• So I posted this in the Steam forums a few months ago when I rediscovered the game. Thought I would pop it here for anyone's Interest.


    Today I saw someone back in Elektrozavodsk. I didn't speak to him. Why didn't I speak to him? I wish I had. I have no idea how long it is since I last talked to someone. But I was scared. I only glanced out of the window and there he was sprinting in the direction of the well. The gun in his hand a terrifying reminder of how dangerous the world has become.

    I dashed down the stairs as quietly as I could, took a peak out of the door. With the coast clear I made for the opposite building which would give me a clean line of sight towards the well, and there, through the window, I got another sight of him down the barrel of my rifle. He was drinking from the well.

    Silently I watched with sweat beading my brow. Should I shoot? He was armed but as yet unaware of me. He finished drinking and without refilling any bottle he headed west and I let him go. I wanted to shout hello. I wanted to walk up and shake his hand and introduce myself. I wanted to hear his voice, another human beings voice. But I let him go.

    Its funny how I can remember what people once said but I can not recall how they sounded. I hear their words in my head but its always my own voice speaking. The memories of long dead friends and family. Of conversations. Ghosts speaking to me from the past in my own voice. Always my own voice.

    The sun was beginning to get low in the sky and this place was not safe. I decided to head for Pusta. I prefer to travel by night. It feels safer somehow, and with regret and loneliness weighing heavy on my heart, I picked my way through the empty buildings heading north, west of the power plant.

    As the sun set I found the power lines heading to Pusta and followed them up towards the woods. Behind me, from the direction of town, somewhere in the enveloping darkness, I heard several frenzied shots ring out.


    I arrived at Pusta before Dawn. The air was cold and my clothes were badly worn. My rucksack is ruined and I worry about losing some of my belongings from it. I make a hurried dash to fill up on water at the well before creeping from building to building, searching for new clothes and a bag. In the dark its hard to see and I disturbed one of the corpses which groaned into animation. I ran for the nearest building, slamming the door behind me. Hot on my heels came a rabid corpse which ran into the closed door. My heart raced and as my breathing began to settle I could smell the horror just outside. Trapped I huddled down for a drink and something to eat.

    It was warmer in the house and at some point I fell asleep listening to the lullaby moans emanating from the vocal chords of hell. I dreamt of being chased by hideous undead creatures and suddenly I startled wide awake to silence. The sun was up. The only indication of time I had left. The worlds of consciousness and dreams blended into one continuous mare. I took a sip of water and got out my map.

    Pusta turned up a welcome bit of food and several unwanted tools. Useful in a sense but a heavy burden to carry around and with no immediate use I left them all behind except for the Axe. Just what I needed to chop wood for a fire.

    I left Pusta behind and began foraging my way to Moglievka. Apples and mushrooms were the feast of the day, again. As I broke the tree line I could see Moglievka perched in the distance surrounded with excellent lines of sight. I paused. Moving across those open fields in daylight would leave me vulnerable. I remembered the man in Elektrozavodsk. A sniper would easily be able to pick me off. I sat a while and watched. It all appeared peaceful. The hum of crickets and rapturous bird song my only company. In the end I decided to move as the cold felt bitter. I took the chance and made it safely to town.


    Moglievka proved a welcome relief. A new coat brought some comforting warmth and tinned spaghetti made a change from the usual foraged food. I also found some rice but with no pot to cook (nor piss) in, I decided to leave it behind. I managed to catch some welcome dreamless sleep and awoke as the sun set, ready to head further west. Giving one last sweep of the buildings before I left turned up a torch. This really lifted my spirits as travelling at night had been rather challenging without light but it beat trying to sleep in the cold of night.

    Carelessly I left the building, proudly shining my new torch into the darkness, trying to pinpoint the undead. Pinpoint one I did. The corpse chased me back into the house and in the panic I picked up a second stinking corpse. Trapped I sat down to eat and by the time the filthy creatures had wandered off it was late.

    I left in a hurry and in the dark inky blackness of the night I lost my way. Travelling for what seemed like forever, I came across a hunting stand and nearby I spent the rest of the night, waiting for daybreak so I could discover my location. With help from the torch I set a fire back in the trees and there amongst the crackles and pops of burning embers I sat and wrote my journal. My only friend.


