Community Spotlight – Q2 2025
Welcome to the Q2 2025 Community Spotlight! Following up on our previous quarter Community Spotlight as the DUG community moves further into 2025 we’ve seen awesome content including interesting new stories, exciting events, engaging livestreams, and other community made content. We want to shed light on the entire community for putting in the time and energy to create story-driven material and put it out there for everyone to see. Despite this article including several great submissions – there is so much more to be found on the DayzUnderground subreddit. If you are not already a member of our private subreddit, go ahead and apply (but only after you’ve played on our server) we hope to see more of you joining us soon!
Let’s start Q2 off with some DayzUnderground milestones:
Apr 5, 2025 – Custom locations added to SUG (Sakhal)
Apr 15, 2025 – DUG implements a server password to help guide players to the rules
Apr 29, 2025 – CCE (Community Controlled Environment) Vote Results
May 22, 2025 – DUG Discord server tags are implemented
Jun 1, 2025 – Medieval Melee #2 wipe night event
Jun 5, 2025 – After some technical difficulties DUG was finally wiped
Jun 5, 2025 – DUG Mod updated for wipe featuring new playable survivors, new locations and updates to castles
Jun 5, 2025 – Sakhal (SUG) server is taken offline (with promise of a new server/map)
Jun 24, 2025 – DayzUnderground Livonia server development is announced
Jun 24, 2025 – Addition of 6 new cave locations for DUG
Now, let’s show off the awesome content our community has made!
“The TIME that goes by” by Bobs
An immersive DayZ gameplay montage with all scenes being recorded live on DUG.
Video by Bobs
“The Cult of PAPA Got Me” by Buck
In the pale morning fog of Nagornoe, Rick and I—Buck, the scout of the Grey Manes—were tracking whispers. Rumors of a wolf with a silver mane had lured us north, past the last known roads of safety. The trees there didn’t just creak—they watched. We should’ve known as something felt..off..felt…wrong…
They came like smoke—silent, curling from the trees. 5 masked figures in tattered robes, chanting in raspy, bone-chilling harmony: “Hail… Papa…”
Shots rang out as we didn’t hesitate to fire….Pain, then blackness.
We awoke bound and bleeding. They had walked us handcuffed deep into the forest, into a clearing choked with ash and the stench of rot. Their camp was nothing short of a ritual ground—bones in patterns, crude symbols scrawled in blood, a fire that crackled like it was breathing. I was their offering.
They drained me slow. Not for pain, but for ceremony. My blood hissed as they poured my blood into it a rusted pot over flame, stirred by one of their priests with a branch that still had leaves on it.
They turned to Rick and with laughter they force fed my boiled blood to him. Rick screamed as they forced it down his throat. He begged, sobbed, cursed… until the silence of despair took him.
They carved me like meat. No reverence. No ritual left. Just hunger. They force fed small pieces of my uncooked flesh raw to Rick.
Eventually, my heart stuttered and gave out. Sweet release from this pain….
I passed out facing the sky—cold, cracked, indifferent and woke up on the coast…. And then—they let Rick go….
A broken man, staggering through the woods, dripping madness and blood, he made it back to Berezhki. He collapsed by the boats, muttering only one thing over and over:
“Papa lives in the forest…..”
But somewhere in the woods, they still chant. And somewhere in the trees, I swear—I still hear their raspy voices saying…”Hail Papa….”
Video by Buck
“The Meeting” by Shifty
Lewis, leader of Odyssey and Joe Fraser, president of the Forsaken Loyalists agree to meet face to face for the first time after years of back-and-forth conflict between the two groups with the hopes of negotiating an end to the war.
Video by Shifty
“The Overlook Broadcast, Stand with Us!” by The Overlook
The Overlook, a neutral survivor group operating within the lore-rich world of DUG. They don’t take sides, they don’t start fights, but they won’t stand down when injustice threatens their ability to provide for others. The Overlook was built to serve, not conquer. When others fall into madness, they hold the line with compassion, courage, and conviction.
Video by The Overlook
(Written Transcript)
To all survivors across Chernarus, this is a broadcast from The Overlook.
We speak now not with fear… but with clarity. The truth must be known.
The so-called Forsaken Loyalists, those jackals cloaked in false promises of protection, have shown their true faces.
Time and time again, they’ve broken the rules of neutrality, civility, and peace that bind decent people in these broken lands. They claim to offer safety, but they peddle fear. They speak of loyalty but deliver betrayal.
Most recently, they crossed a line no survivor can ignore…
Unprovoked, they walked into The Overlook and opened fire, leaving casualties in the double digits.
They call themselves Men of Business, but their only business is greed, domination, and fear.
They extort. They manipulate. They prey on the vulnerable. And to all those still under their boot, whether by fear, silence, or force…know this. You are not alone.
The Overlook has always stood for peace, support, and resilience. But peace is not pacifism. And resilience is not surrender.
If you’ve paid for their “protection,” If you’ve bent the knee under their threats, If you’ve watched your friends suffer in silence. Now is the time to rise.
Stand up to the Forsaken Loyalists!
Every payment made in fear fuels their reign of terror. Let them watch their influence die. Let them see what happens when survivors stand together.
We call on all factions, wanderers, and free people across Chernarus.
Stand with us. Speak out. Band together. Send word all over the open frequencies. Let them hear us. Let them know we do not bow.
Growth is hope and Chernarus must grow without the Forsaken Loyalists.
“Gasping For Air” by Albert R0ss
“Public Health Notice” by Maybe
“Fireflies Announcement – Woodsmen Portfolio” by Ed
This can be taken in-character
Attention good people of Chernarus! The following document being released by the Fireflies contains important information and evidence regarding the political state of South Zagoria and a justification to the broader public of our actions against the Woodsmen. There can be no civility without due process, and as such, these portfolios are made to keep a recorded history of what happened here in Chernarus, so that criminals who hide behind lies and deceit do not escape justice.
It is with a heavy heart that I write this, for the Woodsmen to fall this far is a sight no Firefly wished to ever see. We have assisted each other multiple times throughout the years, to a point where many of us considered them close friends, but relations began to sour months ago and have spiraled ever since.
