rugged forge
The people who remain in Knox are ghosts of humanity, bound only by their shared exile into this purgatory. Escaped slaves, drifters, and criminals eke out brutal lives, choosing the endless gauntlet of undead and psychopaths over the tyranny and chaos of the outside world. At night, the air fills with the distant crackle of gunfire, guttural screams, and the moans of the undead. You either make peace with the fact that you’ll die here, or you don’t, but the outcome’s the same.```
Entry 1:
Police Station’s too quiet. Figured having Von buried nearby across the street at my old base would help. But it doesn’t. It’s just me and the old creaks of this place. Sometimes I swear I can hear him snore or get a whiff of the burned cooking he used to make. But he’s not here anymore. It’s just the silence.
Didn’t have to go like that, didn’t have to run into me in the woods and went on his way or tried to kill me like the other forest folks I’ve met. But he didn’t. He talked to me. Taught me a thing or two about foraging and butchering. Even helped me set up a rain collector on the fire station’s roof. Worth it despite how painful making the log stairs was. Then some random psychopath came out of the fog and started beating him half to death. Von screamed at me to run, I didn’t and even then, I was too late. He bled out, arm all twisted. I was worried Von might have been bit since he had a lot on injuries, but thankfully, he didn’t come back.
After the fight, I dragged his corpse into a hole I dug myself. Built a nice little wooden cross. I figured he might like it. People used to do that you know. Even hid a nice little bottle of whiskey. Still have his ID card. If anyone reads this, his name was Von. Had a scar over his left eyebrow and a heart bigger than Knox country could hold. I hope someone remembers him.
Entry 2:
I still think about the pits. Can’t stop thinking about their faces, people I fought, people I killed. It’s strange how that life’s following me around. Quick reflexes, knowing where to hit, seeing the next move, whether it’s alive or dead. I can still handle myself. Guess that's why Callister kept me around for long. No longer a scared little girl, but still bloody entertainment for him and his thugs.
Running away wasn’t brave. Just what was needed to keep going. Even a dog will run to the ends of the world if you beat it bad enough. I got branded, collared, and when I wasn’t in a ring, I was in a cage. I found a cage in a basement in one of the houses south of the police station.
Looks like the old world wasn’t much different just without the zombies. Still not sure how I made it through the woods into Knox or how they didn’t go after me. Maybe they’d think I die here, maybe they didn’t care. Either way, they’re not following. Knox is a graveyard and I think even they know it’s best to not dig too much.
Entry 3:
In a odd way, Rosewood hasn’t changed much. Houses look like shit and covered in weeds and vines but they’re still standing. If I close my eyes, I can almost hear Pops cursing from the roof while Mama’s got a fresh pie sitting on the windowsill. I thought we had it rough back then, weren’t the richest family around. Being on the edge of town turned out to be lucky.
I don’t know if they made it. We got out of Knox together but it didn’t end there. Death and chaos followed us into Elizabethtown. Another place that doesn’t exist anymore. When the gates at the refugee camp fell, I lost them in the mob. Screaming faces, stench of death. Bodies crushing each other as the dead and living walked over them. I hoped for years, but that’s a heavy thing to carry when you’re alone. If they’re still around I hope they never find out what I’ve done to survive.
Entry 4:
Some raiders are camping up north. Saw smoke, too controlled and too long to be a random psycho setting some shit on fire. I’m sure they’re watching. Waiting for a chance. Felt it before, that tingle at the back of your neck. Von called it a gut feeling and that I should always trust those.
I’m not running though, if they think they’ll have an easy snack they’re going to find out the hard way that they don’t. Took a hell of a lot of work to get this place set up and barricaded. Von would be proud of the rain collector I set up on the roof alone. It ain’t much but it’s mine.
I’m not sure why I’m writing this. Guess it feels good to put thoughts to paper. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just a walking corpse who hasn’t noticed it yet. Just moving forward because it’s the only thing to do. Maybe that’s all surviving is. Von said the dead can’t enjoy the little things. I enjoy writing so I guess I’ll keep doing that for now. For him.
