((The following is a bare bones backstory which will be fleshed out in the future.))
[After being interned for a few weeks in a camp, Anatoli made his way back to his family's apartment in Saint Petersburg and pinned a note to the door.]
Fuck the government, fuck the Kremlin, rounding people up and killing anyone with even the slightest possibility of being infected!
If some God-forsaken person is reading this, I'm heading south, over the border, and I suggest you do as well. I'd rather die at the hands of a pissed off Chernarussian or one of the risen dead than be slaughtered in the name of internal stability. There are some rations I nicked under the bed in the back room. I wish you well in this hell-hole of a world we live in, now.
[He left, taking the antiquated rifle which his father had taught him how to use when he was a boy, as well as a rucksack filled with canned goods, bottled water, and several boxes of ammunition.]