This Is My Story (a DayZ fanfic of sorts)

[Cap'n (DayZ) 1827]

Well, I really enjoy writing, so I spent about three hours making this DayZ oriented short story. I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to share your opinion of it. Here we go:

 

 

It’s been just over a month since I touched down at the International Airport in Novigrad. The runway was horribly unkempt, and the terminal tasted of stale air and dust. The place looked very much like the grand metro tunnels of Moscow in the Soviet days; the grand embroidery of socialist works. This meant very little to me however; I had visited the country three times prior, in the late nineties and back in 09’. Three times I have been chosen as the correspondent for the area, and once again BBC called me up to head back to the backwards and belated backwater post-soviet shithole.

Being the only international airport in the country, we had to take a train to the distant reaches of the country. The capital, Novigrad, enjoys vastly superior living qualities than that of the other crumbling industrial Soviet “boom towns” outside. We spent the night at an extravagant hotel in the Victory Square- we prepared our camera equipment, and then headed downstairs to enjoy a meal with the host. We had a serving of lukewarm Borscht, and craft beer. If there was a single good thing that came from this shithole, it was craft beer. After finishing our meal, we headed back upstairs and prepared the camera equipment and contacted our guide for the trip.

The area was, is, and is for the rest of its foreseeable a turbulent area. Combine ethnic Russian settlers, nationalistic guerillas, and the looming hand of the Russian Federation (spitefully referred to as the “Northern Aggressor” by the natives), very rarely has it enjoyed any long term peace. Over the last two weeks, protests have become quite the problem in the Northern Province. They have apparently escalated to an unacceptable level of violence- so much, that a small UN peacekeeping contingent has been deployed to monitor the protestors and the military. What has piqued the interest of the media is the rather unusual nature behind these acts of violence. Reports have been foggy- news coverage is extremely unreliable in the area, and the military and police have blocked all civilian access to the cities. Police, soldiers, and peacekeepers alike have been leaking unusual and unsettling reports about the exact nature of the violence. And to prove this, they requested that they send a “seasoned combat press team” to cover just exactly what is happening and why it’s worth our attention.

The train arrived at the peak of dawn, in the small village of Komarovo. Immediately, we were greeted by several peacekeepers whose job was to escort us around the area. My camera man, Eugene, had accompanied me before back in 09’. We’ve covered quite a few warzones together; Croatia, Bosnia, Iraq, Afghanistan, just to name a few. Over the years, he really grew on me. We’d been in some tough spots together, and he was street smart. He knew how to bribe, how to fight, how to survive this kind of stuff. He’s saved my ass more times than I could keep track of. Our trust and mutual understanding was the key to everything- getting in, getting the dip, and then getting the hell out. But this was different than anything we’ve ever dealt with.

An air of uneasiness flooded the car. I couldn’t help but squirm constantly, trying to get comfortable in the hard seat of the Land Rover. The soldier in front of me turned around. “You a Brit?” he asked mockingly, in a thick Kiwi accent. “You bet-“, I replied, wryly. “Well then, welcome to hell. Anything and everything you know about the situation is pure bullshit.” “That’s a soothing thought”. I mumbled. “Nah, don’t get in a knot about it, mate. We’ll get your arses out alive, hopefully.” That didn’t help. We arrived at the checkpoint, and the car pulled to a sudden halt. Several soldiers in gas masks run past our car. A grizzly, unshaven officer sporting an ushnaka and a large thick coat barked at the driver. We disembarked, and they discussed matters with our translator. The burly officer approached me. “I am Sergeant Haclav. I will accompany you and your escort. You do what I say. Understand, cizinec?“. I nodded, and he stormed off. We walked through the large crowd of men, a strange mix of police and military personnel. Several jeeps and armoured carriers swerved through, headed wherever ordered. I could see them checking anyone who came from the opposite end of the checkpoint. Some were allowed to pass; others however, were dragged off, loaded into large Ural trucks. I nudged the soldier who befriended me before. „What are they checking for?“ He shrugs. „They take away the ones with bloodshot eyes. Whoever else comes through, they let pass“. This was when things took a turn for the worst, right before we learned the true nature of the situation. But before that, we had to be briefed.