Vick
Hi everyone,
I wanted to share my "10 years later" playthrough using my mod collection for a more desolate and immersive experience:
https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=3407508231
I’ve written a few journal entries for my character, Victoria "Vick" Hall—an ex-gladiator (Using alternate professions) who’s navigating survival in Knox. Hoping to do monthly updates as I indulge on Build 42 and all the greats mods created and updated for it.
rugged forge
Updated mod collection for latest patch removing un-needed hotfixes, still testing.
rugged forge
Entry 5
Met someone today, calling himself Joe. Forest folk. Seemed to be held together by duct and bad luck, looked like a twig and about to snap like one. Ugly yellow sunglasses. Said he had been watching me. Put me on guard. Wanted to get into my place, the police station. When I said no he said “Guess it’s easier to lock yourself up than care.”
Keeping a hand on my shotty, I caved. I didn’t really like his company, but it’s something. Was oddly interested in my gun locker and didn’t even ask taking a piece out and rushing out the door. Was about to aim and unload when I saw him take out a wandering straggler at 30 yards through the fence. Almost respected him for it until he looked at me like I owned him something. I did let him keep it though.
Managed to convinced Joe to move into my old base, close enough to keep an eye on him, far enough I can pretend he doesn’t exist when he start’s talking my ear off. Talks a lot, about the how the world used to be, people he lost. How he’s not like the others. Says he’s a survivor but I’ve seen his hands shake trying to light up a cig. I’m surprised he’s made it so far, world ain’t made for people like him.
He has as a lot of ideas, finding others, building, starting something new. Like any of that was possible, like it mattered. I don’t tell him he’s wrong. Just listen, let him talk. Easier.
The dead are easier, they don’t get any ideas.
Vick
Entry 6
Joe’s gone, didn’t take long. Probably living on borrowed time before I even met him. Was coming back from a loot run when I heard thumping from the fire station. Rushed in thinking Joe might have left some zombie wander inside or worse got bitten by one and turned. Both were correct.
He was bitten and turned, all alone, despite all his words he hadn’t said anything about this. Weren’t any signs I could recognize. It wasn’t Joe any more, so I just took him out quick. Didn’t feel right burying a zombie, so I just put him in some bushes behind the station.
No grave, no marker. I didn’t find the gun. Maybe that’s why he was so interested in getting one. Wonder if he got cold feet and tossed it somewhere. Made me think about how I’d do it.
Wonder why he cared so much about the future knowing he was going to die like this. False hope? Trying to convince himself out of the quick way out. Guess it doesn’t really matter, he’s dead and I’m still here.
Vick
**Entry 7 **
Got lucky. Boarded up gas station. Enough supplies for months. It was full of zombies though. Squeezing up against the barricades as I peeked inside. Almost piling on top of each other. Managed to clear it easily enough. They’re dressed differently. Gas station must have been untouched since the event.
Survivors, until they stopped being survivors. Someone must have boarded them up inside. A warning might have been nice. Got me thinking while I was going over the stuff they stockpiled inside. These people tried to make it work, stay together, build something. Like it was enough. It wasn’t.
I did find some wild chickens nearby. Scrawny nervous things. Could be a good food supply for the winter. Put my mind off things I’d rather not think about. Got the town mostly cleared excluding the occasional cannibal or forest folk I got to worry about. It’s too quiet to live alone here.
Vick
Entry 8
Two months, still here.
Chickens are doing fine. Nervous and still scared of me but they’re not running away and laying eggs. Must be doing something right. Even got a book to make sure of that. I’d say they’re living better than I do. It’s a bitch and a half to clean their hutch though.
I went to the prison, on the outskirts. Didn’t go in. No need to. Sound was enough. Sounded like an angry hive. Moaning, clanging. Hundreds, maybe thousands. A graveyard with walls. I’m not getting anything worth going in there.
Still pass by Von’s grave. Not sure I can explain why. Maybe it’s easy to pretend he cared when no one cares. Didn’t know him much, not really. A week’s a short time here. He was nice, and I guess that’s enough to cling on to. I don’t know.
I still think about it, how maybe I’m no different from of those corpses. Just moving forward because I don’t know any better. I don’t know why I wrote about the prison. I don’t want to think about it. When I heard them inside, like a storm. It felt like that sick feeling you get when you want to jump off somewhere high even if it was a really bad idea. ~~First thought that came to mind was “That this would do it. They’ll tear me apart and I won’t feel a thing.” ~~
I don’t want to think about it. Chickens are clucking unaware of anything, probably don’t even know they exist. Maybe that’s the secret.
