The Gray Area

[Courier (DayZ) 10]

I’ve killed to make it this far.

My lesson in survival was meeting a man who destroyed my body with a Makarov pistol and left me for dead in another empty town; my bones were broken and I bled until I passed out. In the black of night I crawled until I found salvation: morphine. And while my wounds healed over time, the scars will never fade.

That man taught me what this world is really like.

The roads aren’t safe. Bandits stalk the highways to forgotten cities looking for their next opportunity; survivors stir in their own paranoia. On the darkest days, flares burn in abandoned villages with messages I can never trust.

Most of what I own belonged to someone else. My backpack has supplies traded in death. The DMR I hold in my hands has a long history – most of it wasn’t written by me. I’ve done a fair amount of trading, and I often think about the fate of the person standing across from me. What's going to happen to them?

What's going to happen to you?

In reality, this is a game for me: unlike so many others I don’t see it as a “social experiment” and the element of “realism” is immediately lost at the mentioning of a zombie apocalypse. Then again, I sit in front of this burning fire in a digital world, thinking about my safety and what tomorrow is going to bring. Survival is harsh, and every thought that runs through my head comes to one single inevitable conclusion:

Eventually I’m going to get mine.

Just by living in this world I have it coming. Maybe I won’t even hear it – maybe it will be another hail of gunfire from a Makarov held by a shooter who this time will finish me off. The next gang of bandits I let pass through my scope could meet me further down the road.

I’ve killed to make it this far. And so has everyone else.

Why is this in the survivor forum? Because to me everything is a gray area. The same fate lies at the end of every road. Perhaps I will use this thread to document my adventure until my upcoming demise.

(Don't panic if you see me. I'm one of the good guys.)

[esaciar 1]

Amazing article. Very insightful and accurate.

[Winged Ninja 0]

Excellent read. I hope to see more from you, sooner rather than later.

[Courier (DayZ) 10]

It’s night time. I’ve just gathered some last minute supplies before retiring into the forest; as I do many times before I log off for the day, I start a campfire for the sheer sake of ambience before I let my character rest.

A new companionship has blossomed on the side channel somewhere in Chernogorsk and I’m fondly reminded of Tom – one of few people I ever traveled with. Our camaraderie was a glimmer of hope in an abyss where backstabbing is second nature: he reminded me that not everyone is out there to get you… and that trust is often a team effort.

He was in and out of consciousness near a village I happened to be by, asking for a blood transfusion on the side channel. I happened to be near him by pure chance – but I didn’t trust him. I told him I was close and could be there in ten minutes if he’d manage that long, but meanwhile I stalked him through the scope of my DMR 300 meters away to see if he was being deceptive.

He wasn’t. Amidst a sea of wandering zombies in a field, he went from a steady crouch to unconscious. He needed help.

Neither of us carried blood packs but I had raw meat; I had him cook it himself for assurance he wasn’t going to turn on me. I still didn’t trust Tom. Another man I put one ounce of extra faith into was the man I caught stealing from my backpack while I checked my map – he was also the man who died in the field he stood on, abandoned between two rolls of hay with a 7.62 slug in his ribcage.

Tom passed up many opportunities to kill me. When he asked me to venture with him to the next town in search of supplies – we were both running low – I agreed. After that trip, we’d have to part ways and if fate worked in our favor we’d be able to help each other again. Odds are that wouldn’t happen: but that’s the way this works.

In the end, we all walk alone.

It was dusk when I found Tom; night came when we reached our next town. Dead zombies were spread across the outskirts and particular loot spots we were certain would have items of interest simply weren’t meeting our expectations. I didn’t trust Tom enough to carry on to another town with him – if we found nothing, then that was it. I’d be gone.

I found a lit chemlight in a house and that alerts me to one thing: someone was here and they wanted just enough light without being seen. They were being careful. Could be friendly, but that didn’t make a difference – two people working together is intimidating and someone with an automatic weapon might panic.

I let Tom know of my suspicions. Outside looked clear. Best case scenario the chemlight was moments away from being burned out and our wandering friend – or maybe friends – had already departed for another raid on the next town over.

We found a supermarket and I saw the back doors were closed. Tom and I mutually understood we weren’t going to pass up an opportunity for supplies however our strategy was going to have to change because, if we were ambushed in close quarters, there was a much higher chance of one of us shooting each other in the back rather than our assailant hitting his mark.

