PCFormat Forum Archive

Paging Dr. Wasteland: One man's crusade to heal DayZ's zombie victims
How an offline actor became an online folk hero to a post-apocalyptic world.

My avatar remains concealed, wedged under the bush where I left him. I check that he is still hidden from all angles, then open my in-game map. If I head straight to my objective, southeast from my current position, I will have to wade through two large towns. Here in Chernarus, those built-up areas will be filled with the walking Zed and criss-crossed by survivors scavenging for food and equipment. Instead, I decide to head due east, skirting along low stone walls for a kilometer and a half, and then move south towards the Black Forest. I have never been in those woods, but they're just north of my rendezvous point and offer concealment the whole way to the meeting.

I'm two weeks into my third life in DayZ, a zombie-infused mod for modern military shooter ArmA II that now has over 500,000 players despite still being in alpha. In those two weeks, I've stocked my ALICE pack with everything needed to survive the game's harsh environment for days without having to take the time to hunt and cook: two cans of beans, a hunk of wild boar meat, and three full canteens of water. If I run into trouble, either human or Zed, two morphine injectors can get me back on my feet while the painkillers keep shock at bay. Hopefully I would burn through the six 30-round magazines of 5.45mm ammunition for my AK-74 before it comes to that. If all else fails, I have a single M67 defensive grenade.

Death at this point would force me back to one of the spawn points on the beach, supplied with nothing more than a single bandage and a flashlight. Death means no pistol, no hatchet, no food. Death means a high chance of more death.

In such a state, it could take me a few days of play just to collect enough equipment to survive once more on my own; I don't have that kind of time. I'm also haunted by the memories of my second life’s final moments, trapped alone in a barn by a pack of zombies—legs broken, unable to move, quickly devoured.

The last item in my inventory is a single blood bag, which I have to chuckle at. It might save my life, but only if I can use it—and you cannot give yourself a transfusion in DayZ. For that, you need another player that you trust, and those are in short supply this far north. That’s why people call Dr. Wasteland, M.D.—the man I'm headed to meet.

...

rustypup wrote:jamin's working his way, slowly, through 50 shades of grey...

rustypup wrote:jamin's working his way, slowly, through 50 shades of grey... which would explain the brad thing...