Gideon inside Pusta talking with Fireflies
Their first transgression against the Southeast came during their hosted Fight Night. They elected to allow the Forsaken Loyalists to provide security for the event, despite it being known across all of Chernarus that the group are vile extortionists unable to even maintain their widely proclaimed business code. Confronted over this strange choice of security, Gideon assured us that he would remove them. We offered our services as their friends, without charge, to ensure that all who participated in the event could both arrive safely and enjoy the event free of harm. Gideon even went so far as to offer up the Loyalists to us in an ambush. However, a week later when we next spoke, Gideon denied that the previous conversation had taken place, and insisted that the Loyalists would remain as security.
What resulted was a display of villainy and debauchery that stained the Southeast. Factions such as Dark as Midnight and the Dark Carnival attended, and human meat was passed and thrown around. Multiple people attempting to enter were robbed of their possessions by the Loyalists. A victorious contestant was gunned down by the Loyalists after finishing off his opponent. All of this was confirmed by a Firefly informant who risked his life to give us this intelligence, along with multiple other sources that attended the event and reported these atrocities to us afterward. All of this lay firmly at the feet of the Woodsmen, who welcomed evil into the Southeast in exchange for clout and a sense of self-worth. At this time, the only action we took was to ban them from our territory.
More recently, however, further egregious actions have been taken against a beacon of hope in the Southeast. The Overlook, pressed by the Forsaken Loyalists into an extortion deal to maintain the neutrality of their community camp, confided in Gideon of their struggles. Gideon was a known friend of theirs, and someone they felt they could trust. He betrayed that trust by once again choosing to side with the Loyalists against the Southeast. He informed Highlander of what the Overlook had told him, and Highlander, in turn, immediately entered the Overlook and shot down every Provider and innocent inside. Gideon chose to slink away into the shadows, instead of defending his “friends”.
Gideon came to the Overlook and I watched him lie to their face. He renewed his promise to stand against the Loyalists and publicly declare them enemies of the people. He assured both myself and Lucas he would stand shoulder to shoulder with us in a campaign against their terror, yet he has been silent ever since. The Overlook has made their stand, and multiple groups have stood with them in protest over the Loyalists. Yet Gideon, and all the Woodsmen, still remain silent. In fact, a recent informant has brought to light that the Woodsmen as a whole provide material support to the Loyalists and maintain close ties despite Gideon’s assurances that this was not true.
We watched from a nearby tree line as the Overlook confronted the Woodsmen over this, and we watched their dejected faces as they left Prigorodki with the same sense of hopelessness we have felt for months toward the Woodsmen leadership. During this meeting, Gideon had the audacity to lay the blame of Lucas being shot on the Overlook, siding with the Loyalists’ warped sense of reality.
The final straw, the reason for this portfolio, and the cause of what is to be our reaction, came that same day. Gideon approached Blackthorn Gang and told the newly “resurrected” Mike Callahan that the Overlook were revealing Blackthorn business out into the world, in an attempt to instigate a second attack on the Overlook. This was an overt attempt to cause harm to the Overlook and in no way can it be explained away by anything other than malice. Now the Fireflies will act.
To the Woodsmen: you are banned from Pusta, and any Woodsmen identified by a Firefly patrol with their weapons out will be treated as hostile and dispatched accordingly. Any Woodsmen found with their weapons holstered will be detained, and their weaponry will be stripped. You have one week to vacate the Embassy and the Southeast before we begin patrols inside your so-called “territory”.
We know that some of you have had no interactions with the Loyalists. We know that there are good people that live in Prigorodki. Remove Gideon and Wade from your ranks, and you may seek us out to enter negotiations to cease hostilities with us. If Gideon and Wade resist, remove your armband to signify your willingness to stand with the Southeast against the Loyalist threat. If any of you wish to enter Pusta to agree to our terms, enter along the road with a white armband in your hands. We mean no harm to anyone who stands with the Southeast, and will welcome you back to good standing with open arms.
To Gideon and Wade: you have been at the forefront of all of this. Regardless of your claims of democracy and attempts to play musical chairs with the leadership position, we find you responsible for what has happened in the Southeast over the last few months. You are to be captured and taken to Pusta to stand trial before a tribunal for your crimes. If you choose to immediately vacate the Southeast, we will withdraw these warrants and allow you to live peacefully outside the territory you have betrayed.
And finally, to the Loyalists: your foray into the Southeast has failed. A united front faces you, and factions across Chernarus are beginning to learn what we have known for years – you are foundationless, and it will only take a single kick for your world to come crumbling down. Scurry back to Grishino, or Nagornoe, or whatever rock you currently reside behind. You are weak, and we do not fear you.
-Ed, Constable of the Fireflies
“Death Comes In Threes” by Eira
one, two, three – one, two, three
click
one, two, three – one, two, three
click
one, two, three – one, two, three
click
one, two –
Eira Nash stopped her silent counting as she snapped the last bullet into her rifle’s magazine, pausing to think through her preparations one last time: twenty-one shots including the one already chambered, seventeen rounds of .308 with four tracers mixed in the stack. She slid the magazine into her LAR and leaned back to prop it against the wall of the trade post.
“Ready here,” Eira muttered as she took out a cigarette, palming her lighter with one hand as she pulled down the shemagh covering her face with the other. Even inside the barn, she felt the bite of the winter air on her skin. Eira fought back a shiver as she let the cigarette dangle from her lips, flicking the lighter and swiftly returning it to her coat pocket with the instinctual motions of someone who had done this too many times before. She had tried to quit smoking years ago. She used to even worry for her health, and then the world fell apart around her. Now, each cigarette was simply a port in a storm that would seemingly never end.
Eira leaned her head back as she pulled on the cigarette, the ghost of a smile touching the corner of her lips. She’d been here before, the quiet before the tempest. She knew nothing was certain, and no one was safe. Yet all the same she found some small comfort in the routines of her work at the Outrider Caravan Company. She listened to the movements and chatter of her fellow Outriders with an absent mind, and waited for the signal to move out.
………
The posse kept silent as they jogged through the line of trees north of the outpost. Not that it mattered, the wind was starting to kick up and howl, slowly drowning them in a veil of whipped branches and shaking trees. The static noise was briefly punctuated by the crunching of the snow beneath their boots, and the rattling of the gear they brought for the expedition.
