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Server time: 2018-06-23, 21:27


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133 h Cherno Russian

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  1. *Anton holds down the PTT* " Bad people can strive up in the airfield. I know there are some tents down in Grishino, abandoned I think, but I highly advise that you don't set up a camp in the middle of the airbase. " *Static buzzes over the radio, then fading.* "I have to go, but for the love of god, don't set up a camp in the airfield, you'll regret it highly, friend." *Anton's laughing was heard over the eventual release of the PTT*
  2. The sound of a guitar being strummed was heard faintly over the radio, accompanied by static. It was a rough cover of "Hurt," by Johnny Cash. "I hurt myself toda-" Static blew over the radio, louder, then fading again. The voice had an odd accent, difficult to distinguish, but most likely Russian. The voice reentered the radio channel, the singing had stopped, the guitar too. "I am looking for someone. Marie, if you can hear me, respond, please! Any information on a ' Marie ' would be greatly appreciated!" The voice didn't sound extremely distressed, but relatively calm. The speaker was obviously seeking help, looking for anyone he could familiarise, especially a "Marie." Static once again hit the radio, then fading, the same song, instrumental, of Johnny Cash's "Hurt," The frequency finalised, the signal going quiet.
  3. Vaetherium

    Anarchy's Summit.


    Wait, what time will it be in BST?
  4. Vaetherium

    Anarchy's Summit.


