NFK

In a hurrry? tl;dr Found a vehicle, server reset setting me back hours. Found it again and a bird spawn followed me until I was kicked. Bottom line: this server uses admin privileges to keep non-clan players from raiding their loot through honest gameplay. Be warned. See below. On 7/13 I was trekking through the northwestern wilderness on this server. My goal was to investigate all prominent landmarks, both for the views but also for tents or vehicles. I lucked out at a cluster of rocks labeled Skalka and found a well stocked tent. I traded in some of my stuff for better stuff (including a compass) and kept trekking. I then went to the top of Misty Peak, shot an east-bound azimuth with my compass, and followed that for a long time. In the wilderness north of Pobeda Dam I found a hatchback parked under a tree, also well stocked. This being my first car, I got in and went for a joyride. It lasted for about thirty seconds, and then the server reset. I log back in, and I'm hours back somewhere along the central western wilderness of the map, before I found the tent and the car. Takes me a while to figure out where I am (no compass), but I eventually see Palatino and orient myself off that to resume pushing north. I find the tent at Skalka rocks again, take some stuff and drop some stuff and then climb Misty Peak. I shoot the same azimuth and follow it to the hills north of Pobeda Dam. Find the car again, but now while I'm checking it out I notice a player, spawned as a bird, is above me and is folllowing me. I took a few potshots, then resumed my joyride followed by the bird. Lasts a little bit longer this time, but as I'm reaching the treeline the game starts freezing up, and then I'm kicked by Battle Eye for client not responding. I get the message and don't bother logging back in. Solos and independents, don't bother exploring on this server. The admin(s) will abuse their privileges to protect their clan's hoarded loot. Sorry for the assumption, see my follow-up post.

It sounds like Day Z started out as a small single community with common goals and social rules, but as it grew larger the community fragmented. Now it's a collection of warring tribes who do not trust anyone outside their VOIP and scattered, unaffiliated solo players who live on the margins.

My first was a crossbow. I loved the silence, but finding the bolts and picking them out of zombie corpses took me a while to learn.

Day Z is another form of mutually assured destruction. But with zombies.

To paraphrase the late, great Omar: Loot has no owners, only takers.

Free Download & Expansions $1.99 per life, with ten free starter lives. Bulk discounts for large life purchases. Studio development. Studio servers. Kickstarter.

Just to be clear on what I saw, this was not the usual bird that floats high in the sky, but a low flying, flapping model. There are plenty of youtube clips that show this type of thing, like this example.

Thanks for your reply. On rereading my post, I think that I jumped to conclusions about admin involvement, and for that I apologize. The events I described did happen to me, I just don't have a way to really know who was involved and how it was done, so I shouldn't have assumed admin involvement.

Holy crap! You just ran your own Stanford prison experiment over the internet.

I'm a new player, been playing for a couple of weeks now. I heard about Day Z through some written interview of an EVE Online dev who mentioned Day Z. After Googling it and checking out some videos, I just had to try it. Never played Arma II before, bought my copy specifically for the mod.

I'm only a few weeks into this game, and these stats made me think about my deaths. Most of them were early on, and due to zombies. I've never starved to death, but hunger/thirst/broken legs have driven me to take stupid risks that resulted in getting eaten by zombies, so environmental effects have been a factor. I've been been killed by another player exactly two times, and never on spawn. I have murdered exactly one other player, mostly out of fear and circumstance, not from a plan to go find players to kill. My current strategy focuses on avoidance, as I currently play alone so no external comms/communities to rely on. I imagine a lot of solo players also do this.

Been thinking about this, and it occured to me that currently death's only consequence is the loss of items (and not even that if you've got a stash). If there was a significant respawn delay, the loss of the player's time might hurt more. For example, you die, the client notes your death and locks you out of multiplayer for say, half an hour (or whatever your preferred time increment). An even more sadistic method to make death matter: Go old school and have a counter with a limited amount of lives (say, one hundred, or whatever your preferred number). No continues. And when you're out of life, you're dead for good, can't play anymore. This would turn risking your life into risking your opportunity to play the game.

Loved this story, read the whole thing, especially liked the not-so-last stand at the Zeleno supermarket and the barbeque. Thanks for including the geography, it's more fun to read Day Z stories when you can follow along on the map.

YES I'm new, so it's all I've ever known. Has forced me to learn early how zombies work and where things are. I wouldn't say no to an extra bandage or two!

I think the OP's idea would be a fascinating experiment. What form of co-op would emerge in a randomized server eco-system that prevented people from grouping up despite their external voice comms? Having to organize with people you DON'T know should be exactly what happens in a simulation of the zombie apocalypse. We already have to start out weaponless and alone, the OP's suggestion would also remove the social safety net of gaming clans, just as a zombie apocalypse would remove our real-world social safety nets. I think this idea is in the anti-game spirit of Day Z. Randomizing players' server selection sounds daunting, though. I imagine the game would have to be run on centralized servers, or else the existing server owners would have to cooperate in the randomization scheme. I can't really speak to the technical side of that, but it sounds unlikely that either of those options will ever happen with this game given the heavy involvement of out-of-game communities in the current model. They would desert Day Z en masse if it took away their organizational power.

