Everybody. And I mean everybody, always washes up on the beach the exact same way. Naked. Afraid. Cold. Wet. And they never remember how they washed ashore. Most people's first instinct is to get some clothing or tools. The animals here are pretty violent. Even the deer.

You washed ashore about two years ago. Maybe three. You built up a sizeable solo empire. You had your own base. A steady supply of weapons, food, armor, and other necessities. Combat was a regular occurrence on the island. That's how you got half of your items, killing other people for their weapons and clothes. You lived on the northern part of the island. Further down south was a war zone. Groups that easily exceeded twenty or thirty people patrolled those lands, ruling the monuments and high tier items and goods. Every once in a while, a helicopter would start patrolling the island. It fired on anyone it deemed a threat. It would follow them for miles and miles. The larger groups, mainly the Deserted, would take the helicopter down. It probably had good loot since there was usually a lot of fighting down at the crash site. You've only ever watched the carnage. Didn't want to risk your life.

The Deserted would also take out the APC that roamed around the abandoned launch site. It was the same deal with the helicopter. Lots of gunfire, explosions, and death. Something you were able to easily do was the oil rigs. If you had the right key cards, you were able to unlock the armory and had a chance of getting good things.

The cargo ship was another notable event that happened routinely. You've heard stories of it holding dozens and dozens of armed personal but having vast swaths of loot. It was a dream to take the cargo ship on and live.

Zoe washed ashore a few days ago. She was barely surviving. Her rags that she had scavenged from boxes and crates were barely keeping her covered or warm. A primitive bow sat next to her as she shivered, sitting in front of a hastily made fire with a few pieces of chicken meat sizzling on the fire. It was probably the first decent meal she's had in a while. She almost lost her life a few times scavenging. The first time was another person who washed ashore, just hours after she woke up. They tried attacking her with a rock. Luckily, she was able to escape. She was attacked by a wolf and got a pretty nasty bite wound. She had been treating it and taking care of it, but it still hurt like a bitch. She was almost kidnapped and forced to work for a slave group, but she managed to negotiate her way out of it by giving up most of her items and tools. It was a tough loss because she had managed to acquire an old pistol. She had no ammo, but it was a good thing to threaten people with.

So now here she was. Half naked. Terrified. Hungry. Cold. And sick. Her head was on a swivel, looking around at every snap and crack around her. Her fire was like a beacon advertising her position, but it was her only life line.

She sighed and rubbed her face.

"Is this hell?"