Tom suggested he go in first. I let him. He opened the door, cleared the back room and let me know it was clear. I shuffled in, saw there was less loot. I brandished my revolver in anticipation for close quarter combat and Tom alerted me that he was moving into the front room.

Something dawned on me: I trusted Tom. I dipped out of my way to help him when he needed it the most – a selfless act I’m not known for when on the move. He was now putting himself on the line for me not just as a thank you but because out companionship has grown so strong in the past 30 minutes that we had a mutual appreciation for one another. Tom was, I decided – and should he be up for it – the one I was going to travel with.

Maybe – just maybe – we walk together sometimes.

The M4A3 shots came from outside and killed him instantly. The shooter fired on full auto and I heard more stray rounds bury themselves in the supermarket walls than flesh: Tom fell behind the counter before he realized what happened, the victim of a headshot, and the harshness of reality couldn’t be any clearer. My new friend was dead.

I rolled away from the door. A flare landed next to me. The killer leaned in and I fired first – I hit his chest, and as he barreled backwards I was up and got him in the back. He fell unconscious – like how I found Tom. I secured the room, reloaded.

And then I shot him with a coup de grâce to the head.

Without taking chances, I only took his M4 and bolted for the back door into the night – but not because I needed it. I discarded it in the woods should he have an accomplice that would want to use it to come after me. If there was someone else, he would’ve found Tom’s corpse with nothing on it… someone low on blood, a character who survived for weeks with limited equipment that made a new reputation for himself by helping other characters.

A guy who claimed to me he had no murders against his name in all that time. I believed him.

It’s a game. It’s not real. But I think about Tom sometimes when I roam Chernarus. I try and hope the people I meet on the road are like him, and while some are – most aren’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t give survivors the trust they need, not deserve.

When I set in front of these campfires – cooking or resting before I log off – I think about a lot of things. I think about the wrongdoings of others here and my misgivings as well – but mostly the events that have defined me so far. This is one of them.

Here’s to Tom.

[Alphawild 0]

R.I.P. Tom

[FredGavioes 0]

excellent read!!!!!! You should write a book, RIP TOM

[Reaper (DayZ) 2]

Awesome read, R.I.P Tom, your selflessness saved the life of Courier and he lives to tell your tale.

[Trout (DayZ) 67]

Great read Courier. Well played (in game) and well played (in the forums).

Will be looking for more of your story here.

[SilverWolf4 12]

Very well written :)

[S.J.Lodge 0]

Keep it up man. Great reads.

[Courier (DayZ) 10]

I haven’t been to the coast in a long time. I remember walking the beaches and listening to their waves; now it’s just the fog engulfed mountains of Chernarus, lost in another woodland area just off a main road plotting my next move at survival. How many more do I have left?

There’s still horror stories coming out of the cities. No room for structure, organization – not even a bandit is safe. I know their streets well, but not in this reality. Is it worth going back?

I remember reaching the coast for the first time after so long. The sun was rising and I looked out at the endless oceans; limitless horizons. Somehow, compared to the rest of Chernarus, compared to the plains I’d been stalking and the forests I’ve been hiking, I felt safe here. I’ve always known about the naïve staying on the beachfronts, but then again I have to ask myself: is anywhere really safe anymore?

I’m brisking down the seaside thinking about the developments of structured survivor groups. People want trust again; they want companions. They want areas they can walk into knowing help will be waiting. Safety in numbers is the point they try to sell, but then I think it only takes one man to destroy an empire – and I lose hope again. Alone on this beach, I think I stand a better chance than any group ever will.

Every man for himself.

Elektrozavodsk is in ruins. It’s not the debris and overgrowth that I expected that grabs my attention: it’s the bodies. It’s the gunfire in the distance. All of the corpses are barren – the backpacks I see are light. These are innocent wanderers, people picked off sport. I’m sure some are bandits looking for their next thrill and I realize I’ve cut down my chance of survival just by lingering along the outskirts.

No one here stands a chance.

Two survivors are behind a building talking in direct chat. They don’t know I can hear them. This all new for them, and they discuss how they’re going to scavenge the area for supplies. Welcome to Chernarus – you won’t last a minute.

It was my time to leave. I checked my stock, and on my way out of the city sniper fire erupts. It might’ve hit someone; maybe the targets got lucky. The thought of it being the two survivors crossed my mind and as I broke out of the city limits I thought if someone gave them the right equipment and a hand they’d have a better chance. It’s not what you have, but how you use it – unfortunately the person who teaches them isn’t going to be me.

Every man for himself.

