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Server time (UTC): 2020-02-26, 07:17 WE ARE RECRUITING


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  1. *Logen's radio scratches into life, waking him from his fitful slumber* *Logen Listens to the voice and makes a deciscion. He presses the PTT and replies in his soft monotone voice:* "Hello" *Clears throat* "Hello. I have been wondering the North West for days on end. I have seen very few people, and I fear my sanity is starting to slip. I cannot say for certain that I wish a place to call home... however, I could use information and a safe place to hold up for a while" *Logen releases the PTT and goes back to sleep*
  2. Logen listens to the broadcast and sees an opportunity. He presses the PTT. *Hey there stranger. If you need a safe place to stay and some good, honest work to occupy your mind, I've got a little camp set up just north of the NW Airfield* Logen rubs his bandaged shoulder before continuing. *I get a lot of people passing through on their way to Novaya, so I could use a couple of extra hands for the times when I'm not around. If your interested, please respond on this frequency. Stay safe man* Logen releases the PTT.
  3. It all started with the sun shining brightly on the town of Novaya Petrovka, birds were singing, the weather was deceptively mild and I was in a good spirits as I left my farm to go scour the surrounding industrial areas for equipment. I had only been searching for a few minutes, making my way down the main street of town, when I was overwhelmed by infected. Like an idiot I decided to make good use of my CR-527, which inevitably resulted in a systematic slaughter of what felt like all the former inhabitants of Novaya Petrovka. Unfortunately, the infected were the least of my concerns. The sound of gunfire had lured another, far more sinister, predator to my whereabouts. When the infected lay dead and there were no more to shoot, I heard a sound that made my heart skip a beat. Laughter. Now, I’m not talking a throaty, healthy, humorous laugh… I’m talking Kuru. For those of you who don't know what Kuru is - well first of all your ignorance is bliss, trust me - it’s a very rare disease. It is caused by an infectious protein (prion) found in contaminated human brain tissue. To put it simply, Kuru is found among people who practice cannibalism and it makes them laugh like the devil himself. How do I know this? We’ll let's just say I’ve had dealings with cannibals before; not out of any choices I’ve made though, not by a long shot. In any case, I heard the laughter: high pitched, lilting and what can only be described as loony, and sure enough I saw a man come running toward me. Now, I’ve been settled just outside of Novaya Petrovka for a while now, so I know most people in town, yet I had never seen this man before. He kept coming closer. Initially I decided to be open minded and friendly, or as open minded and friendly as a paranoid survivor such as myself can be. I have heard cases of people being forced to eat human flesh, or maybe he was just laughing? I decided to ask him. “Hey man, why are you laughing? Something funny?” For a moment he just stared at me, as if unused to human contact. Thinking back, that short moment of silence was the sweetest sound of my life. But then he started talking, in a slight russian accent - I think, not being an expert in linguistics -. “Ohhh- erhm, my friend told me funny joke”. Yea right, I thought, a lie for sure and a bad one at that. I was getting jumpy. There was something off about the guy, a look in his eyes: flat, cold, lacking humanity. He also wore a scarf over his mouth - not something out of the ordinary - but he seemed to constantly fidget with it, keep it in place. He had something to hide. Between the laughter and the strange mannerisms it didn't take long for me to connect the dots, but by then it was too late. “A funny joke huh? Yeeeea, nah. I’m not buying that one”. It was then I noticed his hands: nails ripped and filthy, dried blood staining them a dark brown. “Why are your hands bloody?” I asked. He was ready for that question. This man (if you can call him a man) had been confronted with his ‘symptombs’ before… he had not been forced to eat anything. “I just slaughter chicken. I have proof, here see my pack”. Proof huh? Strange isn't it, offering up proof when I didn't ask for any. By now I was certain about what he was; but a clever man keeps his cards hidden until the best opportunity to play them. “Hmmmm, keep your proof”. He was walking closer to me, too close, too fast. My guts churned. “Hey man, stay the fuck away”. “What” He said, looking anywhere but at me as he moved closer “I hrave not done anything”. “Nah, you haven't, but stay the fuck away nonetheless”. He didn't listen. In fact he just kept moving closer. Situations like that are difficult to handle. After I got mixed in with the wrong gang I had promised myself not to murder ever again, I was done with that shit, so simply putting a bullet in him was out of the question. I tried to bluff, raising my gun and aiming it straight at him. “Stay. Away. Otherwise things’ll get nasty for the both of us”. He didn't even blink. “Whrat, you want to shoot me?”