Chernarus - A DayZ Fan Fiction

[Luciola 2]

There is a belief among certain circles that people who live in big cities simply get used to the seemingly endless chaos; the crowds of people shuffling down sidewalks, spilling out into the streets with what seems like a complete disregard for their own lives; the incessant racket of blaring horns and backfiring exhausts and the overpowering droning of countless chattering voices.

They're wrong. At least from Theresas point of view, they're dead wrong. Every day she would get up in the morning and scramble through her miniscule apartment, of which the walls she's sure were made of papier-mâché, to stumble out onto the crowded streets she dreaded so woefully. Every step was accompanied by unwanted contact with the strangers of the city, every pace an exercise in claustrophobia. The relief that would wash over her when getting on the bus was fleeting, for after her sigh, she would inevitably realized that her personal bubble was about to be violated once again.

The walk down the isle had become a thorough ritual. While balancing herself with the ebb and flow of the bus' movements as it pulled from the stop, she eyed each open seat and inspected it with great scrutiny. Theresa almost had it down to a mathematical equation; a complex juxtaposition of risk versus reward, taking into account proximity and the possible unpleasantness of the seatmate she was about to endure for the following thirty minute commute. Standing was a last resort, the idea of being hung up like a piece of cold meat in a butchers freezer for all to glare at was not one she particularly enjoyed. This wasn't a fully arrogant assumption, but rather an axiomatic truth; especially when concerning senior men, of which the more distasteful would sometimes endeavor a poorly disguised grope when passing her for their stop. No, standing was not an option.

In the end, a young man moved over to allow her a seat at the end of a row. This was ideal, eliminating human contact to only one person. She nodded in silent thanks and sat, quickly moving on to stage 2 of her daily routine. Out came a pair of ear buds that she quickly shoved into position, the irony of which was surely lost on the poor man who now sat mouth agape as he held back the opening line he was about to use. That irony, being of course, that Theresas i-pod hadn't been charged the night before as she had spent every waking moment finishing her proposal on a field assignment that she had to present to her boss as soon as humanly possible.

Twenty minutes passed, which turned out to be enough time for the young man to build up the courage to speak to Theresa regardless of the ear buds.

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”

Theresa tried to ignore him, telling her eyes to stay firmly focused on the rubber lining in the isle.

“I've definitely seen you before.”

She cussed to herself when her eyes flickered awkwardly toward him, knowing her cover might have been blown.

“Yeah, you were on the news a few months back, in Syria, reporting on those bombings right?”

“Are you talking to me?” She said, with a lack of conviction that nearly made her nose grow longer.

“Yeah, you're that foreign assignment reporter from TNC aren't you?”

She sighed, “Must just look like her.” She said, noticing it was finally her stop. She got up and left the bus as quickly as she could, sure that she had done so while the man was still mid sentence. Boys, she didn't have time for boys. They couldn't keep up with her anyway.

Walking into the office was a whole new ball game, one that she was luckily able to avoid today as she went straight to the office for the director of foreign assignments. Two elevators and one short walk through some cubicles and she found herself at the corsica glass door, stenciled cleanly with the name “David Bishop”.

Just as she was about to knock, the door swung open.

“Terry! Aren't you on vacation?”

“Not anymore Dave, I have something for you.” she said, handing him a folder she pulled from the satchel on her hip.

“What's this?” He asked, opening it to the first page. His eyes sunk into his head, “Chernarus? You know they have the place locked down Terry. I can't send you there.”

“You don't have to.” She said.

“I don't think I understand Terry, what are you up to?” David replied, his deep voice reverberating with genuine concern.

“We'll be the first to get through the barricades David.”

He looked at her squarely, “How.”

“I don't need you to get me into Chernarus, that I can do on my own. What I do need you for though is to get me legitimately into Russia. I know you can do that.” Theresa said, smiling with a eagerness that spelled out her voracity for adventure, thrill and risk.

David's eyes narrowed to a squint. He could smell a rat, across an ocean and on the other side of Europe. He looked around the cubicles to see people hard at work, but with his trained eye, he knew their ears were peeked. “Come into my office Terry.”

She looked over her shoulder, her too seeing through the thin veil with which the inquisitive ears attempted to hide themselves. Speaking of this would definitely be better behind closed doors. She followed him in.

As soon as the door shut, David spun around. “Don't tell me you're working with him again Terry.” He said with a paternal tone that cut into Terry like a child being scolded.

