In a survival situation people stockpile weapons, ammo, tools, food, water; they keep a clear head and a sharp eye. But there's one thing many of them overlook. Luck. Here's are some stories about me, a survivor who is alive only because of an uncommon amount of luck, and also my friend, who was significantly less lucky... The first part of this story is quite straightforward. My friend and I are new to this as can be. We set off into the great unknown woefully unprepared. It wasn't long before we were forced to raid a small town for supplies. We each had a Makarov, but it was quickly apparent that we did not have enough ammo. We both set to running, and I can't explain it, but suddenly I was just alone; no zombies anywhere. My friend was not so lucky. (friend makes a new character) The story grows more interesting... We were much better prepared now. Each of us, crossbows in hand for stealthy kills and plenty of .45 ammo to go around if we had to use it. It was time to get serious. We arrived at the large northern airfield and military barracks late in the day and set about to looting the place silly. We lost some bolts at the barracks, and things got a bit hairy, but we managed to handle it without having to make any noise, no big deal to us now that we were veterans (haha). We were right in the middle of looting the hangars when my friend drops dead. We didn't hardly hear a sound so at first I thought it must have been a crossbow that did it. Throwing caution to the wind I rush over to his body to look for the murderer. I thought he must have been close by to make a shot with a bow. I didn't see a bolt though, and there was no one anywhere near who could have done such a thing. The foolishness doesn't stop there. Lest my friend's death be in vain, I continue to loot the area and head to the control tower. I finish with the inside and decide to climb to the roof. I'm halfway up the last ladder when a bullet strikes the concrete wall three inches from my head. I quickly drop back down and hit the deck. Before I even finish hitting the ground another bullet strikes the ladder where my head had been half a second before. I crawl over to the ladder on the other side of the building and get to safety. (friend makes another character) We were in Cherno. My friend and I had spent a good bit of time in Electro, but we were much less familiar with this city. We weren't too worried though. While moving between coffee shops I attracted the attention of a zombie. I couldn't line up a crossbow shot on a moving target quickly enough at this range so I shot him with my pistol. This noise of course attracted two more of them. I should mention now that my friend had just recently found an Enfield rifle and decided to give it a try. We later found out that this is known as "ringing the dinner bell". Well as you can imagine things quickly spiraled out of control. At least 30 zombies were rushing at us from all directions. My friend died almost immediately. I had a half dozen over my unconscious body. As soon as I was able to pull myself back to reality I let loose and killed them each with one shot of the 6 round revolver. I looked over at the feeding frenzy taking place on top of my friend's corpse. I started to line up a shot to take as many of the bastards with me as I could, but then I realized... nothing was attacking me. My leg was broken, and I began to slowly crawl away from the insanity. For what felt like hours I crawled through the city avoiding countless undead before finally making it to the hospital. So there you have it. I have no idea how I managed to live this long, but I'm right as rain with a few hundred zed kills under my belt. I suppose it's only a matter of time though before my luck runs out.