Eira trudged along the right side of her comrades, scanning the woods. Jayce was running point, and as they neared the treeline of the forest he raised his right hand in a fist to signal them to stop and regroup before moving on. Eira crouched on one knee as the two of them paused for Shaw and Nash to catch up. The snow was now falling in a steady pour around them, but Eira could still make out the silhouettes of their group. She stifled a sigh as she processed the outline of Nash strolling up with his umbrella opened casually against his shoulder. This had become his signature, and Nash was convinced that having the umbrella out would make sure people knew he was friendly. Eira appreciated his attitude, but she knew that in these woods, nobody would be friendly, and the umbrella would only put a target on his back. She opened her mouth to chide him for this choice, but before she could speak she heard the steady voice of Jayce address the group.
“Guns out from here, and make sure to remember what each of us is wearing. We don’t want to shoot each other in there.”
Eira nodded without looking his way. On her end, Jayce was simply preaching to the converted. Eira had been shouldering her rifle since they left the walls of the tradepost.
………
Trust was not something Eira afforded to many people. She had largely kept her distance from others since the outbreak began. It wasn’t that she didn’t value human connection, she just couldn’t shake the sense that letting others get close to her would only end in pain. She could live with pain, that was nothing at this point, but her sense that others would get hurt because of her gnawed at her conscience.
Eira wasn’t necessarily a very superstitious person. And yet that is exactly what her beliefs amounted to. She didn’t know where it began, only that the events of her life all returned to the same pattern of threes. She remembered her father teaching her to spot the three primary stars of the constellation Orion, breaking her arm in three places, or the time she was electrocuted by three frayed wires. Many such experiences, big and small, dotted the landscape of her life, but these harmless patterns only coalesced into a force of their own when Eira lost three members of her family in the span of nine months.
When she later learned of the expression, “death comes in threes,” it all felt too fitting.
………
“HE’S DOWN, SHAW’S DOWN,” Eira yelled into her radio.
She winced as she dropped to one knee. She could feel her heart thudding against her ribs like a drumline and the echo of the shot still rang in her ears. Shaw had dropped to the ground in seconds. Now, somewhere outside the battered military tent Eira was taking cover in, her comrade lay bleeding or already gone, and she had no idea where the bullet had come from.
The canvas around her rustled faintly in the wind as she tried to focus through her frayed nerves. South. Jayce and Nash were south, near the edge of the lower tents. Too far. She was isolated. Her thoughts were cut off by another crack — sharp, close. She felt the velocity of the bullet as it passed through the tent and kicked into the dirt around her boots.
“Fuck,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Eira reflexively shifted positions away from the opening of the tent, pressing her back against the canvas wall. Her fingers twitched as she leaned and squinted through the mesh flaps. She was desperate to aim at something, anything, but there was no target in sight. Eira barely had time to look before another bullet slapped through the tent. Too close. But she was sure the shot came from in front of her this time. The sniper must have watched her scramble to cover after the initial shot.
Eira flinched as Jayce’s voice suddenly crackled on the radio, distorted through the static.
“Do you have eyes on??”
She clutched the radio on her vest and leaned her head towards the speaker. “Sniper’s got eyes on me. I’m going to try and draw their fire for you … get ready.”
Eira let out a shaky sigh as she rose from one knee and prepared herself to run. She didn’t have time to explain or debate. She just bolted. The flap flung aside as Eira launched herself into the open, sprinting hard and fast. The thin mountain air cut into her lungs as she rushed toward the shipping crates north of her; boots pounding the dry earth as adrenaline pushed her on. No shots yet.
As she rounded the corner of the sandbag barricade, Eira glanced to her left — and saw him. Just for a second. A figure perched in a two-story sniper nest veiled by camouflage netting. Her breath caught in her throat as her body halted on instinct, “there you are.”
She adjusted to a shooting stance as she raised her rifle — too slow. The sniper moved first, and another shot cracked past her left ear. Eira barely had time to register her proximity to death as she instinctively ducked and scrambled to flank the sniper. “Blaze, double-shot … he has to reload.” The realization clicked into place as her instincts took over. She had seconds to get to him before the next shot.
Eira cut around the outer corner of the barricades, hugging the edge of the tents as she closed in on the sniper’s position. She raised her LAR toward the camo screen as she got close. There was no visual, not even a silhouette. The netting was working as intended. Eira aimed on pure intuition, and fired.
One, two, three …
click … … …
click click click
Eira’s finger yanked at the trigger, barely processing that her gun had jammed on the third shot. She felt her entire body rattling with the visceral fear of combat. The moment stretched on in agonizing stillness as Eira fumbled in panic, slinging her rifle and reaching for her pistol. The sound of a body crumpling onto the wooden platform let her know she had hit her mark, but she had no clue whether she had killed him. She heard footsteps behind her. It was Jayce.
“He’s hit … confirm the kill!” she barked, almost a plea.
Jayce didn’t hesitate. He vaulted up onto the sandbag foundation and fired another round through the netting. He paused as he peered into the nest.
“I think you got him.”
Eira could hear the relief in Jayce’s voice, but she couldn’t feel any such solace herself. She sagged against the wall, cradling her jammed rifle as she let her shoulders drop. Eira leaned her head back and focused on her breathing. Her body was still trembling as the last remnants of adrenaline coursed through her.
“h- hah …” she stifled a laugh as she muttered to herself, “three … it jammed on three …”
Eira was just glad her face was covered with a thick shemagh. She didn’t know Shaw’s condition. She didn’t even know who she had just shot. Yet for whatever reason, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
“Entry 13 in The Journal of Greeny: War Notes” by Greeny
05/14/2025
The House of Hope is now 95% rebuilt after being destroyed by the Rangers, thanks largely to the support of our allies and friends. The efforts of ORCC, Fireflies, and HOST have been instrumental in our recovery. We have been actively spreading the word about BMR’s actions to every visitor who comes through the House of Hope. From what I’ve observed, public sentiment overwhelmingly favors our cause.
The Coalition has been making the rounds, striving to set the record straight amid widespread reports of BMR slander throughout the Northeast. Below are detailed accounts of those conversations:
Merry Men: I believe we have laid the groundwork for a promising alliance with the Merry Men. Discussions with Sarge and later Jerome were particularly fruitful. They have volunteered to increase their presence around the House of Hope and have expressed willingness to abstain from participating in the Grey Manes’ proposed “NE Council” (more on that below) if The Coalition chooses not to join. We are currently arranging a meeting between myself and Mick to further solidify our relations.
