THESE ARE THE END TIMES.
THERE WAS NO HOPE OF SURVIVAL.
THIS IS HOW YOU DIED.
These are the first words you see before you're thrust into the world of Project Zomboid, so it would only be fair to tell you the story of how I died. I suppose I'm dying as I tell you this? If so, shut up and read. It'd be rude not to.
I woke one morning, in the bathroom, and drank from the shower. Not really sure why, I just felt compelled to. I considered slurping some toilet water, but decided against it and left my bathroom. Not sure why I slept in there, either, but I was still alive. So f**k it, doesn't matter.
I looked around my kitchen and decided I could no longer stay. Supplies were limited, and my dwindling resources would only get worse. So, after a quick raid of the cabinets, I was on my way. Armed with only pickles and beef jerky, I crept through the wooded plains of Kansas. Oh yeah, it was in Kansas.
I'm going to f**king die in Kansas.
Every so often I would see herds of zombies (zomboids?) shuffling through the woods or on the city streets, and while one or two would attempt to give chase, they were slow shuffling meatbags that I quickly outpaced. I assume they got bored or just ran into trees, but when I arrived at the Country Market convienience store, I stopped to check the path I had taken. No zombies had followed.
F**k it. Time to raid the store.
There was nothing in the store except a jar of mayonnaise. It was half eaten.
As I stared in confusion at the jar, I heard a voice from outside. "Hey!" it called, "Over here!" it continued. I looked, surprised to see another human. Hey, the text said this was how -I- died, didn't expect I'd have to share my dying spotlight with some other jerk. He climbed through the broken window of the store and cut his hand open on the glass.
I laughed at him, and then shouted in surprise as he'd led a zombie directly into the store, shambling through the window after him. We both fled out of a window opposite the entrance it arrived, where I proceeded to cut my hand on escape. Why did karma always screw me? When we had cleared the zombies, we exchanged. . . something akin to pleasantries. He was a lumberjack, though his name isn't important. This is my story, screw you.
We decided to stick together, to find tweezers. You wouldn't believe how difficult it was to find tweezers. Instead of tweezers, sick of that word yet?, we found a third person to join our parade of misfortune; Billy Mays. At least, he kept saying "BILLY MAYS HERE! WITH..." before any actual sentence.
Good to know the zombie apocalypse happened circa 2008.
A short time later, he'd found a home to call our safehouse. It was secluded, mostly free of zombies, and all the windows were boarded; meaning the dead couldn't see in. We'd found our new home. Alas, tragedy struck mere minutes after we settled in.
Dexter the Lumberjack wasn't happy. He demanded to know why I would put my food in my bedside cabinet instead of in the fridge. "It spoils that way!" he said, "All this is rotten now!"
I munched on a stick of butter while glaring daggers into him. And then I ate a second. He wouldn't stop mouthing off, so while shirtless (oh yeah, Billy Mays had taken his shirt off at some point and was rushing around the town showing off his self-described 'beautiful chest hair') Billy Mays was out. . . I attacked Dexter.
Being a lumberjack he was pretty fit, but my sneak attack gave me the upper hand, helping me win the duel in the end. I stood over his dead body, satisfied, as I looted his corpse.
I mean this literally. I looted his corpse. I put his body in our fridge, on the top shelf. I didn't want it to rot. He laid right next to my jar of pickles, when I noticed a rotting, dead mouse in his shirt pocket.
Waste not, want not, right?
I flipped the oven on and tossed the rotting carcass in. Shirtless Billy Mays returned around this time, and I asked him to get a Leek from the fridge to help with the meal. For some reason he screamed and called me "disgusting" as he stormed out of the house. He left the fridge door open.
Seriously, what'd I do?
The smell of the cooked rat meat was delicious, I can't describe anything like it. By the time I pulled the baking tray out of the oven, I was salivating at the taste. Without hesitation, I bit into the charred fur. And then I took another bite. I ate it all in one sitting; organs, spine, fur and all, though I feel this angered a passerby who happened to barge in, shouting obscenities at me. His name was. . . eh. . . I don't know. I think he was Dexter's brother.
We broke out in a fight, where neither of us would give in. This was my land, he'd have to earn it.
We both died.
Choking and sputtering as I bled out, I wasn't sure if I was laying in my blood or his. Shirtless Billy Mays must have heard the cries of battle, as he returned one final time to ease me in to the next life.
"You guys are both f**king idiots."