Our escorts took us towards a large tent, lying against a communications trailer and a BMP fighting vehicle. Our peacekeepers stopped outside. „You two, go on inside. They want to brief you personally“. We stepped inside, and were greeted by a small man, casually resting his feet on the desk. „Welcome gentleman, you have honor of being the first to cover our unusual situation.“ He stood up, and began pacing around his desk. „We’re not dealing with protests. We’re dealing with an epidemic.“ I looked back at Eugene, and we were thinking the same thing. These people are fucking nuts. „Uhm- sir?“ muttered Eugene. He quickly locked eyes with him, and replied „You’ll see“. He called the peacekeepers up, and gave them permission to pass into the city. Instead of taking the jeep, they insisted we accompany some of the defense forces into the city before disembarking on foot. We found some crewmen willing to taxi us in on their BMP. We sat on the roof, feet dangling above the road and holding on for dear life. The gate opened, and we left the safe confines of the Balota military encampent. From then on, we were outside the jurisdiction and control of the military.

Some few hundred meters before the city, the driver took a hard right and stopped at an old factory. We jumped off, and he sped off somewhere else in the city. The peacekeepers checked their map, and Eugene prepared the camera equipment, while I simply sat there, thinking hard about what the man in the tent said. Everyone was so vague about what exactly was happening, and all I was asking for was concrete explanation. I asked the friendly soldier again. „Listen, man. I’d really appreciate and explanation as to why everyone is so vague about what is happening. Why can’t you just tell us?“ He looks at me, back to his commander, then back to me. „You wouldn’t believe it unless you see it. Nor will anyone who watches your program. Now get ready, we’re about to head in.“ I head back towards Eugene. „Camera‘s ready.“ The peacekeepers rid themselves of their titular blue helmets, and prepare their rifles. The commander adressed the rules. Nothing we haven’t heard before. Finally, we prepare to head into the city.

As we got closer, only then did I begin to understand the severity of the situation. Everything was quiet, which worried the troops greatly. The streets were littered with trash and debris, and cars were stuck in the middle of the road, either abandoned or burning. Doors were busted wide open, and most windows were shattered. The breeze picked up, and the smell of rotten flesh and gunpowder burned in my nostrils. In the distance, I could hear muddled screams and gunfire. Up ahead, I spot someone banging on a garage door. I go to the commander, and point it out. He pulls out his binoculars, and observes the man wildly thrashing against the door. He looked to one of his men and nodded in approval. The soldier raised his rifle, aimed, and fired. The man stumbled back, still flailing, and then fell over, limp. I look at the commander. „What the fuck was that?“ He ignores me, and we make our way through the alley to a pub. „Here. Right here, you may start the broadcast-“, he whispers. Eugene turns on the camera, and I get in position. I set in my earpiece, and contact our superiors over satellite phone. „We’re ready for broadcast, just give us the go.“ We waited for about fifteen minutes before they called us back. I position myself in front of the camera, and Eugene begins the countdown. I hear the anchor over the earpiece, going over the situation, and then preparing to introduce us. Three, two, one. „As you can see Walt, we’re in the provincial capital of Chernogorsk, were most of the violence over the last few days has been concen-„ A loud crash startles us and our escorts, and the commander shrieks “CUT THE CAMERA!“ A hundred yards, two men are in full sprint straight towards our position. As they get closer, they become clearer. They’re both frantic, crazed, animalistic. Their eyes are bloodshot, and salvia drips from their frothing mouthes. One let’s out a violent roar. Three more, a woman and two men, trip over a fence to our left flank and quickly gain their balance and continue to us. All five of them are 25 yards away, when the shooting starts. The woman and first two males are dropped in quick sucession, while one takes two rounds to the arm and shoulder, and the other two remain unscathed. The commander shrieks to pull back, and I quickly sprint backwards. I look behind, and one of the men is knocked down by one of our assailiants. The man pins him down, and then violently gouges his eyes before biting down on his throat. I stop to survey the carnage, and he looks back up at me, and continues chase.