Sam: Formerly with the Merry Men, Sam has been accused by them of attempting to assassinate Mick following a failed coup to overthrow his leadership. Based on separate conversations with both Sam and the Merry Men, I am now confident that Sam has materially and/or physically supported BMR in recent raids against HOST, Rise Against, and the House of Hope. His close ties to the Grey Manes raise significant concerns. We will likely maintain a cautious distance from both him and the Grey Manes moving forward. He is not to be trusted.
GRID: The GRID farmers have become an increasing source of tension in Olsha, particularly Crow. Multiple sources say he is becoming increasingly unhinged. He is convinced that Maybe Medical’s immunity to date from Forsaken Loyalist raids indicates collusion with them. According to Natasha, a meeting is imminent among GRID members to discuss “what to do” about Maybe. I attempted to contact GRID last night but found no one home. Should peaceful resolution efforts fail, we are prepared to defend Maybe against any aggression from GRID.
Fireflies: I met with Carter at the House of Hope. Despite our past differences, our conversation was both productive and cordial. He sought my perspective on BMR. According to Carter, BMR had once defended the Overlook from a group of crackheads, and he believed they were decent people. I informed him of the butchery BMR committed at the NE Market, as well as the subsequent murder of civilians by Theo. Carter appeared visibly disturbed and said he would inform Pete and deliberate on how the Fireflies would proceed regarding BMR. He also revealed that, according to their intelligence, Delilah is an active informant for the Forsaken Loyalists. I will keep this in mind moving forward. Carter generously donated a 4-dial toward the House of Hope’s rebuilding efforts, and our meeting concluded with a firm handshake. I am optimistic that the Fireflies will make the right call.
Grey Manes: The Grey Manes remain complicated. They expressed unease over the butchering of Delilah and the destruction of the House of Hope by BMR, yet they insisted that BMR would be welcome on their NE Council if other members desired their participation.
This so-called NE Council is proposed as a mutual aid agreement among groups in the Northeast. They assure me it is not intended as a military alliance. However, given Sam’s involvement, I fear it may evolve into one, with Sam using his adept manipulative skills to steer the council’s decisions to his advantage.
The Grey Manes are fundamentally good people. They concealed Natasha’s identity when BMR came to Mama’s Mackerels, allowing her to eavesdrop on a critical conversation and gather valuable intelligence. They have also promised to advocate on our behalf with GRID. Unfortunately, their dismissive attitude toward BMR’s atrocities, coupled with Sam’s influence, leads me to doubt their overall reliability as allies. If their NE Council is compromised from the outset, I see no logical reason for our involvement. Should their stance change in the future, I will reconsider my position.
Summary: Last night yielded numerous productive conversations. I have noticed that since The Overlook began their inflammatory FL broadcasts, there has been a marked increase in hysteria and witch hunts among solos and groups in the East. The Coalition has humorously dubbed this phenomenon “The Green Scare.”
People are now seeing Loyalists behind every rock and tree, and the atmosphere of fear is tangible. Rather than serving as a rallying cry, The Overlook’s broadcasts seem only to have sown fear and discord. Innocent people are suffering, and atrocities are being committed against civilians in the name of fighting FL. Meanwhile, I doubt FL has suffered any meaningful setbacks from these events.
The political climate in the region is now more unstable than I have ever witnessed. The Coalition will continue to do what we have always done: provide for the people of the North and hold fast, hoping to weather this storm that has been thrust upon us all.
— Greeny
“Why do we wake up at the coast?” Research Piece by Forest
My explanation of it all made sense, it was simple. We get badly injured, we get sent to the hospital. Money doesn’t exist anymore, so we pay the hospital workers with all of our nice stuff, and they leave us at the coast freezing, hungry, disoriented, but full of energy.
Bulletproof explanation until you open your eyes and realize you have never seen these emergency health care professionals and all hospitals are basically empty. And if you have been unlucky enough, you have seen your friends without a pulse next to you and nobody is there to bring them back to life.
So I took it upon myself to ask around friends and passerby’s at ORCC about what they thought happens when we wake up at the coast.
Some people, like Nattasha Petrov, told me about how in the Wolves of Selene they believed the goddess Selene brought them back. This caught my interest, and even though the wolves are no more, it sparks my interest to talk about it with Runa, Greeny or Ophelia.
Others, like The Ghoul, were more mysterious and decided to just say “No comment”, but still go on the record. No comment, eerie. This makes me think these lands have seen more mystery than I can yet imagine. Even after what DAMN did to me, this might put things into perspective.
Alexi from overlook said our bodies are tethered to our souls. I thought this was sweet and hopeful, just like Sir Pyriclese the third said, “We come back because we have unfinished business”. I miss that fearless knight, capable of ending all bossfights.
Joan Carrie mentioned the rapture, and how maybe the sinners were left behind, meaning us, survivors, while the people who were supposed to enter heaven are now the living dead we struggle with every day.
An anonymous informant mentioned the chickens, how they are always around, and he claimed to see them bringing people to the coast, 20 chickens at a time holding a dead-looking body, if you can believe it. The chickens could be mysterious creatures.
Another spooky presence is The Lady for the Dark Carnival, but I haven’t been able to reach out to talk to Mr. Worm about it without getting lost in tomfoolery and hitting each other in the face, as well as making promises of raiding half the lands for the fun of it.
Even if I still have hundreds of people to talk to, to even aim to get a half full picture and even then, I might never get a real answer. What matters to me the most right now is, every fresh start on the coast can be a new opportunity for adventure. Or the horrors.
Notes of the author, for further consideration, How is it we have different blood types and even different faces sometimes, when we wake up at the coast? What the fuck is up with that?
“Order” by Highlander
After a long week of running the lands, I sat idle in Grishino church with the rest of the Loyalists but for Joe. The rain bouncing off the ground outside and creaks of the building soothe me as I wait for the Overlook to make their announcement.
Knowing this will likely be about us, I can’t help but grin. Truth be known, I’m honestly looking forward to hearing what lie they’ll try to use to turn people against us.
It begins:
“To all survivors across Chernarus, this is a broadcast from The Overlook.”
My ears perk up as I sit still listening with playful curiosity.
“The so-called Forsaken Loyalists, those jackals cloaked in false promises of protection, have shown their true faces.”
There it is. clarification. Our actions have not gone unnoted, just as planned.
“Unprovoked, they walked into The Overlook and opened fire, leaving casualties in the double digits.”
I let out a harsh laugh which echoes around the church, sounding almost demonic as it rings off the high and bare walls.
“Unprovoked!” I parrot mockingly, cackling as the radio continues.