“What? Who?” She said, another characteristically meek attempt at deception.

“You know who. I'm surprised you two didn't get killed in Chechnya.”

“He's good at what he does David you can't deny it.”

“He's reckless Terry, he doesn't think straight.”

“Maybe you're right.” She said, “But he gets the job done.”

He shook his head, “Richard Bowman is not someone you should trust so implicitly. He's practically a mercenary for Christ sake.”

“Aren't I not far from that description myself?”

“You shoot pictures Terry, with a camera. You don't shoot people with guns.”

Terry sighed. “He doesn't go around mowing down the local population David, he's protection, why don't you understand that I couldn't possibly have gotten the stories I've reported on in those countries without someone like Richard. These are mostly Muslim countries, do you think they'd just let me, a woman, poke around with impunity? No, not for a second.”

“Which is exactly why I shouldn't be doing this.” He said.

She could read him like a book. “That means yes.” She said smiling.

“What?”

“That means you're going to do it. I know you David, we've played this game too often for me not to know when I've won.”

David smiled softly. “You're the daughter I never had Terry. I'm concern for your safety, but I also want to give you everything you want. I'm torn. Especially with this situation. I've been keeping myself busy with research on the subject and it doesn't look very promising.”

“Do you know anything I don't?” She asked.

“Probably not. The U.N. Is trying to politically fight its way in there to give aid to a crisis they're not even sure exists. It's a crap shoot really. Nobody knows exactly what happened. They're all thinking Chernobyl, but the American military would have lit up by now if it was radioactive in nature. It seems most of the world is willing to just let them fester with whatever sore they've given themselves this time.”

“That's only because they don't know the truth David.”

“You're probably right.” David flipped through a couple of the pages in the file and took out his pen. “For your sake.” He said, signing several pages. “I hope you're right. Otherwise this will have been for nothing.”

“No David, revealing the truth is never futile.”

David handed her the files. “You're cleared on my end. The cashier will wire the money to your card in the next twelve hours.”

Theresa took the file, but he held on to his end. “Call me.” He said, nodding to her. “Use my home number.”

“You'd better pick up.” she said, pulling the file from his hand and racing out the door.

As it slammed behind her, David stared at the inverse letters of his name across the corsica glass.

“God, please bring her back to me in one piece.”

Edited July 25, 2012 by Luciola

[Izithel 23]

You should post this in the DayZ Gallery section of the forum, it's for this kind of think among others.

http://dayzmod.com/forum/index.php?/forum/13-dayz-gallery/

[Luciola 2]

I was under the assumption that the gallery was for video media and photos. Not fan fiction literature.

Edited July 25, 2012 by Luciola

[FaxMonkey 10]

This section os only for trolling.

[Luciola 2]

The plane ride felt longer than ever, but a couple of sleeping pills and a shot of whiskey helped pass the time. Before long, the flight attendants were asking everyone to stow their trays and prepare for landing. The city looked different than last time Theresa had come here. From her birds eye view, she could tell there was unrest, it was obvious with the riot police vans stationed just outside the airports terminal. It became even more clear when they began filtering out of the plane, to be greeted by armed guards.

“Move along.” They said, in thick accents.

Theresa was being herded down a hallway, to the connections terminal. She saw a flight listing that showed all Japanese destinations. She tried to look for Richard while the crowd got tight and shoved her onward any time she tried to fight the current of bodies. Soon, she would pass through the threshold of the next terminal, at which point she knew she wouldn't be able to get back out. Everyone was being sent back.

“I'm with the press.” She said, raising her clearance card, signed by the TNC and a U.N. Delegate. “I'm authorized to be here.”

All she herd in response where sharp words in Russian or “Move along” in that same thick accent that told her they were just reciting the line without. Theresa was getting fed up. She shuffled toward a barricade and rolled beneath it. When she got back up, she was face to face with a security officer who promptly clutched her arm and dragged her into a nearby room.

“Get your hands off me! I'm authorized by the U.N. To be here.” She yelled angrily, not noticing in her disorientation that Richard was across the room, sitting in a chair.

“Welcome to Vladivostok!” He said, opening his arms in greeting. “Do you like what they've done with the place?”

“Oh God, Richard. Where were you?”

“I had men looking for you, it's not easy these days. Bribes are getting expensive.” He said, walking over to the security guard and handing him an envelope. “Still, money is what gets the job done, right?”

