Unfortunately, I am unable to play this game without lag due to my laptop's processor power, so I've been watching videos. Wherein, I may not be up to snuff on the details, I have the wikia open and a head full of ideas, so I figured I'd give it a try.
I asked support to make an actual category for ArmaII, so this is in Misc. Games until it's made.
The survivor ran as fast as he could, breaking the tree line and entering the field. He turned and glared down the sight of his shaking pistol. His vision wavered between focused aim and blurred colors.
The walker broke into view and he fired twice, the first missing completely, and the second enough to drop it.
He lowered the pistol and sighed before collapsing to one knee, sweat dropping off his thin beard. He slung his backpack down and frantically searched for a bandage, watching nervously as he applied it.
Tired from running, he stood and took a moment to catch his breath.
There was a pew sound as the dirt at his feet exploded in a flurry of dust. He remarked on it curiously until he heard the crack of the rifle.
Not bothering to look for the shooter, he grabbed his bag and began running for the barn across the clearing.
"Miss. Clear shot," said the shooter while working the bolt to chamber another round.
The man next to him tapped his left shoulder, then his right to inform him he was moving to his other side.
"Range is…" he began while looking through the opening in their nest with a rangefinder, "Four-hundred and climbing."
The shooter adjusted his scope and followed the runner with the reticule, "He's gonna hide."
He reloaded while he ran, tucking his empty magazine into his belt. Upon reaching the barn, he quickly entered and closed the doors.
Breathing heavily, he stepped back and allowed a nervous laugh to escape him while he fumbled for his flashlight.
He shined the beam over the door, making sure the hinges were in good condition. He turned as the light illuminated everything, freezing when he seen what was behind him.
The red eyes of the dead flashed in the light as the flock slowly turned, as if surprised by the intrusion.
His mouth hung open, neither of them moving. He gulped and turned off the light.
Through the scope, the shooter seen the flash of the pistol firing as the wind carried the faint sound of screaming, growling, and gunfire.
He looked up from his scope, "He's done."
"Damn," the scouter said with a shake of his head, "Could've used those supplies."
"Recon one, this is base. Any sign of Alpha?" a voice asked over their Comm. Link.
"Negative, couple of bambi's and a few walkers." he replied, slinging his rifle and pressing the button on his glove.
"Understood. Return to base."
"Alright," he said, turning to his scouter who was destroying the evidence of their nest.
"Jules, we're clear."
He nodded and they began their trek back home.
[][][]
[][DayZ][]
[][Reaper Of The Wastes Ch1: The Wayfaring Stranger][]
[][][]
She sat at the table, still fuming over the conversation with the overseer.
'We didn't survive a year by fighting,' her thoughts repeated in his voice, 'We survived by keeping our mouths shut and staying in Berezino.'
She sighed and finished her drink, tossing the can into the bin they used to collect them for making alarms.
There was a dismal feeling in the room. Everyone there still mourning the loss of the scavenger they sent this morning.
It was Ron who looked around and stood up, raising his own drink, "It was sad what happened to him, but he knew what he volunteered for. That was Jimmy, always ready to help. To Jimmy!"
The cheer was repeated and everyone raised their drinks.
Ron set his empty glass down and looked toward the figure sitting in the corner, "So, tell us, is there anything new in the wastes?"
The visitor looked up, his eyes attempting to focus. A scoff was his reply.
"New? Like a cure? No. The military pulled out of Chernarus, the only time they return is to bomb the hell out of the cities."
He began laughing, "Fire. That's the cure. Fire, and a gunshot to the head."
That did nothing to help the mood.
"As long as he is out there, hope is alive." Ron replied, turning on the radio on the table.
The visitor began laughing again, "He? He's the one who's creating the zombies."
"What do you mean?" Ron asked, trying to keep everyone's mind off Jimmy.
The visitor smiled, "I've met him, y'know. I was dead and he brought me back to life. Come over here."
Ron didn't move. It was the girl who was brave enough. She had heard of the man in the wastes, it was what brought up her proposition to ask him to help with their bandit problem.
He set his rifle aside and rolled up his sleeve, "Here, feel my wrist, tell me what you notice."
She put her thumb on his artery and pushed hard. After twenty seconds, she let go and stumbled backwards, wide eyed.
"What is it, Ruby?" Ron asked.
"He doesn't have a heartbeat!"
There were gasps around the room, many jumping from their chairs and stepping toward the door.
"Don't worry, I'm not THE dead, just dead. I still have my sanity. For now."
Ron walked around the table and approached him, "How?"
He shrugged, "That's the question. He's very picky about who he saves. Guess there's a reason he needed me alive."
"What did he look like?"
He looked at her for a moment, "He's a good-looking clear-eyed fella. I can see him. He has character. You can't fake that. There's also a tenderness in him... respect... and loyalty, and courage. I could tell all this, just from looking at him. He looked pained, like someone who lost something and was trying to get it back."
He chuckled, "I was passing through Elektro. There was a group there, much like yourselves. Didn't mess with anyone, took care of themselves."
