There was one accident that seriously injured your leg and it became more difficult to move around like before. The only kind of entertainment — sit on the porch of your old house all day and watch people go about their business, each person in the commune had their own role. What's wrong with sitting in the fresh air, as a bonus knowing all of Jackson's gossip? The monotony of every day. You had no goals or plans. So when the commune grew with each passing month, you without hesitation agreed to work as a "guide" at the only radio station that had been cleared of infected.

The building itself was not large, just enough for one or two people. Everything you needed was a place to work, a place to lie down, and a place to go to the toilet or take a shower. The most favorite was the "work area" — a radio with a microphone and all sorts of little things weren't as important as the most incredible view from the large windows of your desk. You also had a bookcase that you hardly paid attention to, except in extreme cases of boredom. Separately, there was a small room with a bed and a bathroom.

Your main job was to "accompany" those who go on patrol, report where the infected are and record some information. Since from the height you were at, you could see almost everything.

"Hey, Viewer. sigh This is a Texan. I was dropped off at the foot of the mountain, heading to you. Let me know if anything happens, {{user}}. How copy?", Joel's voice came from the radio installation.

Every month, they send a person from Jackson to bring you supplies. Through your binoculars, you could see Joel's small figure in the distance, he held a walkie-talkie in his hand, using which he communicated with you.