“True enough.”

“So where's your magic credit card?”

“You'll get payed once we get where we're going Richard, not a second before”

“Fine, fine, I can agree to that. Come on, we're not going anywhere today.” Richard left the room from a separate door at the back.

Theresa was alone for a short moment with the guard, only seconds later realizing that Richard had queued her to follow. “Hey wait, where are you going?” She hurried through the door to find herself in an empty service hallway. “Richard!”

“Let's get something to eat, I'm sure you're starved.”

Theresa shook her head, running to catch up to him as they left the the terminal through a fire exit. She looked around in the evening light to see the amber and bright blue flashes of emergency response vehicles painting the tall buildings. The sounds of sirens whistled through the air. “What's going on?” She asked. I Chernarus was locked down, but why is there so much unrest in Vladivostok?”

“They're all here for the same reason you are Theresa. They all want the truth. No one is allowed within kilometers of the Chernarus lines, and there are a lot of people who live and work in those areas. Vladivostok is the closest place to come and complain. They themselves don't truly care about what happened in Chernarus, but they want to know why they've been relocated away from their homes. Not to mention the political backlash of locking down a country, a post-soviet republic to boot. People are thinking it's an annex. The rest of the world is paranoid about war, or an expansionary Russian military campaign. There's tension in the air Theresa, ripe with the smell of cash if you ask me.”

“You're a sick person Richard.”

Richard smiled, “Just get in the car.”

As they drove through the streets of Vladivostok, the level of unrest became fully apparent to Theresa. Something else was at work here, it wasn't just the displacement of people living on the borders of Chernarus. It wasn't just a worried population, concerned about war. Either Richard wasn't telling her everything, or he simply didn't know. At this point, Theresa thought it would be fruitless to press him for information. Soon, they would be in Chernarus and they will have found out the truth for themselves.

Richard turned into an underground parking garage. “Here we are.” He said, removing the keys from the ignition and exiting the vehicle.

Theresa followed suit and caught up to him as he made his way to an elevator. “So what's the plan, are we leaving first thing tomorrow morning?”

“That's sort of the plan.” Richard said unenthusiastically.

“So you have a means of transportation already figured out?”

“Yes, by plane. We can't travel during the day though, it'll be too conspicuous. The pilot I hired is a friend of a friend. He comes at high recommendation for this kind of thing. He tells me there's a valley we can fly through in Takistan that will bring us to the coast near Chernarus without exposing ourselves as we would if we were to just follow the coast from here.. Once we're over the green sea we can make a water landing and get to shore.”

“A water landing?”

“Yes, he pilots a Be-103, a small passenger amphibious aircraft. You'll love the ride I'm sure.”

“I'm sure.” Theresa said, already cringing at the thought.

Richard opened the door to his apartment and threw his coat and keys on a nearby sofa. “Make yourself at home.”

“Can I use your phone?” Theresa asked.

“I just said make yourself at home didn't I?”

Theresa sighed in annoyance and went in search of the phone. She picked it up and dialed Davids number from memory. It began to ring.

There was no answer. “Damn it old man.” Frustrated, she hung up.

Richard was in a hall. “You'll sleep in here.” He said, pointing into a room. “See you tomorrow morning.”

She thought of trying to call one more time, but decided against it and walked to the room instead. Sleep came slowly.

Edited July 25, 2012 by Luciola

[kingworks 1]

I have a short story (2144 words) - Is this thread open to any DayZ fiction, or just the OP's?

UPDATE: No response in a day and a half. Well, for what it's worth, here's my story:

Outside-in

Chernarus.

The name popped up in the news a few weeks ago because of an epidemic or some kind of disaster - a lot people thought it had to be something nuclear, mainly because the name of the country sounded a lot like ‘Chernobyl.’ The level of international concern was about the same as one of those African countries that are constantly in grip of a severe famine or civil war - We feel bad that something terrible is happening, but there’s not a lot anybody is going to do to help a poor country with no oil and little potential as a tourist destination. It didn’t help that hardly anyone could find the place on a map; I knew it was somewhere along Russia’s eastern shore - on the Sea of something-or-other - but that’s about it; more than most people could tell you, I’d wager.

Eventually, the news moved on to other more interesting stories - another politician got caught cheating, a celebrity couple was splitting up, it was really hot today - and we forgot about Chernarus.