"Well, they established a team to take care of the dead. They didn't realize the dead aren't as crafty as bandits. It was Anarchy United who stormed into their camp and began herding them into the church. And that was their first mistake, rolling into Elektro when the Reaper was there."
[][ Elektrozavodsk - 10 weeks ago][]
The stranger walked down the main street, his military uniform ripped and stained from the countless battles he'd survived. His medals were worn upside down, showing he was no longer a part of the military so many of the people left alive shunned.
He slid his helmet off, allowing himself to be drawn into the safety everyone else felt. The inhabitants that called Elektro their home were wary of him at first, more appropriately the rifle slung on his back. Nonetheless, his nods and waves were returned.
He approached the church where a large group was gathering.
"The shop will be opened shortly," one man yelled, struggling to be heard over the crowd of adventurers, many of whom looked to be passing through, same as him.
"The rules for you newcomers," he began, "Pick up a weapon, ammo, gear, whatever it is, and leave something behind, whether it's an old weapon or a can of beans."
He read them right away. Non-professionals trying to help everyone while earning a living for the citizens of Elektro. They were clearly amateurs, their 'force' was three men with machine guns at the doors and two poorly hidden snipers with the same rifles.
He nodded to the snipers, letting them know he saw them.
He shifted the weight of his rifle and looked over the buildings. Deciding everyone would rush in anyway, he decided to take the time to search the surroundings.
Choosing the hospital he found as a good start point, he entered through the broken glass doors, drawing his pistol as he moved.
Not being entirely cautious to avoid scaring any of the townspeople that may be living there.
It was a bad choice for finding supplies, but it would prove to be a life saving choice.
From the top floor, he looked out the busted window facing the church. He injected himself the morphine he found, thankful to find a cure for his addiction.
Feeling calm, he watched as the doors opened and the people began filing in, eager to get their choice of gear.
It was at this point the sound of racing engines reached him. Two SUV's slid to a stop in front of the church, it's inhabitants jumping out and pulling guns on the guards at the door.
The inexperienced guards dropped their rifles instantly, but the bandits didn't care. They opened fire on them, killing them almost instantly. As their bodies fell, he dropped his morphine and crouched under the window.
He raised the signal on his communicator, hoping they were talking on the Near Wave Channel.
"Everybody to the front of the church! Touch any of my guns, you're dead!" the voice screamed in his ear.
The sound of three more trucks screeching to a halt reached him.
Risking a peek, he seen a total of thirteen outside, and when added to however many went inside it added up to a small army.
Not only were the loners being packed in, but the people living in the city as well. He crouched back down, weighing his options.
If he stays and tries to help them, he'll be killed just as easy them. If he ran, he could get help, or better yet, keep running and never look back, burying himself in a bottle for the rest of his days.
He chose the second option.
Wishing they had waited until he had gotten ammo for his rifle, he slowly walked to the stairwell, his M9 leading the way.
Going out the side doors instead of the front, he snuck around the back of the building until he came to the road.
The church was on one of the two main roads and presented a great risk of escape. He turned the corner and was dropped immediately.
One of the bandits must have seen him and flanked him at the corner. He was left staring up at the blue sky until the bandit's face came in view.
He felt himself being drug, first over the gravel then the pavement. They continued until they were at the doors of the church.
He was set against the wall and his weapons were thrown to the side of him, well out of reach.
The blurry vision as a result of the rifle stock to his skull made it difficult to see, but he could make out the leader's face.
He grinned down at him, crouching to look at his face.
"Well, well, we found a soldier!"
He looked over his clothes, stopping at his nametag, "Well, Col. Brandon Kovalsky, this is a quite unfortunate situation you've found yourself in."
The sound of screaming and gunfire from inside the church only made his grin bigger, "Well, at least you're not alone."
He swung his right foot, kicking Brandon in the skull hard enough to knock him over, giving him a view of the road out of town.
"What do we do, sir?"
He looked to where the blood covered bandits were loading weapons and supplies into the SUV's.
"You know our order's," the leader answered, "We kill military."
The sound of assault rifles being chambered was all he heard. He didn't bother looking away from the road.
"Damn," he said weakly, "I could of made it."
The sound of triggers being engage caused him to tense, his eyes still focusing on something he saw down the road.
There was a clattering sound as the shells tumbled from the rifles. However, they remained unfired and ejected as if they were.
"What the hell?!"
The sound of magazines being dropped.
Brandon's communicator played static for a moment before a voice came through, singing a song he remembered from his childhood church.
"I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger, I'm traveling through this world of woe. Yet there's no sickness, toil nor danger, in that bright land to which I go."
The voice continued singing while the bandits looked around frantically, scanning for a sign of him.
"Not again!" the leader yelled, drawing his weapon.
Brandon had been watching the road while they were reloading. The image of a person walking down the center of the road chilled him inside. He walked calmly, as if going for a stroll, not like he was approaching armed gunmen.
He was in full view now. He wore an unbuttoned, black trench-coat over a white T-shirt and black jeans. He carried a rifle, cradled in his arms. It took Brandon a moment to recognize it and he nearly laughed when he did.