The rest of the guys all looked at me and smiled. It was clear they could tell exactly what I was thinking by the look in my eyes. If only the Overlook knew how to keep their mouths shut instead of giving us a reason to put them back in order. They were told twice about how to conduct themselves, once when we set up the deal, then a second time when they made their first mistake. There was no excuse. Their lapse was unforgivable.
The broadcast continued, the tone of its delivery rising with every syllable.
“They extort. They manipulate. They prey on the vulnerable. And to all those still under their boot, whether by fear, silence, or force…know this. You are not alone.”
I gripped my rifle tightly. My usual response would be to go and shut them down straight away, but that’s what they want. They want a response. And they’ll get one eventually. but not now.
“Stand up to the Forsaken Loyalists!”
“Stand with us. Speak out. Band together. Send word all over the open frequencies. Let them hear us. Let them know we do not bow.”
Pussies, appealing to others for help instead of owning their mistakes, I think to myself. I put my rifle to one side and make my way towards the altar in the church to make my announcement to the club. Alex snaps the radio off before I speak.
“Lads, you know exactly what you’ve just heard. Even though I’ve told you the story, let me tell you again for clarity. We gained intel from another client that The Overlook was discussing our business with people, openly. Vadim and I went to pay them a visit shortly afterwards, and they had their final warning before we opened fire.”
“They’ve flattered us with the numbers discussed, which goes to show they’re not all that clever, but hear this. We will make our mark on the Southeast once and for all. This slander that we face will be punished. I welcome it all, as it fuels us to do what we do.”
Silence.
The club nod in agreement and know what needs to be done. I take my seat back on the bench and continue to clean my rifle as the rest of the club start speaking in hushed and assured tones about things we could do to make quakes in the South.
“Gestaltzerfall” by Wisp
It’s been too long, hasn’t it? Since when I last reached out to you. I don’t even know what to say, it’s that same old excuse of not having time. Between the ever-churning political machine and the shootouts, it’s rare that I get a moment alone. Despite everything, even after all this time, it’s still me. Still thinking of you. Still barely holding on. It might be a little hard to make out my writing, my wrists haven’t fully recovered yet. I have a little candle next to me, casting a dim glow across the barn. Nattasha’s out on one of her errands. There’s been too much to discuss. I only have the energy to go over what my main priorities are these days.
To start on a better note, I’d say the therapy project has been unexpectedly successful. It’s… healing, perhaps more so to myself than to my clients. It wasn’t intended to be that way, the plan was to remain detached and distant. Yet I find myself invested in these people, in their lives, their struggles. They brought a little meaning back, into what’s otherwise been an unforgiving season. I’m privileged to be paying witness to them, to who they were, who they are, and who they could become. In turn, they see what remains of me, eroded over time.
There’s no avoiding what’s on my mind. They’re back. The Cult of Papa. Ever since that night with what happened to Nameless, I knew my reckoning would ring. A toll that would cry out for my name. Greeny’s encounter with Vici should have been enough to raise the alarm, yet we were left waiting. I should have been more vigilant. Occasions such as the Northeast Market and other minor distractions made me complacent. It wasn’t until Velez slashed my face, until Haru adorned me in their robes, until he and Vici inflicted their pain upon Maybe?, that the reality of it all began to sink in. That taking a single life on that cliffside, has now spiraled into waking nightmares.
I don’t hate them. Disturbing, right? Even after nearly being sacrificed, the torturing, the bloodletting, the way they’ve tormented those I care about, I still don’t hate them. There’s just no use in doing so. There’s patterns to it all, an unseen ebb and flow. They’ve persisted before my time, and likely will continue to exist past my days. It’s as if they’re a force of nature, a periodic hurricane or earthquake. A manifestation of entropy. Killing any individual cultist is akin to chopping the limb of a beast, when we have no idea where the body lies. There has to be something we’re missing. Some way to transcend or break free of this cycle between the cult and those who fight them. Some kind of understanding on The Void, these liminal spaces in between. We’re not going to make any progress if all we do is pantomime the Guardians, the Firekeepers, and the Lucky Bastards. The only thing left would be a couple of stray survivors, and scattered notes. Their sacrifices meant everything, but we have to push beyond. I’m desperate, yet I don’t even know what I’m looking for.
I wish I could have met Redstar. I wish I could have met Toronto. I wish I could have met the Judge. Generations before my own. If only they could impart any kind of guidance. Northeasterners whose voices and words have become etched into my mind. Reading or listening to their work has become a daily ritual. Hell, I had been entrusted to pass some of that material to Matthew. His… his passing didn’t come as a shock. Just silent acceptance. I don’t know how I’ll break the news to Will. Death followed that man, in shifting states. The first day I met him, upon his return, was celebrated with a grenade. Gunfights, scavenging, and a conversation alongside the railroad led to a corpse. His life’s work, The Overlook, moved on without him. His friends continued to follow their own paths. I’m starting to understand why he made those last choices. I just can’t help but wonder if he ever found her. Calista. In truth, he was a strange man but also one with resolve. If you looked close enough, you’d find glimmers of kindness. My home, built in part by his hands. There are still pieces of him around. My memory holds one of them.
I can tell what you’re going to ask about next. The dream. You, always with dreams. I should be used to them by now, as cryptic as they can be.
I’m sinking through a sea of voices, dissonant and lingering. The depths below are abyssal, mirrored in the skies. There are silhouettes around, almost resembling people. Almost. Instead they are reduced to shapes. Just dead matter in an empty plane. That’s when the loneliness starts to cut deep, before words fill that space, from across my travels.
“If a truck was to crush your legs Wisp, would you let out more than blood?”
I’m suffocating. It’s getting harder to tell where thoughts end and where others begin.
“and what? You think you can save people from their own suffering?”
A silhouette of a hand reaches down, perhaps offering aid. The source is obscured.
“I need to put this Calista thing behind me. There’s only one way to do that.”
Instinct overtakes thinking. I have no idea where I am in relation, but I grab out helplessly.
“You’re going to be my second in command. You don’t get to leave.”
It locks onto my wrist, beginning to hoist me up violently.
“All of our clocks will run out, eventually.”
The question hits me too late, yet it’s disregarded immediately.
“The only thing that matters: the people to your left and right, people you give a shit about, and what you do with the time you have.”
I don’t care who or what that arm belongs to. There’s no time left to find out.
”Leaving this world is not as scary as it sounds.”