I ran, and I didn’t stop. I was a good three blocks before I realised I had lost our escort, and Eugene. Around the corner, I hear a sucession of shots. As I clear and alley, the friendly soldier from before barrels into me. „GET UP AND MOVE!“, he frantically screams. He grabs me by my collar, and we continue running. We stumble onto the the town square, and we cover behind a burnt out wreck. We hear distant shots, and a cry of torment and anguish. I see movement in the corner of my eye- Eugene and the commander, in the middle of the street, in dead sprint being pursued by six of the crazed people. The commander threw his rifle down, and reached for his sidearm. He turned around, and dropped two of the freaks before running dry of ammunition. He motioned for another magazine, only to get tackled by the pursuers. While one knawed at his leg, the other two ripped into his stomach and tore out his entrails. The fourth gets up, surveys the carnage, then makes chase for Eugene once again. The soldier quickly dispatched it, and we all met. „To the municipal building!“, the soldier yelled. We cleared the open ground, only to attract more of them. We quickly scale the steps, and Eugene quickly grabs the door handle. The soldier wildly fired into the group of blood thirsty maniacs, only to get overwhelmed himself. I still managed to wrestle the rifle from his hands, and shot the few clinging and thrashing at his mangled body, bathing in his blood. Eugene motioned for me to come, and pulled the door open. As he turns to face inside, a flood of them came upon him. They grab him by his limbs and tore, then dragged his still screaming body. I turn and ran, and never looked back. I just kept running, and running, and running until I passed out.

 

I managed to find a village with power. They’ve held off the attacks for a few days, but supplies are dwindling. People are leaving, and I plan to do the same. Where I head, I’ve yet to decide. I could make west and find what remains of the rest of the country, but rumor has it they’ve deserted for some island off the coast. But for now I wait. I wait for the food, the water, and the power to run out. And when that happens, I’ll set out to the wasteland. I’ll do whatever I must to survive, like many already have to. But before I die, I gift you this.

 

This is my story.

Edited March 1, 2014 by Cap'n

[wild_man 4442]

eugene dying so you are living?  :(

 

RIP Eugene

[Cap'n (DayZ) 1827]

Yeah, I doubt the main character would've made it out hadn't the zombies made a meal out of poor Eugene.

[applejaxc 2500]

You call this a fanfic? I could hardly get off reading it :(

[Cap'n (DayZ) 1827]

You call this a fanfic? I could hardly get off reading it :(

Explain.

[applejaxc 2500]

Explain.

 

99% of "Fan fiction" on the internet is erotica, or "literature" depicting sexual acts and sexually-arousing content. I was making a joke.

[Cap'n (DayZ) 1827]

99% of "Fan fiction" on the internet is erotica, or "literature" depicting sexual acts and sexually-arousing content. I was making a joke.

 

Ah- I see. I'll make some really graphic DayZ porn tomorrow. I'm certain it'll be popular.

[Inception. 9443]

A new person's dialogue begins on the next line, so: 

 

 

The soldier in front of me turned around. “You a Brit?” he asked mockingly, in a thick Kiwi accent.
“You bet-“, I replied, wryly. 

 

Tsk tsk.

 

Also, you're using both past and present tense. 

Edited February 27, 2014 by Inception.

[novogeek 253]

Cool story ... but the switching between past and present tense confused the hell out of me. Always keep it the same tense ... or that is what my creative writing teacher always told me. :)

 

Liked the story a lot.

[Matej (DayZ) 71]

Kudos for knowing the name of capital city of Chernarus 

[applejaxc 2500]

Ah- I see. I'll make some really graphic DayZ porn tomorrow. I'm certain it'll be popular.

 

It will be. I can't wait.

[callsignBravo (DayZ) 323]

Really liked it, None of the usual been surviving for months now , blahblahblah

enjoyed the explanation of another survivor.