Grabs a pen, and a notepad he found in a pile of junk. He sighs as he stares at it..."The fuck do I even write?" he thinks to himself... "I guess if I die id at least want someone to know who I am..."

My name is Issac Luxe,

I am 25 years old, I am hungry, tired, and feeling a mix of emotions that could be summed up as only....tired. I am finally done walking, running, dodging these fucking Zeke's and found myself in this town...Arkley I think its called.

My friends call me Zack, and I come from New Orleans. I am not sure where I am geographically, nor at this point do I give a shit, its not like I have to calculate taxes anymore. On my way here I dislocated my shoulder after falling down a hill, its feeling better, but still aches occasionally.

He realizes he is ranting senselessly, he stops and thinks before continuing.

Well, my friends are...undead...my family, well what was left have turned into Zeke's in the most fucked up way. I have watched everyone get disemboweled right in front of me. As far as co-workers...or...well...other drug dealers and suppliers, have either...shot up dope to kill themselves, or killed each other for some odd reason. Either way...who gives a shit. I scrounged up some money around town scavenging through garbage and was able to get food and water. Also somehow got myself a job at the ATC. A trading company.

I am going to keep this in my pocket, possibly add onto it before I get my face torn off by Zeke's or get a drain hole in my head from someone.

• This topic was modified 9 years, 1 month ago by  Zack Luxe.