. “I don't want to, but your not exactly being cooperative”. That was when the hatched appeared in his hand. Fucking magic that, I swear the damn thing solidified out of thin air, thats how fast he pulled it out. “If you're gonna shoot me for no reason, go ahread” He said, still walking toward me. Bluff failed. This bastard had no regard for his own life whatsoever. With plan A down and out I moved on to plan B. I always liked plan B. Plan B is simple: run. So I ran. As fast as I damn well could. But not fast enough. He followed me every step of the way, even getting closer. Cannibal or no, the man could run. Heaving for breath I gave up my flight and turned to confront him once more. “What in the bloody hells do you want?” I asked him “Do you hrave any scissors?”. Fuck no I didn't have any stupid scissors, and I told him as much. Still he wouldnt leave me alone. “Stop following me man!” I shouted “But I want scissors”. Typical: running into the lunatic, scissor-fixated, cannibal. Just typical. Plan B done and out, on to plan C. I hate plan C. Plan C is complicated: negotiate. So I tried. “Hey man, what will it take for you to leave me the fuck alone?”. “Scissors” - could have guessed that one. However, I had a feeling plan C would turn out worse than plan A and B combined so I started working on plan D, E, F straight through to Z. “Right scissors. Yea, got you”. “Do you hrave any scissors?”. “Hmmm, I might have some at my base”. “You hrave scissors at base?”. “Yea maybe, I’m not sure to be honest”. “I need scissors” - yea no kidding. Right, so plan Z was a work-in-progress but I had a basic idea of what I wanted to do: lure this crazy bastard to my base - I have a nice big barn there, I like to call that barn Alcatraz. You might already see where I was going with this. However, at this point we were at the northern outskirts of Novaya Petrovka and I did not feel good about leaving that crazy fucker at my back the entire trip back to my farm, so decided to set up a few conditions. “If we’re gonna get those scissors I have a few conditions, sound fair?”. “What are conditions?”. “You walk in front, I’ll tell you where to go, and you keep that hatched stashed well away, understood?”. “Okhray, okhray”. So we walked, him in front, unarmed (apart from his laugh - which is more scary than any weapon), me behind with gun at the ready. It took a while, but we made our way across Novaya Petrovka and reached my farm just north of the NW Airfield. “Where are scissors?” He asked as we entered my farm. “They’re in that shed over there” I told him, pointing to a big shed that makes up the western section of my farm. I needed him distracted whilst I prepared Alcatraz for a new ‘guest’. “It is locked” He stated flatly as he noticed the thick padlock wrapped around my gate. “Yea, I’ve forgotten the code” I told him, “You’ll need a hacksaw or something”. “I hrave one”. Perfect. “Right, saw it off then, I’ll look for scissors in my barn”. “Okhray, okhray”. He started sawing, I knew it would take time, so I rushed into my barn and started locking all the doors with a bunch of lockpicks I had stored in my pocket. I locked all the doors except for one, by the time the trap was set the man had managed to saw through the padlock on the gate to my shed. He was standing inside, looking into my stash. “No scissors here” He said. “No. There are some in here” I gestured him toward Alcatraz. “Scissors in barn?” He asked. “Yea, top floor on the left”. “Good, good. I need scissors”. I waited for him to ascend the stairs, then rushed out the barn, shut the door with a bang and locked it with my picks. Finally! Now I was in control of the situation. “There are no scissors in barn”. “Yea, no shit. I lied”. “Why you lie to me?”. It was time to play my cards “Because I know what you are”. “What am I?”. “Don’t play games with me. You're a fucking cannibal. I’ve met your type before”. It was then he noticed that he was trapped. “Hrey, why is door locked?”. “Because you’re a sick fuck and you deserve to be locked up for good” I told him with certainty. “You let me out, yes?”. “No”. “I hrave friends” He told me flatly. I very much doubted it, but if there is one universal truth about cannibals, its that they seldom ‘hunt’ alone. “Mabye, but they aren't much use to you right now are they?”