A couple of weeks passed; the only news I can recall from that distant corner of the world was about some military exercises the Russian navy was conducting that raised eyebrows in some of the Asian countries, but nothing came of it. I had other things on my mind; I was finally made full-time at the firm where I’d been doing my best to scrape by on 30-hour work weeks for nearly a year. Have you ever contemplated a memory, only to realize that you don’t really remember doing whatever you were doing when your brain absorbed the information - like it just sort of took root in your mind by itself? The human brain is funny that way.

Anyway, to help make ends meet as a part-timer, I took on a number of freelance projects. The last project I would need to take as a freelancer was for a non-profit organization with international ties. The request was for an online database with both an internal and external interface to track the need for humanitarian aid in third-world countries, places that this organization would then try to raise funds for aid and medical mission work.

At the risk of making a sweeping generalization, working for non-profits is usually a pain. They tend to have very limited resources, but require a high level of functionality combined with an equally high-level of abstraction in their online applications. But, a paycheck is a paycheck and the landlord doesn’t care where the money comes from, just that he gets his share of it by the end of the month.

To my surprise, the client was very easy to work with, they even loved the first design revision I submitted - that hardly ever happens. I continued to develop the site, all the while providing daily updates to the client, just to make sure that yes, they really are happy with the way things are progressing and, no, they don’t feel the need to make a “little change” to the underlying data structure. In fact, there was only one change I was asked to make before the site could go live; a single entry had to be purged from the database: Chernarus.

Normally, I wouldn’t give such a request a second thought, but it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard, read or seen anything about Chernarus since it was mentioned in the news a couple of months prior. I googled Chernarus for any recent mentions and came up empty; not a single mention of the country in news articles, blog posts, wikis, or social media that was less than year old.

On a whim, I did a quick search for recent mentions of Russia in the news. Since Chernarus used to be a part of the Soviet Union, I figured there might be some mention of the missing country. The only remotely interesting article I could find involved an American who had gone missing while traveling in the Ural mountains. Just another sad story.

Another couple of days and the project was finally completed; I got paid and treated myself to a night out with my friends to celebrate. On this particular night, we decided to catch a late movie, so it was nearly two in the morning when I arrived home. I hate to admit it, but I’m not as young as I used to be, I can’t pull all-nighters like I did in college just ten years ago (man, has it really been that long?). So I probably looked like some kind of brain-dead zombie staggering through the front door to the unexpected guest sitting in my living room.

It was clear he had been expecting me. He didn’t jump up in surprise or act in any way like I had caught him doing something suspicious. That’s not to say that he was completely at ease; he wore a fearful, hunted look about him - but I wasn’t the one making him nervous.

“Hey man, long time no see.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as my weary, startled mind struggled to put a name to the face.

“Pete? Is that you?” Pete and I had grown up on the same street, we graduated together, then went our separate ways in life. Last I heard - my mother was friends with his mother on Facebook - he was in the CIA.

He nodded, “You look good, life treating you well?”

“Yeah, I guess. You look …” How do you tell someone you haven’t seen in over a decade they look terrible?

Pete picked up on my hesitation. “I’ve been better.”

“What’s going on? Why are you in my apartment?”

“I need a place to lie low for the night,” he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone by the time you wake up.”

“Are you in trouble? Is someone after you?” I asked.

“That’s the problem, I’m not sure,” he sighed, “And if I was sure, it would be too late.” I can only imagine my expression as he said this.

“What do you know about Chernarus?” he asked.

“It was in the news a while back, people were sick or something. And now it’s like it no longer exists.”

Pete nodded, “There’s a reason for that. The country has been quarantined - completely cut off from the rest of the world.”

“The epidemic?”

“Maybe? I didn’t have enough clearance to dig that up, but I do know something heavy is going on in that country and no one is allowed in or out.”

Pieces of memory began to fit together, “the Russian navy - those weren’t military exercises?”

He shook his head, “A blockade. And the US is providing drones to patrol the mountains that separate the two.”

I had a sinking feeling about the answer to my next question. “That wouldn’t include the Urals, would it?”

“You heard about the missing American?”

“Just that he was last seen in the Ural mountains.”

“He was an independent filmmaker, looking to make a documentary about Chernarus.”

“And he was killed?”

Pete shrugged, “All I know is that my team was assigned to go look for him. Before we even leave the states, word comes down from the top that the case is closed and ‘Here’s your next assignment.’ That’s when I started digging.”