I made a promise. I’ll do anything.
That’s all I can remember. I’ve decided on what I need to do next. I’m going to come clean to my people, my friends & family, about the first lie. The name that Cleo inscribed on my right arm. It’s the last step I need to take before I’m ready.
Good night.
—————————————–
Gestaltzerfall: The cognitive phenomenon where complex patterns start to “break down” and lose their meaning after being fixated on for too long.
“A STATEMENT TO THE PEOPLE OF CHERNARUS” by Father Abraham
The following note & posters are seen duct taped to the door of the Church of Mogilevka
To all who pass by this house of God,
To the weary, the lost, & the broken.
Let these words be read, not in fear, but in clarity.
The 506th claim to be soldiers of the Lord,
They wear crosses carved from ash & blood
And wield scripture as a hammer.
But they are not shepherds.
They are zealots.
They are hypocrites.
They preach salvation, but bring damnation.
They call their mission holy, but their hands drip with the blood of the innocent.
They claim to walk with Christ, yet know nothing of the man who knelt to wash the feet of sinners.
I have witnessed the “power” of their hatred,
I have heard the cries of men and women gunned down in the streets of Chernarus.
They demand obedience, not faith.
And should you dare speak,
If you dare question their “authority”,
They will brand you heretic and hunt you down like beasts.
To those who serve in the 506th,
You may wear His name, but you do not wear His heart.
You may quote His word, but you do not live it.
You are not saviors, but Pharisees in combat boots.
To the people of Chernarus,
Do not mistake zeal for truth.
Do not kneel before men who demand your soul.
The Kingdom of God does not march beneath a banner soaked in blood.
This church will not bow.
We stand for the lost, not the self-righteous.
For mercy.
For hope.
-Father Abraham Braun
“Papa’s Embrace” by The Cult of PAPA
“If this was the last thing you saw, would your life be complete?”
Rage had run through her body like fire at the words, scolding her from the inside. If it had been her, she would have looked him in the eyes while she slowly gutted him. Made sure he saw his own intestines well out of him before she let Papa take him. But her Brothers were weak. Yet, as the initial fury had subsided, she could acknowledge the greatness of the sacrifice, however unworthy the circumstances. This gift was superior even to the last one, and that had been one of their own.
She had heard Nameless take his last raspy, foul-stenching breaths over the radio weeks ago. His death had been the most exquisite she had heard in a long time. He had reached out to her over the radio but she had ignored him.
“Sister?”, he had wheezed. “I thought I recognized your excited breaths.” Her fingers had lingered on the transmit button, but she had let it go. Nameless had been nothing but a mangy dog. Growling in the shadows, but never daring to come close to her. “I know you’ve been fighting the urge to return to Papa’s good graces.” She had only snorted in derision. She had never fucking left!
Nameless had been an almost worthy sacrifice to Papa. Somehow she didn’t imagine he had relished the offering himself. He wasn’t the self-sacrificing type in any sense of the word. But all the same, he was in the eternal suffering of the Void now. And she could feel Papa’s satisfaction at this.
Her thoughts were drawn back to Matthew’s hitched breath and whispered “no, no, no, no, no” over the radio as he saw her Cultist brethren at the trade station. His awareness of being completely alone in the crowd of people around him. The rising realisation that no one was going to help him. His fear had a heavenly taste; rich, tangy and sweet. She licked her lips. Just like his final surrender.
Nothing surprised her about the scattered inhabitants of South Zagoria. She knew their aid stations, their proclamations of bravery, honesty and working together were all blatant lies, deceit and theatre. They didn’t care about anyone but themselves. They were so blind they couldn’t even see His greatness. They were all gullible and stupid. And dying.
“Come with us, Matthew.” They had grated out of their sand-papered throats. For once, her Brethren had done something right. They had made a worthy choice. She shivered as she imagined Matthew’s terror being led out of the crowd, the onlooking well-wishers waving him goodbye. The nightmare pushing him further from hope and closer towards Papa.
His death had been as close to perfect as she could ever have imagined.
“Remember, you do this willingly.” The utter abandonment he must have felt. There was no other way forward than into Papa’s embrace.
She slid the sharp, bone-hilted knife across the lifeline in her hand and watched as blood instantly welled up like a blooming fountain. It filled her hand, and dripped down her arm and onto the straw covered floor of the barn. She balled her hand into a fist and let her crimson sacrifice mix with the ashes she had gathered, already waiting in the bowl.
The charred, headless corpse had still been on the plateau, waiting for her days after the fires had burned out. Matthew had been alone and deserted in death just like he had been in the last days of his life. Apart from Papa. He never leaves anyone whose heart he’s visited, and she could feel the power of Papa in the ashen remains. She had crouched down and let the talon-like stumps of what was left of his seared fingers touch her with something close to tenderness. With a soft murmur or words, the black eyed woman had then gone to work on the rest of his body. Burst bone marrow, charred spirit of man, suffering soul powder and ash of hope. She had cut out his blackened heart as a relic and carried it away wrapped in burlap cloth.
The soul is cut deep, but it bleeds only ash.
“bean’s babbling book, entry #1: who am i? who was she?” by bean
a little while ago i was going through some stuff and feeling a lot of things about it. it was really overwhelming, so at the time i grabbed a piece of paper and spilled all my thoughts out onto the tiny page, cuz i’d heard that could help. and it did!!! i felt so much lighter after, even if i lost the page on my way home. i guess it fell out of my pocket.
i feel a lot of things all the time, so i tried looking for a book i could use as my very own journal. it was really really hard to find one that wasn’t already filled with words, though. so i had to make my own. now don’t tell tedic, but i’ve stolen some of his medic flyers and bound them together with bits of yarn i pulled from old sweaters to make you. he only writes on one side of the paper, so i can fill up the other sides with my own special bean things!
today i want to write about… her. the woman who’s parts went into making me. i guess her name was lex. i’m nervous writing it down. it scares me to know she ever existed, and i’ve spent a lot of time trying not to think about her. but it’s so hard! i talk about things i shouldn’t know, i do things i’ve never done without a problem. and worse, almost everywhere i go i run into people who smell super duper familiar! even if i’ve never ever met them before!
like wisp! wisp is this very friendly woman who hangs out at the house of hope. she’s some kind of… terra…therrup… theramin… no… hold on, i need to ask twitchy about this word.