Back on the coast, the sun is up higher. The day looks clear. I think about the two survivors again and wonder about their fate – if they keep going, they’ll get a hang of things in time. I wonder if someone out there deserves a head start – don’t we all?

Before I make a run for the forest, I take the M1911 with two magazines I’ve been lugging around out of my backpack and leave it in the sand. Hopefully it will fall into the right hands.

[esaciar 1]

I am an avid "Total War" gamer. On our forums, we have an After Action Report thread section where we can write novels, diaries, letters and the likes of our exploits from a first or third person perspective, usually in role.

I contribute enthusiastically there, but I always adored a writer called "Skantarios" who could weave a majestic tale and evoke such wonder.

You, Courier, have enraptured me quite the same.

Excellent storytelling.

[dallas 5195]

The stories we tell to justify our actions, to live on and the name Courier, I like that too.

[Courier (DayZ) 10]

Thanks for that, esaciar, and thanks for the PM earlier as well. If such a forum is created (I think we need one, really) I'd like to see this thread moved there.

[ericdude88 20]

Great read courier, I love how immersed you are into the game. I love how you bring out all these psychological aspects and interesting perspectives that I had never thought about when I hear gunshots in cities or when I meet survivors. Keep it up.

[Arkaddy 4]

Keep it coming. You have a great talent!

[FredGavioes 0]

that was awesome. it is what i read before goin to bed. gl keep fighting the good fight

[Publik 404]

Good name for the off-the-map areas in the N and W. The Gray. I like it :D

[SilentKilla78 0]

I can't tell if people on Australian servers are nicer, or if I'm just lucky, but after hearing so much about everyone.being untrustworthy and just lying and murdering, I've teamed.up with.people 10 times (asked if people were.near.the.area. for example, or helping someone out), and only 3 times have I died from it. Once from zombies, once from a bandit sniper and once because I was a noob and I was annoying them. I like always putting my trust out, because most times I have fun, and if I die, oh well, I just find gear again :)

[Courier (DayZ) 10]

I don’t look at my map anymore. I stopped a long time ago: what’s the point? These roads all lead to the same place. Sometimes I lie to myself, say there’s salvation hiding somewhere. That’s probably something different for all of us: but what’s mine?

Sometimes I wander through the forest looking for an answer. I climb the highest peaks and observe the terrain from rocky ledges; on the darkest nights I see flares burning like red oases across the decaying valley. Everyone searching for something, finding nothing. I always feel like something is coming… but I don’t know what it is.

I remember the coast for the first time. I raided through the mist looking for my first salvation: food. My second was a gun. My third was a bigger one. What do I have now? What’s left?

Death is coming for me. It’s coming for all of us – but that’s not the answer. Death will find me. In the meantime I’m going to be here for a while longer… and I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of development in this dead country. A lot of new things introduced, unity between survivors – and the bandits.

I still wonder how it’s going to happen. Probably won’t be the undead; I hope I see it coming. I hope I get a look at my killer. I’ll just become another God damn statistic in this foggy hell, and he’ll follow soon after.

I'm looking at my DMR wondering who is going to use it next. My food – will I be the one eating it? My hatchet – who will be using it to harvest wood?

I’m a survivor. I want to live long enough to find my salvation.

It’s too bad this fucked up world doesn’t agree with me.

[lastkossack 2]

RIP Tom, im going to continue the reading later, nice job :D

[Courier (DayZ) 10]

My goal here is to live as long as possible. I haven't died since I started DayZ when it came out. When it eventually happens, I may never return - but not out of anger. It's a principle thing.

Edit: I quote a post here, one of the last on the previous page, about starting over happily after dying. The quote hasn't showed up for me.

[FredGavioes 0]

Nice entry, may you live 4ever!!

[Courier (DayZ) 10]

I’m in a building in some town. Haven’t paid attention to where I’ve been going; these aren’t my usual stomping grounds. I hear footsteps, then someone is audibly speaking to me.

“Friendly?” he asks.

“As friendly as I need to be,” I say. “Point that gun somewhere else.”

I sidestep into the next room and he follows me. My body never leaves his crosshairs.

“Get that fucking gun out of my face,” I growl.

“I know your stories,” he says.

His gun is still trained on me. I know these rooms: he’s standing in the only way out. When I squeeze my trigger three times, he shouts that he’s friendly as he goes down.