    When daylight arrived I found myself just outside Pusta. At first my mood sank and then I heard it. Somewhere nearby the bellowing call of a stag punctured through the forest. I grabbed my old badly worn rifle and began crawling towards the sound. There, out in a field, not more than 100 meters away and inching towards me came a herd of deer. A rush of excitement flooded my veins and with an unsteady hand and a rumbling stomach, I waited. Then the moment came. A loud bang and the butt kicked into my shoulder. The deer dropped to the ground. Elated I ran to the corpse. I knew that butchering this beast with a steak knife was not going to be easy but I was aware that anyone in the vicinity would have heard the shot, so I quickly got to the job in hand before moving off into the woods. That day I ate like a king while roasting the rest of the meat in an attempt to preserve it longer. This has to be the best day in a long time. Warm venison steak, juicy fresh apples, and a warm fire.

    Before moving out I went back and searched the hunting stand. I almost could not believe my eyes. Laid there was a Mosin 91/30 in pristine condition. This must have been some ones pride and joy. It felt good in my hands. At once sturdy and comforting. It felt like a gift from the gods. Of course I had no ammo but compared the BK-18 I had used to bring down the stag, this was on another level. It was also missing a clip and a sight but with plenty of cooked meat in my bag already, it would be a while before I needed to use it.

    I got out my map and changed my course. If I headed west there was an abandoned check point which was sure to house some weaponry and ammo. It seemed like a good shot and with my luck on the up I rolled the dice and headed west, once more into the darkness.


    Never one for navigation by the stars, tonight the brightest of the stars lead me to the outpost and undercover of darkness I carefully picked the place clean. I found the ammo I had hoped for but no clip, nor sight, for the Mosin. I did however find me a compass. This buoyed my spirits. I could have done with this in Moglievka but then if I had not got lost I would not be in the position I now am. Sometimes mistakes can become good fortune.

    I also chanced upon an SG5-K, clip, and ammo. This would have given me some good firepower in a fight but I decided to leave it behind. The whole world may have gone to hell and the rule of law no longer existed but I had no plans to get into a fire fight. Hell, only days ago I ran away from the stranger in Elektrozavodsk. Now my bags were full of food, I had a torch, and a cracking hunting rifle. I needed a fight with a sub-machine gun like I needed a hole in my forehead. Better to play it safe and avoid people. Better to find a spade and plant these tomato seeds. The thought made my mouth water and I sat down once more to eat venison. This life wasn't so bad, even if the loneliness was slowing driving me mad.

    Further down the road I came across a medical centre where I found a first aid kit, pain killers, and antibiotics. I had no immediate use for them but it felt like finding gold. Surely its better to have first aid and not need it, than need it and not have it. I managed to cram these into my rucksack and made my way north east to Rog castle ruins where I planned to spend the night. It was an uneventful walk made easier in the dark with the aid of the compass. I got to the castle and settled down for the night. Maybe not the safest place to sleep but where is safe these days?

    Tomorrow I will follow the trail to Msta and fill up on some water. Hopefully find a new bag and some better pants.


  • Travelling at night has its downsides even with a torch. After leaving Msta on a beautiful day and sweeping through an abandoned army post, where birds sang and insects buzzed, I circled around Shakhovka searching outlying homesteads in high winds, looking for a shovel to plant a vegetable plot as the sky turned a deep red. I can hear my grandmother saying: Red sky at night shepherds delight; red sky in morning shepherds warning. I know not if it holds any truth but its funny how those old sayings hold sway over my thoughts sometimes.

    After night closed in tight, I moved in towards Shakhovka and quickly stumbled into a zombie on the outskirts. I could hear it but even with my torch I did not see it until it charged out of the dark. It was too late to run, I had nowhere safe to run to. Panic set in as I tried to stash my torch and whip out a rather large machete and begin blindly swinging. The claws of the dead flesh tore at me and I struggled in fear to dispatch it. Afterwards, I was left with two nasty gashes from which blood flowed swiftly. It was then I felt grateful for the first aid kit I had picked up. Quickly, I disinfected the bandage and wrapped up my wounds sufficiently before dashing into the nearest building and taking time to recuperate. That was close. Too close.

