(written before the makarov nerf :s ) Night on this god forsaken country is darker then the devils inkwell, his pen poised to write my story yet one more time. Again I awake on the beach. Again to start another sick groundhog-day parody. Why I am being tormented in this way, to play this mindless game with so many nameless others? My backpack's empty but my utility belt is full of the usual kit... beans, bullets and bandages... Everything you need to survive the apocalyptic playing field beckoning me once more. It’s bullshit. I should just stick this Makarov pistol in my mouth and pull the trigger, only I know I will just pop back up like a fair ground target somewhere else on this damned coastline, the agonising taste of cordite and steel still burning a gaping wound into my psyche. Survival. An animal's base instinct and survive I shall. Hopefully the ride will last longer on this sadistic merry go round this time. With no clue as to my location I quickly, quietly, start heading directly away from the sea, the darkness smothering me in its cold embrace. Only several minutes passed, grass still under my feet as I step carefully up an incline, when I see the tell-tale flash, the red glow, a flare, about 300 feet to my right. Shots. Grotesque figures casting frantic silhouettes on the sparse, rouge tinged gorse and trees around the flares dancing light. Two more cracks from the unknown gunman. Keeping low and with the edge of the incline hiding as much of myself as possible I had got within 50 feet of the now spluttering luminescence. There had been no more shots. I knew why even before I saw them, hulking over his body, ripping his flesh, his tissue, his organs, snuffling like pigs, grunting through the gore. Inevitably the flare crackled, fizzled-out, letting the dark rush in and I could hear them shuffle off, their needs sated. It's a risk but my survival hinges on taking these unforgiving bets and the stakes are sickeningly high, my life against another day in these bleak lands. Creeping forward on my belly, trying to make myself as small as possible, as quiet as possible. Just a vague outline in the dark but it's enough to guide me to his carcass, the smell of his demise turning my stomach. I could feel discarded meat and bone under me as I neared but I needed what he no longer did. Patting down his pockets and bag, avoiding the gaping stench where his guts had been I relieved him of a few ammo clips, tinned food and... what's this? Binoculars. Useless for now but come daylight, indispensable. There was nothing left here for me and I slunk back the way I came, risking getting to my feet once back at the incline. Blackened spear tips of nearby trees were my only navigation but I knew I would be safe for the night, hidden, in the forest.
