The name is Frank Zuigvogel. Before the outbreak I was a musician I came to Chernarus to clear my head and escape the booze, the drugs and the rock'n roll. At home I didn't need much and I lived an eazy life I went from gig to gig and made some fun, but the emptiness I felt here at the beginning was so much worse then the empty life I had back home in the Netherlands. I grew up in the countryside where I was so bored that I had to look for adventure. That’s how my interest in music started, because there was nothing else to do on that forgotten piece of land. Anyway... When the withdrawal symptoms started to subside, I finally started to enjoy myself. I started enjoying nature and had nice contact with the locals. I even started writing new songs again and got inspired and I finally started to feel a bit alive again. But then the outbreak started. I remember well when I found it suspiciously quiet on the streets of Svetlojarsk, the place where I had rented a bungelow for six months. Everyone had locked themselves in with the shutters closed. In the beginning I thought it was a cultural thing. I usually had the radio turned off because I didn't understand it anyway and mainly played my guitar so I didn't get everything. I thought this is probably such a siesta or something. But then I saw them ... The biters, the people without a soul, the walking dead. At first I thought they were drunken people strolling down the street, but as I got closer it soon became clear to me that this was not the case. The moment I returned to the bungelow to get my stuff and leave, I saw my neighbor standing at the door. I thought she couldn't get the door open until I saw the bite wound in her neck and blood dripping down her dress. That day I started running and I’m still running ever since. Worst of all, my guitar is still in that bungelow. I loved that guitar man.