Deleted and move to correct forum.

--- --- LHA-2 Saipan Transmission Intercept 7456KA Timestamp 2456121.146528 Freq: 121.5 BM VHF Guard, uncoded Language: English, North American --- --- I don't know why I'm telling you this. Hell, I don't know if I'm even talking to anyone on this frequency. I don't care, I've gone too long without talking. If you're there, just listen to me. Just listen. After that dazed morning on the stony shore, I had been making my way north, evading the infected while trying to find food and survival gear. I'd had a close call in a small hamlet, for the life of me I can't recall the name, but I'll never forget the fear I felt as I raced for the barn with the infected hot on my trail. I managed to reach the upper rafters ahead of them. I had found a rifle in the last barn I searched, little did I know it would nearly kill me. The horde climbed up after me, and with every shot I took more spilled into the barn. The shots were drawing them from the hamlet. It was like ringing a dinner bell. I ran out of bullets long before I ran out of infected to shoot at. It was pure luck that I found that hatchet in the top rafter. That hatchet saved my life. With it I took down the last of the horde as they made their way up the creaking wooden steps. I gave up the empty rifle that night and took a hunting crossbow that hung from a nail in the barn. I would never make that much noise again. After that I made my way to a pair of homes on a hill. I risked the wrath of more infected to reach the homes' well pump, topped off my canteen and drank my fill. The two houses had little in the way of supplies, so I crawled through some bushes and pushed further uphill. At its peak was a ruined castle, patrolled by yet more of the infected. A faded sign for the tourists named the place Zub. Night was falling fast, so I snuck my way into the main tower, grabbed a few meager supplies like flares and bandages from the castle keeper's emergency kit, then climbed to the very top. There I went to sleep, shivering in the night air but relatively safe from the howling unfortunates below. I awoke a few hours later. The night was pitch black, with the stars obscured by clouds. I began to inventory my gear when I started in shock. Another survivor was already on the tower with me, his pistol calmly pointed at my face. My crossbow was in my hands, but I knew I could never aim it faster than his trigger finger could pull. Resigned to my fate, I sat on the ground. His pistol still trained on me, the survivor began talking. We exchanged tense greetings, and then, stupidly, I asked if he wanted to trade, as if he couldn't have just shot me right there and taken my paltry possessions anyway. Surprised, he asked me what I had. "Flares, bandanges, some painkillers," I replied cautiously. He stood there for a while longer, then darted down the stairs without saying a word. I suppose I was too pathetic to waste a bullet on, but I guess I'll never know. Instead, I would live another day. After that I made my way west, sticking to unmarked forest trails when I could, jogging across open meadows and pastures when cover grew scarce. I eventually arrived at the outskirts of Zelenogorsk, exhausted from my trek. My guts were cramped with hunger. I sipped from my canteen and cautiously surveyed the town from a treeline. The place was lousy with the infected. Approaching the town undetected would be no mean feat. I made my way to a low stone wall in the middle of the field. From there I spied a small supermarket. Urged on by my hunger, I scuttled forward until I could hear their hoarse breaths and guttural moans. I then threw myself down in the weeds and crawled, praying they would overlook me. I had to snake my way past them to the front doors of the market. It probably took only minutes, but it felt like an enternity. Somewhat pointlessly, I closed the doors behind me. Their glass was all smashed out. Inside, I found my salvation in a can of sardines. They say hunger makes the best spice, and it must be true for I have never eaten anything the way I ate those stinking fish. The sharp edge of my hunger had dulled, so I searched the store. I skipped the bare shelves and rummaged through the trash and debris on the floor. I found more canned foods and sodas, a military surplus backpack, but the real prize was the matches! Such a small thing, yet without it I was worse off than the rudest Cro-Magnon. I also found a revolver and some boxes of ammunition. I took them but kept my crossbow at the ready, still fearful of making loud noises after my brush with death at the barn. As I made my exit towards the rear, I came upon a pair of binoculars, another great find. Now I could take a good long look at towns without having to get close. My final grab was a package of chemlights and heatpacks. I searched the rest of the town and collected another canteen, but the stress of avoiding the infected and their constant, horrible moans and grunts wore me down, so I exited to the the north. In the woods I took stock of what I had, and what I lacked. Food and drink would last for a time, and that was a small miracle. I had a reliable weapon in the crossbow, but it was a poor defense against another armed survivor, like the one I met in the castle. For that, I would need the pistol. With the matches, my hatchet, and ample deadwood available I wouldn't have to be cold again. But I lacked a knife. Without it, I couldn't dress game for proper eating. My push into the northern wilderness would fail if I could not survive off the land. I would need to keep searching settlements for a good knife. I searched a village named