I checked his pulse; still going. A while back the guilt would’ve dawned on me – I’d think about how someone left me like that, helpless and broken in a town that already wanted me dead. I know my inventory well: I have morphine and meat, I can leave it for this guy and have him up on his feet in no time. He’ll learn.

I kill him instead. It’s chalked up as a murder but I don’t see it that way: just another victim of the gray area.

Later in the forest, I wonder just how far these little campfire tales I tell about myself have gone. I’m facing a dilemma about that guy: was he going to shoot me because I knew who I was? Was he going to let me go? What is everyone else thinking?

Maybe I should feel bad. I know regret – that’s a feeling I’ll never forget. I think about who I used to be, what I’m becoming, my cynicism, my views, my morbidity – I think about it all. I think about how that guy may’ve traded with me and when he’s graced with another story of mine he can tell the people next to him that he met me once, that I’m trustworthy.

It’s over. Fuck that guy. He shouldn’t have pointed his gun at me.

I’m about to venture into town again. What will the gray area bring me now? Who is out there?

[Courier (DayZ) 10]

Back then, I’d do a lot for good gear.

Seemed to me that carrying a powerful gun was just as crucial to your survival as having food; and we’re not talking crossbows and Winchester shotguns. You need a piece capable of putting someone down in two shots – no exceptions. Anything less and you’ll find your intestines ground into hamburger by the next bandit you bump into on the highway.

Post obtaining a DMR, I’ve mostly retired to the outskirts of small towns and their surrounding forests, watching the world fade away quietly knowing I have the means to survive. But some time ago, it wasn’t like this: like so many other survivors I had bad luck when it came to finding military loot in all the known hotspots. God doesn’t live in this country – the Devil was giving me all the wrong cards.

Some time ago I came across a small group of hard-knocks gathering recruits to liberate Stary Sobor from a couple bandits. They’d already lost one of their own – kid took sniper fire to his face. They were pissed, but most of all: they were excited. Thrill seekers, cowboys fresh out of Chernogorsk. They asked if I wanted to join them.

Standing there in the rain, I could’ve walked away. I’d only just recovered from the 9mm slugs that perforated my insides; my blood levels were almost back to normal. I could see in color again. I didn’t want my life back on the line but I wanted the gear – and this raider gang was my best shot at getting in and out of Stary Sobor quickly.

And alive.

We had a mutual understanding that I’d fight with them – but then I’d be gone. I still benefited from being treated as one of their own: they gave me a M1911 and fed me meat to fully restore my blood. If I got gunned down, someone would be there. I felt looked after.

I still don’t know how many bandits were in Stary Sobor. Two at least, maybe even up to four – and thinking back, that should’ve been enough incentive to drop out. The thought crossed my mind at the time but fuck it: I reassured myself I had nothing to live for. We’re all going to die soon, anyway.

My mentality is a lot different now.

I carried a Lee Enfield in those days. One shot is all that thing needed to put someone down in the dirt – in a lot of ways, I miss that rifle. Me and my new militia decided distant combat wouldn’t effective: I’d have to help take these guys down up close.

We stormed the town. I spent a lot of that action in the dirt. I was part of the front line: running as fast as I could knowing that if someone had me in their sights from a rooftop that they had the upper hand and if they wanted me dead – they could do it. One of our own got shot down instantly. The ground exploded in front of me. Someone threw a smoke grenade.

I didn’t kill anyone. Maybe those bandits didn’t deserve to die – they had guts. It takes a ballsy crew to decide to take over a military town at their own whim and send the big fuck you to intruders in the form of gunfire. Too bad these guys pissed off the wrong people: by the end of it, we had the upper hand, and killed most of them.

I’d imagine one of them was hiding, maybe another fled. We won, but not by much – our numbers were reduced and several (including myself) took a few shots on the way in. Nothing morphine can’t fix: been there, done that. I’ll do it again, too.

No one found any loot in Stary Sobor. Maybe we didn’t look hard enough – but all I remember was the sheer realization that I risked my life for nothing. Those guys, my temporary friends face down in the dirt with bullets nestled comfortably in their chests – they died for nothing. Those bandits were holding down a dead town that didn’t have anything to offer.

I look at these gangs now wondering what they’re trying to achieve. Can they pull it off? A lot of hotheads are teaming up to cleanse Chernarus from the infection worse than the zombies themselves: bandits.

What happens when they fail? If they succeed… what next?

I had more hope back then. Times change. It’s just me, myself and I out here. No one else.

That M1911 they gave me was the one I’d end up leaving on some beach. It had some history: I hope someone is using it wisely.