A battered Mosin Nagant was his weapon of choice. The old rifle was useless compared to any of the new weapons wielded by the bandits. In the arms of a skilled shooter, however, a fire-breathing dragon waiting to be unleashed.
His face was covered by black hair, and the only thing visible above his mouth was the piercing red glare of his eyes.
They turned and began shouting for him to stop. There were men everywhere, all with weapons aimed at him but he kept walking.
The communicator proved he hadn't quit singing. As he continued, the sky above began to darken and redden.
"I know dark clouds will gather 'round me, I know my way is rough and steep. Yet golden fields lie just before me, where God's redeemed shall ever sleep."
They began firing. The sounds was deafening, and Brandon was thankful he could move enough to cover his ears.
The figure, though, never moved. The bullets flew, missing by mere centimeters, ripping the sleeves of his coat, the ones hitting close enough to the body of it clinking and falling to the ground.
It wasn't long before the sound of clicking came.
He inhaled deeply, exhaling completely. It was at this point he slung his rifle down and worked the bolt.
"Run!" came the fearful wail of a man about to die.
If the sound of the assault rifles were deafening, these were deadly. The rifle spit fireballs three feet from the barrel as the 7.62X54R rounds pierced the chests of the men around him.
Five shots fired, five men dead, his magazine empty.
Those left alive returned fire, spraying the figure instead of taking calculated bursts. The figure reached in his pocket, no hurry in his movement. He removed a stripper clip loaded with the rounds and expertly slid them into the magazine.
Now reloaded, he continued his massacre, walking towards them as he fired. Several had turned to run, giving a clear path for a single bullet to end their life.
Again he was empty, but there was only the leader left, coming out of his hiding place and sprinting toward Brandon's rifle.
"You will regret this! Hellfire will rain down upon you!" he yelled as he grabbed the rifle and aimed at the figure.
The figure chuckled, the only sign he'd shown of enjoyment.
The leader pulled the trigger, resulting in only a click.
He looked at the rifle in horror, dropping it to put his hands up.
The figure folded out his bayonet and launched the rifle like a javelin, impaling the man square in his chest.
The leader fell to his knees, coughing blood onto the pavement, looking up when the shadow of the figure glaring down caught his attention.
"Everything you've ever loved will burn. Nothing will be left, and you'll live forever in torment."
The figure put his finger on the trigger, "I have nothing left. Only this rifle, and you'll know just how that feels in a second."
He began to scream an expletive, but was cut off by the force of the shot. He fell facing Brandon, his clothes burning from the muzzle flash. He seen only a small crater around the burning hole, knowing there was nothing left of his back.
The figure stabbed the rifle into the ground. He walked off in the direction of their cars, leaving Brandon alone with his rifle.
Finally climbing to his feet, Brandon stumbled in the direction the figure stumbled.
He was at the back of one of their trucks, tossing all the gear they loaded onto the pavement.
"That was some impressive shooting," Brandon began, "I've never seen anything like-"
The figure spun and fired a hidden shotgun, the sawn barrels allowing it to be hidden inside his coat.
Brandon dropped to the ground, slowly dying as the blood drained from his chest.
The figure stood over him, looking down, his face more terrifying in the darkness.
"The sky parted, leaving the darkness to flee for night."
As he spoke, the sky began to brighten and ultimately return to daylight. Even the birdsong returned, and the only thing showing evidence of the slaughter were the bodies inside and outside of the church.
Brandon gargled as the blood ran out of his mouth, pain becoming unbearable.
The figure knelt down and removed his fingerless gloves, "I have use for you, Kovalsky, but in order for you to awaken, you must first die."
He felt himself slip away as his vision darkened.
"That's right, sleep. All will be better when you awake."
[][][]
"I died there on the pavement. When I awoke, it was dark out and the truck as well as the figure were gone. He didn't even check to see if there was ammo for his rifle." Brandon said with a disbelief shake of his head.
"What's you do then?" Ruby asked, as enraptured by his story as everyone else.
He laughed and finished his drink, "I grabbed everything I needed and walked out of the town. The peace I felt was the most vivid and pleasing feeling I ever felt."
"You left at night?" Ron asked in disbelief, "What about the zombies?"
"They left me alone. As far as they're concerned, I'm one of them. I'm marked now, cursed to wander aimlessly until I'm called for what my purpose is."
The radio stopped playing the music and a raspy voice began speaking, "Hello everyone out there in radio land, this is Coyote Jones comin' atchya! You'll never guess what I picked up on the NWC, the Reaper of the wastes himself!"
Everyone turned and looked to the small radio sitting on the table as the singing came through, "I'm going there, to see my father. I'm going there no more to roam."
"Well," Brandon began as he rose from his chair, "I think I'll be leaving now. Thanks for the hospitality."
He left them staring at the radio as the voice continued.
"I am just, going over Jordan. I am just, going over home."
Alright, not bad for a first chapter I think.
The song used is a religious testimonial I found in the fair use listing online, so it isn't copyrighted.
Thanks for reading, the next chapter will be up soon.