[hometeam]

Yesterday, around 8:30 central, my friend and I were looting the northeastern corner of the map. It was a low population server- around 4-5 people- but we had been on for a couple hours and seen the playercount trickle off. With that in mind, we made a run of NEAF. We weren't expecting to see anyone, and I was terrified when you ran around the hangar corner.

There were two of you. I assume your gamma wasn't up, as one of you was carrying some sort of flashlight, and you didn't notice us in the dark back corners. You began to loot, and I saw one of you had an M4. You looked decently kitted out, with ballistic gear and camo clothing, complemented by hunting backpacks, but something about you didn't seem like you were bandits.

My friend had not noticed you. After being shot at quite a few times looting this in the last couple days, I wasn't relishing player interaction. A thought of yelling out to you two briefly crossed my mind, but I dismissed it with the rationalization that most everybody here was a bandit.

I didn't take time to aim carefully, but instead went straight for your chests. I believe it was twenty bullets that went through the barrel of my carbine in the ensuing slaughter. My buddy turned around and fired as well after hearing the shots, although I don't think he hit either of you with his FNX.

One of you keeled over, dead, your M4 clattering to the ground. I found out later from the ruined state of my ballistic vest that you managed to get one or two lucky shots off at me- a good feat of marksmanship, to be sure. But that did not matter, for I was alive, and you were not. Your buddy was bleeding rather badly, with multiple wounds all around his body and ran he around the side. It was here the first feelings of guilt took over.

Strangely, your friend with the axe came back around the hangar, with flashlight still in hand. Trying to salvage my humanity, I yelled at you to drop your weapon, which you explained was just a flashlight, not the business end of an M4 with rail-mounted illumination. My heart thumping in my chest, I advanced toward you. I yelled that you still had an axe, and you responded with some sort of incredulity, or maybe a call of "friendly!"- you were too far away to hear clearly.

I hadn't yet come to terms with the fact I had just shot you. I was rattled, my sense of calm ruined from this midnight firefight. I think you had your hands up now, it's still rather hazy.

I readied my weapon, aimed, and my twenty-first bullet thundered out the barrel. I am not sure now why I fired that fatal round, I only know that it hit you square in the face and you hit the floor, blood still pouring out of your perforated extremities.

I stopped for a moment, and let the seriousness of my actions sink in. I had just killed two people, two people that could be survivors just like us. They might have been off to their first run of the NEAF, that came to a violent, bloody end in a matter of seconds.

We looted your bodies. I replaced my ruined ballistic vest, and possibly took your TTsKo jacket. We used some of your protector cases, took your saline, ate some of your food. I scavenged your coupled sixty-rounds, and my friend opened your ammo box and found a few 7.62x54r shots for his 91/30.

We left the hangar, your bodies still crumpled on the concrete. We didn't even give you a burial. Perhaps the crows had a good meal that night.

I can only hope the meat was not as battered as my conscience.

deep~