    It wasn't the first time I had to kill the dead. I have taken down two others but I did that tactically. By drawing them individually into a doorway and slicing them up with my machete. Both dead died without much effort nor injury to myself. I felt in control but this time was different. This one caught me by surprise. Out of the black it charged, snarling like a rabid dog. Rigid with fear I fumbled for my life and survived. Shaken and bleeding. Yes, the night holds terrors and tonight sleep slides me by as the adrenaline in my veins keeps me on high alert, listening intently to each rustling bush outside. Crouched behind the door, machete in hand, waiting for dawn.


    I know I heard it? Didn't I? Somewhere amongst all the groaning!?

    Dawn had broken, washing away the worry of last nights events. I felt OK. My bandages seemed good despite the circumstances in which they had been applied. Tired and still somewhat shaken, the venison breakfast seemed dull, heavy, and hard to swallow. Meanwhile the brightness of the dawn chorus tweeted merrily, helping to melt away the anxiety of the previous night.

    I started a sweep of the town. As I moved from house to house a couple of corpses had followed me in a somewhat curious manner (not really chasing me but interested) and they were now hovering about outside, guttural groaning at each other. It seemed even the dead had a better social life than me.

    I was stood in the kitchen busy making space in my bag when something caught my ear; squelching like a water melon being chopped by a cleaver. Had that been footsteps leading up to it? Had I just heard that? I froze. Time extended as my ears strained, trying to listen past the groaning of a single Zombie. What had happened to the other? Could I hear someone? Crunching? I crept into the corner behind the door, machete in hand and waited. In the tense moments that followed, nothing happened.

    I opened the door and sprinted around the building and out of the back garden, making for high ground, using whatever cover I could find. Zigging and zagging through the trees that dotted the lush hillside west of town, doing my best to keep an eye out behind me. Once a good distance away I circled around for a better view, crouched in a bush, and trained my binoculars on Shakhovka. Nothing. Panning across the surrounding area I saw nothing.

    My breathing was still heavy in my ears from the uphill sprint and I began to doubt myself. Had I heard someone run up and kill a zombie? The panic still gripped me as I scanned the area for life. Only death stumbled through the streets. Until now I never thought to look for a dead dead creature outside the house. From here it was impossible to see. But I know I heard it? Didn't I? Was I hallucinating? Had I finally become delusional? Paranoid? My mind lost in this empty land.

    Should I go back down there and look?

    ---- --- –

    I remember the times my girlfriend, Jo and me sat cuddling on the sofa watching movies with a bottle of wine, munching on packets of crisps. Why in the scary movies did the group always split up, go in different directions, searching in the darkest corners? It was a stupid thing to do. It lead to death for everyone except the main character. Stupidity seemed a recurring theme in those long lost horror flicks. Of course in reality you would never do that. Never hang around in some remote cabin, panicking, waiting to be killed. Never would you go back to the scene of such horror. It would make sense to walk away in a straight line and never turn back. Why didn't they have the sense to run away? But they were movies. Movies from an old life. A dead life. Her dead lacerated face.

    Sometimes in my mares Jo haunts me. Warm, loving smiles crack and tear into blistering lesions. Soft flushed skin peeling into pale puss filled grimaces, when she opens her mouth to speak, guttural pain racked undead howls emanate. That howl was the last thing she said to me.

    I had watched Jo turn. Watched her succumb to the virus. Slaughtered her animated corpse with a steak knife. Those early days were dark days. Desperately confused, cold and hungry days. Memories which seem distant now. Another time, another world, another person. Crushed and torn away by unforeseen, uncontrollable events.

    But still there was a lesson to be learned here. Don't go back. Don't go prying into those dark corridors of the mind. Don't go back into town. There is nothing down there but death. I decided to move on. To run away. To survive.

  • Have you any recommendations for software? I'm using programs installed on windows 10 to capture, trim, mix scenes and add audio. They are basic tools which make it easy for someone like me who has no idea how to do things. I've been looking through the open source software and tried a few but none have yet produced anything as good as what I'm using. I don't mind purchasing software but i'm loathed to shell out cash for something I know so little about.

  • I just had a look at the Vegas Pro and it looks a bit beyond my capabilities, plus that price tag is hefty. I'm giving Powerdirector free trial a go. As things stand I need to keep things simple as the only reason I started making Vids is because my 12yo nephew wants to be a gaming streamer and content creator. He doesn't have access to these things in his home environment and his parents think its a waste of time, so I bring up to mine and pop him on my spare PC. Makes me the coolest uncle in the world. :D