. I heard a ‘bleep’. Fuck, he had a radio. “Hrello” I heard him say, his voice muffled slightly by the barn door, “This man hras locked me up in his barn. Just north of the airfield”. A bluff? I thought it was, so I chose to ignore him. “I’m gonna leave you in there for a while” I told him, “you can fittingly spend that time to rethink your life”. I left. I needed help. Leaving a man to starve is the same as killing him with a gun - more or less - and I had promised myself never to murder again. Say one thing for Logen Heeth, say he keeps his promises. Luckily for me I found someone to ask for help. Unluckily for me that person turned out to be a drunken irishman - and a mercenary at that. Typical: running into the lunatic, scissor-fixated, cannibal and a drunken irish mercenary on the same fucking day. Just typical. Anyways, someone was better than no one - drunk or not. Plus, I know the golden rule when dealing with drunk irishmen: talk about booze. So I did. The merc didn't take much convincing. Frankly he seemed too damn drunk to know what the hell was going on, so he followed me back to my farm and the devil lying within. “Soo what the fuck is this cannibal chap ye’ talking about?” Asked the merc. “He’s in my barn” I told him. “In ye’ barn? Why the fuck is he in there?”. “I locked him up” I explained. The merc burped “Well, let the beasty out so we can take a look at him, eh”. I unlocked the barn door, the cannibal was sitting cross legged in the middle of it, as if he'd meant to be locked up all along. “Been thinking about life?” I asked him. He ignored me and turned to the merc. “Do you hrave any scissors?”. “Scissors? The fuck are you on about lad” The drunk irishman seemed profoundly confused. The cannibal got up and did his little magic trick with the hatchet. I backed off. The drunk irishman didn't, he was too busy trying to keep his balance. “Scissors, yes. Do you hrave any scissors?”. “No” stated the merc “Do you have any booze?” he asked in return. I sighed. What a pair. At least it seemed my problems had been solved - the cannibal had found a new playmate. The hatchet wielding psycho walked closer. Now the irishman too started backing off. “Hey man, stay the fuck away” He said in a drunken slurper - deja vu. “Do you hrave any scissors?”. I left them then. Ran as fast as my legs could carry me, I won’t be returning to my farm for some time now. Yet, as I set up a shelter in the woods and fell into a restless sleep I could still hear the voice in my nightmares: “Do you have any scissors?” *** Story is based on a roleplay experience I had earlier today. I swear it was one of the funniest scenarios I’ve ever come across, I was literally crying with laughter when the cannibal guy started chasing the irish guy. Anyways, I hope the story comes across as equally enjoyable in words as it was in-game. Stay safe survivors.
  4. Logen digs out his radio, switches the channel onto the public broadcast, and presses the PTT: *Logen here, Logen Heeth. I’m setting up shop -and designated safe area- just north of the NE Airfield on a little farm a few hundred meters East of the Railway Station by Novaya. Construction is well under way, however, progress would be much faster if I had a few helping hands and a vehicle to aid in the collecting of materials. Basically, eh, this is me asking for assistance. We can discuss payment face to face, just know that I won’t be stingy. If you have a vehicle, or if you just wouldn't mind helping a man in need, please contact me on this frequency: 45.6 I’ll repeat: the frequency is 45.6* Logen releases the PTT and resumes his construction work.
  5. Born into a working class family on the outskirts of Northern London, Logen spent his childhood years getting up to no good; fights with other kids, evil pranks and getting mixed in with the wrong crowd was commonplace. At age 17 Logen's father died in a traffic accident and due to escalating house prices in London the rest of the family moved to Scotland where Logen began attending an internship as a mechanic. At 19 Logen was sentenced to 1 year in prison for selling narcotics: marijuana, cocaine, mdma and morphine. In prison Logen joined a small local gang and learned how to improvise various types for equipment. After his release Logen decided to turn his life around and he tried joining the SAS. He made it past the initial selection but was deemed too disruptive to continue with advanced training. Instead Logen took a hunter’s certificate and became a hunting instructor and guide. For more information, come find me in Chernarus!
  6. Rauer listens to the broadcast and decides to finally ask a question that has been bugging him for some time. He presses the PTT: "Sorry to interupt, but since Lapatino is empty I have no idea where to find a trading post... do you by any chance have an idea as to where I might find a substancial community where I can start my examination?"