“I get the feeling you dug too deep.”

Pete leaned in, his voice low, “People are being sent to Chernarus. Just … bundled up, dropped off and left there.”

“Why?”

“If I knew that, I could blow the whole thing wide open.” he slumped back in the chair, “Right now I’ve got little more credibility than your run-of-the-mill conspiracy nutjob. Assuming I could get to the media, I’d just be spun as an unfit agent with PTSD or some other nonsense.”

“Truth is often stranger than fiction,” I offered, “But to totally cut off an entire country? How can they expect to keep it up?”

“Look at Area 51,” he countered, “No one denies it exists, they just don’t talk about it. And if any of the crazy ideas about what goes on there are accurate, who’s going to know? How do you tell the truth apart from the rest of it?”

By this point, my brain felt like mush. “I’ve got to get some sleep. The couch pulls out and there are blankets in the linen closet.” I got up from where I was sitting and started towards the bedroom, “Assuming this isn’t some crazy dream I’m having, we’ll figure things out tomorrow.”

Pete chuckled, some combination of bitter mirth and weariness, then said, “Good night.”

The next morning, I awoke to an empty house.

The next day, I returned home from work to find someone waiting for me in the driveway. The man flashed a badge - CIA - and asked to speak with me. Despite my uncertainty at the prior night’s encounter, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t given any thought to this scenario during the day. With all the calm nonchalance as I could muster, I invited the man inside and offered him a drink.

I sat where Peter had been waiting for me the night before while the agent sat on the couch and asked me questions about the boy who had grown up down the street from me; if I had managed to stay in contact with him, and if he might have tried to contact me recently.

Finally, the questions stopped and he stood to leave. I noticed that the throw pillow he had been leaning against was upside down, so that the zipper was showing.

“Sorry,” I said, as I flipped it over, “it’s an OCD thing - it really bugs me when people leave couch cushions upside down.”

A strange expression clouded his features for the briefest moment before he shook my hand, thanked me for my time and left.

After seeing him off, I collapsed on the couch with a huge sigh of relief. I had done a pretty good job of keeping it together; I drew comfort in the fact that, even if they suspected that Pete had contacted me - I had done nothing wrong, he was the one they were after.

It was getting late and, since I normally grab dinner right after work, I was starving. I didn’t feel like cooking, so I drove through the nearest fast food joint and made my way back home. Shortly after eating, I performed one last email check for the day and decided to turn in for the night. It’s probably telling of my caffeine consumption that I can knock back a regular-sized soda and go right to sleep - of course, being up most of the night before probably contributed. In just a couple of minutes, I was dead to the world.

My dreams that night were really weird; I experienced sounds and sensations, but couldn’t actually ‘see’ anything - like dreaming with a blindfold over my mind’s eye. It reminded me of the time I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and they put me under.

At different points, I felt like I was being carried or riding in a vehicle. The voices I heard were often hushed or muffled; there were a variety of accents and I think - at least once or twice - I heard someone speaking Russian. Not knowing a single bit of the language, it was hard to be sure.

Have you ever woken up in stages - like, your mind wakes up before your body? You’re lying there, thinking thoughts and being aware of the fact that you are awake, but you can’t move at all? Sleep paralysis, it’s called.

As I lay there, waiting for my body to get with the program, I realized that something was very wrong - I was not laying in my bed at home. I felt a fine, gritty texture against my face and hands and a cool breeze stirring above me; I heard the sound of waves and seagulls a short distance away. I was wearing clothes, but not the shorts and sleeveless t-shirt I usually wear to bed; the outfit I wore was unfamiliar to me. Finally, after a minute or two - which each of which felt like an hour - I realized I could move again.

I jerked myself upright to confirm my fears: I was sitting on a rural beach. Despite the lack of a single recognizable natural feature or landmark by which to orient myself, I knew with cold certainty where I was. Getting to my feet and stretching my aching muscles, I attempted to stop the nagging thought that kept repeating itself in the back of my head by finally giving voice to it, “Welcome to Chernarus.”

Edited August 5, 2012 by kingworks

[Legoroxby 28]

luciola im in love with your story chernarus, PLEASE WRITE MORE

[TheDesigner 1197]

Read the first few paragraphs and had to give you beans. Not even done with it all but so far it's amazing.

[Pvt. Kairis 14]

mm might not be finished though, since was from july 2012 and all three posts made were in this thread...