My first murder. Spawned in the back room of the barracks at NW Airfield. It was the middle of the night, but I could tell there was no loot around me. I quietly exited the building and started a slow crawl towards the woods, intending to let some loot spawn. I took up a position about 50 yards from the barracks, and tossed out a few chemlights to help scope things out. After waiting in the darkness of the woods for a few minutes, I crept towards the building, now aglow with a ghostly reddish light. Once I got in the front door I closed it behind me and started my search for loot. After minimal success in the first two rooms, I exited back into the hallway to get to the next room. The hallway was mostly dark, just a barely visible glow coming from a chemlight outside. As I started for the third room, I noticed a crouched shadow moving at the end of the hall, staring into the last room where I had spawned just a few minutes before. I crept a little closer, and realized it was another survivor. I stared at him for a few more seconds, a million thoughts crossing my mind: "Should I shoot him now, while his back is turned?" "Should I call out to him, stating my intentions and hope for the best?" I answered these questions by simply turning on the flashlight on my G17. Startled, he turned to look at me, gun drawn. We sat there staring at each other for no more than a second, though it felt like ages. Suddenly, as if the thought had come not from ourselves, but from outside of us, we both started shooting at the same time. Frantically pulling the trigger as fast as I could, after a few split-seconds I saw him fall. I sat for another moment or two, shaking, the reality of what just happened is starting to sink in. I have ~2400 blood left after I bandage myself up, and after my legs give out when I take my first step towards his body, I realize I have some broken bones. Morphine fixes that right up, so I begin looting. I acquired an M4A1 with 5 mags, and a few other knick knacks. As I closed the gear menu I saw the person I had just killed protesting in the chat. The language he spoke was foreign, but the pleading for an answer was clear. "Why had I killed him?" I could tell he was asking. I could not answer that myself. Perhaps if circumstances were different, we could have teamed up. However, being surprised in a dark building at night, one of us had to die there. So, scared and alone, low on blood, and out of food and water, I bravely retreated to the woods. I dig a lighter from my pocket and try to steady my hand as I light a cigarette. I wanted to tell this unknown survivor, this victim of chance, that I hadn't meant for that to happen. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry, but it was too late, I saw that he had disconnected. His pleading words, spoken in a language I don't even know, still stick with me. Turning around, I throw out my cigarette and walk into the darkness of the forest.
