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Jakben

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  1. I don’t even know if there’s anyone listening out there but if there is then I may as well introduce myself. Name’s Jack and my journey to Nyheim has changed my life more than I ever thought it could. My story starts in the Northwoods of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Ever since I was a boy, it’s been just my father and I. An avid outdoorsman and survivalist, he would always talk about life before this godforsaken virus hit. He was a recluse, spending most of his time hunting and fishing to provide for my late mother and only going to town to buy whatever liquor he could with the few dollars he could scrounge up. My mother was taken from us when I was just a teenager and I never really had the chance to learn what happened. My father, stricken with grief, could never muster up the courage to talk about it. I assume it’s just another classic story of this damn virus taking another life. Despite my father’s vices, he provided me with the knowledge to survive. I was brought up learning the ways of mother earth. My father taught me to hunt, fish, forage for food and herbs, and most importantly: how to shoot. I spent most of my years traveling the northwoods and trading fish, meat, and pelts with settlements in exchange for gear and news. There was one settlement we were fond of: Baraga, established on the shore of Lake Superior and most importantly, where I was born. We would travel here often, having a close relationship with the community… until it took a turn for the worst. The year was 2070. We were out on a two week hunting trip, hunting deer and moose like we always do. We successfully harvested plenty to bring back to Baraga and headed back. Once we got near, we noticed it was eerily quiet until we started hearing the faint groans and growls of the infected. We knew right there, like other settlements, Baraga had fallen to the virus. After hours of fighting off these monsters we heard a large horn go off and looked to the coast to see an old Iron Ore freighter docked down the shoreline. We grew cautious and approached carefully. Out of nowhere, I heard a loud POP and watched my father fall to the ground. Then footsteps, and then blackness. I woke up later on in a small dark and dank room with a tiny window looking over the endless ocean. I didn’t even know how much time had passed. Hour’s? Day’s? It was obvious we were headed through the rest of the great lakes out to the Atlantic. Here I sat, stuck in this room, hearing only the faint whisper of other men outside speaking in a language I could not understand. Occasionally a man wearing a black ski mask would come in and drop off food. It was always stale bread and dried meat. What were they doing near my home? Where were they taking me? Why did they let me live and not my father? In this chaotic world of mystery, I never had a chance to learn the answers to these questions. Eventually we docked at an old run down port and I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I looked at the old hatch door to the room and saw the crank turn. A man came in, shoved a bag over my head, then guided me outside. I felt the cold snap of wintery air and soon enough we were walking. Miles? Hours? All I remember was the word Nyheim standing out amongst these mysterious men’s conversations. I soon figured out that Nyheim must be the place we arrived. After a while I heard a loud crack of a gunshot, then more, until I realized we were being ambushed. During the chaos, I managed to free the bag from my head and look around and run from the chaos. I saw a horde of infected people surrounding us and saw a crack in the group and escaped. I ran and ran until I was clear of the situation. This is where my old story ended and a new story will unfold. I was lost in the woods, feeling at home in a new world. I had embarked upon a new journey of which I did not choose. Will I see a friendly face or will I wake up to a barrel pointed in mine?
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