    is it the tower part of green mountain or what
  5. Anton was nothing but a mere truck driver before the major wave of infected struck Chernarus. After a while of transporting regular grocery needs across Chernarus, he began to pick up black bags repeatedly, and were only to be handled by men in white suits, which made Anton a bit on edge. He had to use a special container, which was heavier and seemingly a lot more military-like than his usual ones. The number of bags gradually grew over the coming weeks, yet he began to grow aware of the actual reason, of what was truly happening, and what was a kept secret, now exposed. Some sort of infection had spread, and it was seemingly turning people mad, and/or killing them. The military had apparently quarantined off many towns and villages across Chernarus, and more were to come. One day, while driving with his dog "Ruskie," with a military escort on his tail, he drove towards Chernogorsk, as to pick up a large quantity of supplies for a nearby quarantined zone which still had the living contained. Anton suspected that he'd probably be picking up bodies instead, if not both supplies and bodies, either way he knew Chernogorsk wasn't safe. As his advanced, he stopped having seen a large crowd about 100 metres up the road. His escort went off to investigate, yet did not come back. A loud scurry of gunshots had sounded, and screams and seemingly a chorus of groans. He spotted the military official running back, weapon in arm, limping towards the truck. Anton opened the door, allowing him access, and without the order, drove in the opposite way of Chernogorsk, inland, looking for a military camp. An hour or two into the journey, the official had fallen into a silent sleep, allowing Anton some time to himself and his dog. They went over a speedbump at a surprising speed, waking up the official, who screamed a hellish, blood curdling scream. It leapt towards Anton, attempting to grab him and seemingly bite him.. Luckily, Anton's dog Ruskie lept into action, as Anton pulled over. As Anton parked, he lept out of the truck, and forced the official out. Anton grabbed the official's rifle, noticing that he was mad, almost cannibalistic. In a flash, Ruskie yelped, as a large gush of blood began to flow from her underside. Anton noticed this, being in a flush of rage for his single supportive companion, levelled the military tier rifle, unloading one seemingly heavy round into the skull of the undead escort. As the bloody corpse of the escort lay squirming, so did Ruskie's. Anton nodded to his beloved dog, as she would slowly writhe and squirm on the spot, staring at her own beloved father, up at the barrel of a rifle. Knowing not if this infection had any toll on wildlife, Anton wanted take no bets, and pulled the trigger. *SEVERAL WEEKS LATER* As Anton walked down unkempt road, covered in leaves and gradually beginning to become with grass and roots, two people called him. "Hey!" a voice sounded "Hey you, over here!" Anton spun around, noticing two figures about 50 metres away. Having not seen a "human" face since the escort, Anton rapidly made his way towards the two figures, hoping that they were friendly and that he could trade supplies and hopefully even form an alliance, and a group of sorts. "Hello there!" Anton called in return, now facing two men. They exchanged smalltalk and supplies, and had agreed to form an alliance and to roll with eachother temporarily, as it was better to wander in numbers. "What's your name by the way, Russian?" "My name is Ant- " Anton stopped in his tracks, momentarily thinking, nobody knew who he was, he could change his name, he could be anyone. Yes. He knew who he could be. Someone very special to him, someone be loved and cared for. Someone who is always truly at his side. "My name is Ruskie, friend. Ruskie Truce."
  6. Born in England, he was raised with a strong military presence. Both parents having been in the military, he himself was expected to enlist one day, and that is what he did. Once the outbreak broke out, "Mike" was dispatched, alongside US and Russian forces to control the last surviving locations in Russia, not yet flattened by either military, or undead presence. His unit was overwhelmed by a large horde of undead, therefore allowing him the opportunity to escape. He was working in a small town, alongside an American unit, alongside his own, smaller, British unit. They ultimately worked together, somewhat in harmony, until the horde came. Mike was one of the few survivors, and was set out to look for friends, or anyone friendly enough to become a friend. He was given the nickname "V" by an old friend, not a particularly good story, however a decent one. Michael often wore shirts with a light V-neck, nad on hot summer days, a small V was usually imprinted due to the sun, burning a V into his neck, essentially.
  7. Hey, I've been wondering, do I have to put on the correct accent for my character? I live in Britain, however my current character lived in the US, and served in the US military. I've been using my normal " jolly-'ol " english accent for him for a while now, just want to know if that's actually alright?
  8. I was born in America, I can't even remember when. I enlisted myself into the military, and was placed into the marines. My friends said that I'm "humble, witty, loyal, and perhaps a little too bewildered. But this is all just a facade, a mechanism to deal with my position." They always used this to piss me off, as I wasn't much of an intellectual myself. I hardly understood a word they said. But I loved them, as close as family. I was born in a middle class family in a normal capital. I lived comfortably until I was about 19 years old, but at that point things changed. I did volunteering work and was becoming more cultured. With amazing, new friends, I was venturing out in a weird world. But with my curiosity and talents, there's nothing to stop me from fulfilling all dreams. I could quickly become a force to be reckoned with. When that hell hole all went to shit, I was sent out. I was forced to go out, and protect that.. Elektro place from those fucking infected assholes. They killed so many of us, made them us, got news that home was down to shit. I couldn't process all of this. My squad was sent out on a patrol, killed a few of those, walking dead things. Lost one of our own, as well. After what felt like a fucking eternity, we returned to our main base of operations. Nothing. Everyone was dead, the place was swarmed with those.. those fuckers! I couldn't handle this! I unclipped a grenade from my kit, pulled out the pin, and threw it at the fucking lot of them. Killed a few, attracted a fuck tonne more. We had to go. Had no idea of where any of the other squads were, or other positions. We were alone, no command, nothing. Several weeks later, we had nothing. We went out in a humvee, and had to ditch it three days after we left. Took up camp in a farmhouse after that, got overrun. So did a fucking school, police station and fucking airfield. We met a group of.. living people. They weren't nice. They had a fuck tonne more guns, and fighters than we did. Weren't that fucking friendly either.. took us as prisoners, fed us well, though. But treated us like fucking dogs. I had enough. I had two others left in my squad, so we thought "Fuck it." We, somehow, escaped. I don't remember. I think the private had some sort of knife, or something. Because he slit the fucking guard's throat with something. Like in those old comics, or cartoons, he took the keys, and unlocked the door of the "Cell," which was more like a fucking zoo enclosure. We found the armory, for some reason, had no one guarding it. It was also unlocked, fucking surprised. There were several automatic rifles in there, several .308s, 5.56s, and shit like that. Also a big fucking load of grenades, and gas cans, and I mean a fucking BIG load. We took what we could, clothing, armor, weapons, and hardly any grenades. We then heard several gunshots outside, and yelling. The private stepped outside of the armory, and looked for a window. He said he found a balcony, and saw the courtyard of this fucking base. It was under "siege," by a horde of those, zombie things, and that the survivor's forces were strongly diminished. We knew this was our chance. I grabbed a lighter off of that guard that the Private killed, and set ourselves up near the closest exit. The Private cut open one of the gas cans, and poured the gas all over the ground. All of us, then realised, we wouldn't have time to run, if we set it off there. One of us had to stay. The Private fucking did. He was.. I don't fucking know.. 20? Both me and the Corporal didn't want him to, but he persuaded us. We fucking knew what had to be done. The Corporal and I said our last goodbyes, and ran. As fast as we possibly could. Through a back entrance that we were led through. We still heard the gunshots and yelling, but the growls grew louder. We reached the rear entrance, and barged out. Unlocked, confusingly. Without hesitation, we ran, as fast as we could, we saw a building in the distance, and set course for it. Then, out of nowhere, the Corporal fell, as I heard a zip, and then, a gunshot. I turned back, to look at him, and then up at the base, there must of been some sort of sniper up there, that took him down. He told me to go, knowing that he meant it, I did. I didn't look back, but I heard another 'Zip', and a shot, and then a groan. He was dead. I started to wonder if someone had found the Private, and he was not going to set the gasoline off, but I was wrong. As soon as I thought this, the ground fucking jumped up. I turned back, and all I saw, was a fucking fireball, several explosions occuring, even after the main one. There must of been a stock of artillery shells, or something. I doubt these people were just, lowly "Bandits.." The force was unbelieveable, it knocked me off my feet, as if it was a fucking nuclear explosion. I hit the ground with such force, I think I must of been sent unconcious. I woke up. Dazed, tired, feeling like shit, wearing nothing but a few clothing items. No armor, no guns, nothing. My best guess, is that I was looted while I was out. I couldn't of been out for long though, as I hadn't starved or anything.. obviously. I stood up, and looked at the smoking base. "No," I thought to myself. "No, it hasn't been long." Realising, that there was no reason to head back, I turned in the opposite direction. I looked at the building I saw, and saw no hope. I then, saw a road on the far left of the hill, with the building. And I walked towards that. I walked towards a road, and I'm still walking..