therapist! she’s a therapist. that means she talks to people about their feelings and how they think! thanks, twitchy! not that you’ll ever actually read this. i hope. note to self: find a better hiding spot. clowns are nosy 🙁
i’m getting distracted, sorry book!
i’ve known wisp for a while, since my family visits the house of hope a lot. but then i ran into her at a big all girls party i went to a while ago! she asked me to pull down this scarf i had covering my face, and when i did, she asserted that i “still look the same”. that was confusing, but as the night went on, i got more out of her. she’s always been one of those familiar smelling humans to me, and she pretty much confirmed that she’d known the woman who went into creating me. she suggested i come talk to her about it sometime.
i wanted to. but it took forever to find her at a moment where she had the time to talk. and in that time, i’d told worm about what wisp had said, and he didn’t like the idea of me speaking to her. he told me to tell her to fuck off! and the first time i saw her again, that’s exactly what i did! i felt terrible after. especially when every time i tried to see her again fell through for a month straight.
during that time of endless searching, i kept hearing things, learning things, and thinking about things. i met so many more people i felt like i knew. and people asked me weird questions, too! when i met the golden peppers for the first time, they asked me about some school. they said big e had told them something about the school, and me. i didn’t know big e at the time, and i’d certainly never been a part of a school, which is what i told them. they seemed… concerned. confused? i’m not sure, book.
i ended up meeting big e recently. his scent tickled my brain, and he seemed almost… over eager to see me. and i’ve heard other things about this school! some kind of school for the… emotional? intelligent? nobody ever agrees on the name. but they’re all talking about the same place.
worm also told me a lot about myself in all this time. even as a mango, he wasn’t shy of saying the name lex around me, he told people who asked about her that i was what was left of her, he told me the reason i carried a broom everywhere was because she’d been a janitor. the moment he told me that, i threw the broom away. it scared me to think i was attached to something because of somebody else. i’ve watched worm’s various parts take control of him over and over, and i was terrified this lex woman would come out and i’d never ever come back ever again.
finally, i found wisp again and she had a moment for me. we walked away from the house of hope, to a little place by the nearby dam, and got comfortable upstairs, me on the bed and her on the floor. she didn’t really tell me anything, she just asked a lot of questions and listened to me ramble about all these little things bothering me. i could tell she was trying to steer the conversation in a certain direction, though.
also! shortly after we started talking, we started hearing lots of shooting not too far away! at first it was entir… intern…. internment… intermittent! but then it happened more and more, and we realized that somebody was getting raided not very far away. which was a little scary. but also funny! but also distracting. we did our best to ignore it and kept talking, though.
(i found out the next day that the house of hope had been raided. which… is probably what we were listening to the entire time we were talking? i feel bad, she was stuck talking to me when she could’ve been defending her home 🙁 but it’s also kinda sorta really really really funny that she had no clue it was her own place! but also sad, definitely sad! poor wisp!)
so in between explosions and gun shots, we talked a lot about how it feels when i meet people who smell familiar like she does, and about how the Lady likes to send me to this one big building near berezino whenever i get shot, and my general fears and concerns about being a bad clown and having somebody inside of me take control when i don’t want them to.
when i told wisp about where the Lady prefers to send me, and how uncomfortable it always makes me, she nodded knowingly, and implied i had a connection to that building. i realized it was the school i keep hearing about, the one lex worked at as a janitor. why does the Lady always send me there? does She think it’s funny to make me feel confused? i thought She loved me and cared about me, but the more i learn about Her, and listen to worm talk about how the Lady treats him… maybe i’m just something She likes to play with. which… makes me even more uncomfortable. i’m not sure where my thoughts are on Her yet, though, book. i’m getting distracted again. sorry.
then wisp gave me a list of names. people i should talk to more, perhaps even about lex. some of these people i’ve already met a few times, and they all smell super duper familiar! like big e, and marcus, and ronn. but she also mentioned a poppy, and a bedtime, which is a very silly name. and she told me this bedtime ran that school.
wisp suggested i visit that building sometime when i have a broom with me. she just wants me to walk around and pay attention to my feelings. after i do that and talk to these other people, i’m supposed to visit her again to talk some more. i’m looking forward to it, oddly enough! i walked away from our last conversation feeling less worried and more… curious. she really encouraged me to look on all these things with less fear and more openness.
she even suggested that i’m not a bad clown just cuz i don’t wanna hurt humans. going in, i was hoping to fix all of this in a way that let me fit in better with my family. make it easier to pull the trigger, you know? but maybe… maybe there isn’t anything wrong with me. maybe i’m okay just as i am! wisp even said it could be a good thing for my family that i’m like this!! i hope she’s right!
if i was like worm, i wouldn’t have all these amazing friends i’ve made! wisp might not have talked to me about all these things, and maybe i’d be just as angry and full of hate for myself as he is.
as for lex… wisp made a strong point. she hasn’t taken me over once this entire time. maybe i’ve been scared of nothing. and if she isn’t going to erase me… then maybe i should honor her, instead. she gave her life for me. willingly, from what i understand! the least i can do is learn more about her. i’m excited to try, book!
anyway. thanks for listening, friend. i’m glad i made you. now i just have to keep you dry and safe and hidden until the next time i need your help! i gotta go now, though. lazy just woke up from a really long nap and i wanna go play outside with him! i just hope he doesn’t make me go to that stupid airfield again 🙁
okie dokie love you bye!!!
you turn the page and find pictures taped over a tedic note.
“The True Enemy” by Delilah
1… 2… 10… 80… 120… 182…
As I count again and again with the stench of dog feces thick in my nostrils, I can’t help but ask: What did I do to deserve this?
I haven’t killed anyone.
I haven’t stolen.
I’m just a simple hunter, a gatherer. A builder trying to make a home for myself and the people of the Host.
So why the bag over my head?
Bagman and his shadow claimed I was an informant for the Forsaken Loyalists. But I am not. You have no proof, just suspicion. You’ve mistaken loyalty for betrayal. A friend for a snake. They fed you lies about us, Delilah and Rosco. You made your bed, now you must lie in it.
Black Mountain Rangers, you are slime. Pathetic.
You kidnapped an innocent woman, stuffed a bag over her head, and mutilated her, her toes and other parts of her body, left like a warning on the Host’s doorstep.
Then you dumped her at the worst hospital on the coast, just to watch them try to finish the job.
Let me be clear: while we don’t speak for Rise Against or the Coalition, they stand with us. What they do from here is their choice, but we are on each other’s sides.
