else, and it pisses me off because DayZ is NOT meant to be a goddamn deathmatch!
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by POOPHEAD189
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There are several problems with the general trigger happiness in Chernarus.

1. Zombies are a joke, you can knock them out with one punch to the head. Snipers with LRS are obviously more dangerous.
2. Some players are overly protective of their kits, they feel like KoS is the only viable "self-defense".
3. .48 made akm/101 a lot more common in military locations, now everyone Bambi can walk for ten minutes and kit up to become a full fledged murderer.
4. There are absolutely no challenge in the survival elements. Towns are full of canned food, why would anyone talk to other players for trade?
5. And we finally have those good ol' fashioned highwaymen, the people that terrorize newbs for their own enjoyment. It used to be handcuff + rotten banana, guess a bullet to the skull is way more efficient.
Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by TheMadAsshatter
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Like I said, this is from my experience in the mod and in no way at all does it cover anything that's happened to me in the standalone, though I do get what you mean. I've heard of servers that are specifically designed to be a lot more difficult to survive in (in the mod) and hardcore, while not much harder than normal SA, does tend to attract a few less dickheads than the normal servers.
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