Survivors

In case you should have forgotten — this is you.

If you’re reading this, congratulations: You are one of the few survivors still roaming South Zagoria. Whether this is due to natural immunity to the infection, sheer willpower, unbelievable luck, or the thickest plot armour known to man, I cannot say.

The infection, as far as my observations have gone, spares around 2 – 5% of those who encounter it. The rest… well, let’s just say they don’t typically sit down to write memoirs. So, rejoice! You are now officially a “survivor” — though I warn you, that title may be revoked at any time by bullet, claw, starvation, or your own questionable decisions (such as being here in the first place.)

Survivors come in every variety imaginable — farmers, soldiers, dreamers, lunatics, and even poets! (yes, I actually met one… Even more brain-dead than the infected.) Some arrive here with nothing but the clothes on their back and a profound misunderstanding of how difficult it is to light a fire in the rain. Others are seasoned survivalists who seem personally offended by the very idea of sleeping in an actual bed.

Your reasons for being here may be noble, practical, or utterly ridiculous (I once met a survivor who said he’d come to build an army of loyal infected through “the power of friendship”) Whatever your reasons may be, remember this: South Zagoria does not care. It will test you, shape you, and sometimes try to swallow you whole.

There are unspoken rules, however. Certain places are neutral — the trader compounds, for example, where even the most barbaric raider will (usually) restrain himself from shooting you in the back. Think of them as watering holes, where we may all briefly pretend we are at least somewhat civilised, before returning to the business of trying to outlive one another.

If you take nothing else from my writing, take this: You will need others. Yes, yes, I know — you might be the lone wolf type, the grim hero, the last of your kind. Trust me, I’ve met dozens like you. They usually end up very hungry, very cold, and eventually very dead.

Find allies, share stories, establish yourself in this world. Your reputation may be your saving grace, or your one-way ticket to a very long dirt-nap.

And should you ever cross my path — perhaps at Kumyrna Traders, or crouched behind a bush, conducting my research — do stop to say hello. I am always looking for new stories. And, if possible, a new pair of boots, please.

— Dr. Yannick Pomochuk