Know this The Host is prepared for war.
War against BMR, LBT, The Northeast Traders, and Demon. We’ve uncovered disturbing truths, these groups are not just allied, but united in hate, spreading chaos across the Northeast.
They will hurt you.
They will bind you.
They will spit in your face.
But we will not stand alone.
We will fight beside our allies.
We will rip BMR from their fortress.
And we will ensure they never leave the coast again.
-Delilah from the Host
“Blood and Rust: Ashes of the Grey” by Rick
Summer had settled in, heavy and unrelenting. Three months ago, Bard and Rick walked away from the Gray Manes, leaving a storm that tore the world apart behind them. Roads swallowed, forests stripped, familiar places reduced to rubble. They drifted south, chasing whispers of green, unscarred land. The south was different: new paths, new faces, new rules. The sun scorched the earth, and the long days were deceptively quiet. Danger hadn’t vanished…it just wore a stranger’s face. At first, they fell back on instinct, surviving side by side. Menial jobs kept them fed: supply runs, trading protection for gear or intel. Not heroes. Just two men who knew how to navigate chaos.
Rick’s thoughts often wandered to Lyndi. Where had she gone that night she slipped away? Was she alive? Did she ever think of him? The questions came softly, in the hush of dawn or the endless trudges between towns.
The south, though, had been kinder than they’d dared hope. They found a rhythm, a fragile steadiness. One night, on a flat rock under a starless sky, Rick ate cold beans and grinned. We’re not just surviving, Bard. People are kind down here. Maybe this is where we finally catch our breath.” Bard nodded, his own rare smile flickering.
But in Chernarus, kindness breaks like thin glass.
Guglovo baked under the morning sun. Rick had passed through just the day before, meeting a faction who called themselves the Black Sheep. Decent folks, cautious, but warm. They’d shared a meal and talked about setting up trade routes. He remembered laughing. He remembered hope.
Now, as he crested the hill near the church, he saw three figures standing near where the Black Sheep had made camp. Rick leaned into his radio and spoke calmly, “Bard, I see the Black Sheep. Heading down to talk.”
He smiled. Relief bloomed in his chest. He raised a hand, stepping into view.
“Hey, It’s Rick! From yesterday. Black Sheep, right?” His voice was light, familiar.
No answer.
The figures turned. Slow, deliberate. There was no recognition in their eyes. No kindness.
Rick’s stomach twisted.
Armbands. Black with White Skulls
Not Black Sheep. Black Thorn Gang.
They were already moving. Three of them. Two men, one woman. Surrounding him like predators circling a wounded animal. Rick didn’t resist. His hands were raised as they cuffed him, stripped him of his rifle, his ammo, vest, everything.
One man, blood crusted around his mouth, circled him like a feral hound. “Lucky for you,” he hissed, sniffing the air. “We just ate. But damn… you stink.”
The woman, colder, in command, stepped forward. “Let this one live.”
The third man didn’t bother with anymore words. He raised a shotgun. BANG.
Bard was less than a kilometer away, hauling a pack of supplies from the treeline. The gunshot cracked the air.
He froze.
Then he ran.
No thought. No hesitation. Just motion. Toward the sound, toward Rick, toward danger.
Rick drifted in a haze of pain, his mind slipping between darkness and faint awareness. The damp, musty air of the greenhouse seeped into his senses. An infected’s rancid breath hovered close, its claw scraping weakly at his arm.
He barely felt the blood pooling beneath him, his shattered leg throbbing relentlessly. Slowly, consciousness pulled him from the edge. His eyes fluttered open to dim light, the scent of rot and decay heavy around him.
A memory…or a dream, flickered on the edge of his mind. Crackling fire. The sizzle of mackerel. Lyndi’s voice, soft and warm: “Wake up, Rick… Wake up…” She smiled, her cool green eyes catching the firelight like they used to.
But it wasn’t real. Just a fading mind weaving comfort from ghosts.
“Not yet,” Rick rasped, voice barely a thread. “Not like this.”
He twisted his arms and struggled to break free. The blood on his wrists had pooled, slick and wet. The metal cuffs, once unbreakable, now shifted. Click. One hand slipped free. Then the other.
He shoved the infected away, its nails raking his forearm. Crawling, he dragged his ruined leg through dirt and shattered glass, collapsing inside the greenhouse’s humid, mold-choked shelter.
Bard followed the trail: blood-smeared cuffs, drag marks, a faint path of churned earth. He gripped his pistol, heart hammering, and pushed into the greenhouse.
There, curled on the filth-streaked floor, pale, barely breathing, was Rick. “Jesus… Rick,” Bard whispered, dropping beside him. “Who did this?”
Rick’s lips moved, faint. “Black… Thorn…”
Then he was gone again, slipping into darkness.
Bard’s hands moved on instinct. He cleaned the wounds, grimacing at the torn flesh. Splinted the leg with trembling fingers. Injected morphine. Bound bandages tight, the fabric soaking red too fast.
His chest ached, not from the run, but from the weight of almost losing him.
“You’re not dying today, brother,” Bard murmured. “We’ve been through worse. I’m not losing you. Not now.”
He stayed through the night, building a small fire in the corner. Rifle across his knees, he watched Rick’s shallow breaths, each one a fragile victory.
He’d come so close to being too late.
But he wasn’t.
He’d run into the fire for Rick.
Because they were blood. They were rust. And they never left each other behind.
“The Silence That Screams (Part 1)” by Harvey
I knew every voice that came and went. I remembered their faces. The medics that claim to have rescued me, as if there is such a thing. Their colors, their clothing, I had seen examples of the same thing ripped and shredded back in Chernarus. Laid strewn and bloodied before me in piles time and time again. These people were my prey for years and they didn’t even know it. But I could do nothing. For two whole years, I rotted in that bed.
They would read to me. Pray over me. Wiped my drool like some invalid and worried between each other when my vital signs would falter. My survival anchoring them to each other, they regarded my will to live as a beacon of hope. That I could be a beacon of survival, a second chance incarnate. They didn’t know how wrong they were.
Inside my mind, I burned hotter with every passing day. I remembered every face I’d scarred. Every home I’d shattered. I wanted it back. Not just the chaos that came with it, but myself. I wanted the blood, the fire, the sound of screaming that meant I was alive and free.
I wanted it all…I wanted them to know…I wanted them to feel my hate
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