Myshkino, to no avail. I risked the infected of Susnovka to find nothing of value. I even searched a great hill topped by an enormous transmitter tower, and found only scrap metal and exotic ammunition for military weapons long since looted. Even in that remote location, infected soldiers and police still patrolled the perimeter in their near-death state as they had in full health. I found an abandoned tent deep in the woods, but it yielded only an empty automatic pistol. Frustrated, I dumped the useless military ammo in the tent, thinking perhaps some other wandering soul could make use of it. Finally, I searched the town of Pustoshka, and that is where my journey changed forever. I had been conducting another fruitless search for a good knife, and had stupidly lost my last crossbow bolt taking down a dangerously close infected. I then slowly made my way to the town's supermarket with my hatchet in hand, still too fearful to fire the revolver. There was a horrible cry, and an infected ran past my hidden spot. At first I thought the beast had spotted me, and my hands tensed on the hatchet handle. But instead it rocketed past me towards the market, making its horrible alarm cry as it went. I risked a hunched run to get a view of the market, and I saw movement from behind the shelves. Whoever it was disappeared into the backroom, pursued by the infected. Then the shooting started. The shots rang out loud and clear in the small town. I pressed myself against the wall of the house across from the market, hoping that the rapidly gatering infected would ignore me. After a few moments of frozen panic, I risked a look. The infected had moved off the market, there was no sign of them. I darted from the house to the market and scurried inside. There was no one in the front. I raised my hatchet and entered the back storeroom. It too was empty, some of its delivery doors open to the outside. I closed them and retreated back to the shelves. Then more shots rang out, now coming from the direction of the central church. I crouched behind the counter, terrified. In my fear, I made a choice. I slung my hatchet to my pack, and drew my pistol. In the close quarters of the market, I could have held off any stray infected with my hatchet alone. But a well supplied survivor was firing madly in this town, and I did not want to face him looking like Paul Bunyan. Whoever was firing outside seemed to have a bottomless supply of ammunition, and the willingness to use it. I prayed that they would just leave, just hole up in some building and hide, just do anything but come back to this market. Please God, I prayed, let them not come through these smashed out doors. Nobody listened. A lone survivor sprinted down the street, turned the corner, and flung open the doors. As if in a dream, I raised my revolver, lined up my sights, and squeezed the trigger once. I still don't know if that first shot missed him or only wounded him, but he immediately fired back with his own pistol. Panicking now, I emptied the revolver in his general direction, not even sure of my aim. It clicked on empty chambers and he dashed behind some shelves. I fumbled with the speedloader as his shots punched through the counter. I emptied the revolver again towards him, not even pretending to aim. He dashed from the shelves to a corner past the counter. I managed to load and fire one last salvo. I waited with my pistol pointed at that corner for what felt like an eternity. I eventually noticed the sticky wetness in my side. I was wounded and slowly bleeding to death. A moaning outside signaled the infected were coming to the door. I had to choose, and I chose to lower my gun. I tore open an emergency dressing and staunched the flow of blood. The infected were now through the door. I unslung my hatchet and backed away. The infected were now at the counter, madly lunging at me across the barrier. They hit me with astonishing force once, twice, three times. I sunk my hatchet into their forheads, their chests, I cut meat and split bones. Finally my vision cleared, my breathing slowed. The infected lay around me on the floor. There was no sign of the survivor. I slung the hatchet and raised the revolver again, and slowly made my way around the corner. There he lay, whether dead or unconscious from his wounds I never found out. Hunched over this man, my mind was already in a new panic. What if more infected came? Never mind the infected, what if this man had friends? What if they were charging to his rescue right now? I got up to leave. And then I saw it. A hunting knife, sheathed in a toolbelt around the dead man's waist. The sight of it broke through my panic, so I grabbed the knife, then frantically rummaged through his pack for good measure and took some canned food and a small tool set. Then I ran out of the supermarket, dashed over fences, and made my way out of the town and into the field. I didn't feel safe until I was under the trees, deep in the forest. I'm alone in this forest now, with time to think on what I did. I murdered a man, someone who was fighting for his life, someone who had survived this cursed virus just like me. I murdered him out of fear and cowardice and raw animal instinct. I was no better than the feral creatures that hunted me. I don't know if anyone can hear this, I don't know if there's any world out there left to hear. But I'll transmit it anyway, because I've long since given up on the idea of rescue, and I don't care if the batteries on this radio run down. My message is simple: Conserve your strength. Conserve your supplies. Stay away from the infected. Stay away from me. --- --- Transmission Ends --- ---