  7. Deed nods at all the insults, grinning to himself, banter is a blessing, he thinks as he presses the PTT: "A wise man once said “Small minded people build prisons for themselves and call them castles”... keep your convictions, and your anger, but don't fool yourselves: no one is safe and no one is innocent. All I want to do is make it clear that survival and faith are incompatible; that if someone - anyone - wants to live in this world they'll have to do so by force. It's dog eat dog, the rest is self explanatory… If you want false hopes join The King’s Men, but if you want to live, if you want to see and ending to all of this. Join us!”
  8. Deed laughs to himself and shakes his head, the ceaseless squabbling of those traders is like sweet music to his ears. After he few moments he simply can't resist the temptation and pics up his radio: “Yes, yes… Oleg was it? We’ve already been over all this; we as in me and not you I might add, and despite your increasingly offended behavior I assure you that nothing is personal. Although I hate repeating myself I see little choice: business is business and there are no angels in hell so stop acting all high and mighty… although we did suffer some serious wounds the last job we did that involved you and The Fangs - a pity, but a well paid pity at that”. Deed surprises himself at how much he actually gives a shit about the discussion, what is wrong with me, he thinks with a grim smirk. “In any case” His voice takes on a more sinister note “I sort of miss your company Oleg, such an obedient hostage... heh, how about I pay you a visit some time? No? A shame, I could use some diversion”
  9. Deed is squatted in his tent, sorting through his equipment and trashing all the things he no longer needs. He listens to the radio broadcast half heartedly, more pissed off at being given guard duty when the others are out doing supply runs than what is being said. He grabs the radio and slings his thoughts on the matter into the mix: “Listen, Tortuga is dead. Vybor is safe and The King’s Men shot your uncle. Who cares about petty politics anyways? If you want protection and safety, you should come to Novaya Petrovka and join The Mad Cackle… if you can stomach it of course; we need people with combat experience”
  10. -This User has been cautioned for this post-
  11. Deed smirks to himself as he listens to the radio conversation. He rubs his chin, thinking, then presses the PTT "Well, thats just it isn't it? Where do people go if they want trouble? I can say for sure that not one fucking person alive is trouble free, and from experience I know that the delusion of safety will shatter at one point or another... we arent offering safety, you see, we are offering trade, free of restrictions; be it merchandise or certain... services one should require. There are no angles in hell" Deed nods to himself, then lays down the radio and opens a can of beans with his knife, taking care not to slice of his finger in the process.
  12. Nedrin fumbles his radio into hand, bloody fingers rendering the small metal frame too slippery to easily grasp; after a few moments struggle he manages to hold down the PTT: "My n-name *static* is Nedrin, Nedrin Boyko. If anyone is listening, *static* please help! I’m hold up in Tisy military base, surrounded by walkers *static* that were attracted by my shots as I was fending off a pack of feral wolves-s..." The frequency turns to static for a moment before clearing once more, more audible this time: "I repeat! If anyone is capable of helping I’m hold up in Tisy military base close to the main bunker facility. I’m almost out of food and water sup-sup-plies and I’m in bad shape. For the love of humanity please help!" "My coordinates are 16.31 / 9.94 This frequency is ISO/IEC RF-0004103-7 I repeat: My coordinates are 16.31 / 9.94 This frequency is... ISO/IEC RF-0004103-7 If anyone is listening"… *sigh*.... silence
  13. Deed bursts through the large iron doors to the old industrial block at Vybor, shooting wildly with his glock 19 at the horde of infected following. He breaths heavy as he shouts a series of warnings into his mic: "He's dead! Nedrin's dead, Vybor is-s overrun by walkers and its the only t-thing I can do to hold out. I'm here with another man named Hunt, Lorenzo Hunt and Frank, we are securing the area!"
  14. Deed digs out his radio once more, having escaped the chasing walkers: "His name was Jerin, Jerin Boyko a weaponsmith and armsdealer not to mention my friend. He was in Vybor but 1 day ago, doing supply runs with his buss. If anyone knows I would be greatful for any word of his werabouts"
  15. Deed listens half heartedly to the man speaking on the radio, not caring much for the business proposal, but happy to at least hear a human voice as he sat huddled in the rain all alone. At the mention of Vybor his head snapped up, however, as he remembered the horrors which had occurred there recently. Ever quick to react he grabs hold of his raio to relay a question: “Leatherman” he says urgently through the com “Have you been to Vybor recently? I must know! Is there a man there, wearing mostly green with a high caliber assault rifle dressed in gun wrapping?! Please, I need to know. Also he drives a bus around making deliveries… I must-t know if he lives”
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