Community Spotlight – Q1 2025

Welcome to the Q1 2025 Community Spotlight! Following up on our 2024 Year In Review the beginning of 2025 has been filled with awesome content including interesting new stories, exciting events, engaging livestreams, and other media. We want to shed light on the entire community for putting in the time and energy to create story-driven material and put it out there for everyone to see. Despite this article including several great submissions – there is so much more to be found on the DayzUnderground subreddit.  If you are not already a member of our private subreddit, go ahead and apply (but only after you’ve played on our server) we hope to see more of you joining us soon!

Let’s start the year off with some DayzUnderground milestones:

• Jan 10, 2025 – DUG Increases Max Server Population From 80 to 90 Players
• Feb 11, 2025 – Chernarus Server Is Wiped
• Feb 16, 2025 – DUG reaches 10,000 Discord Users In Our Community
• Feb 25, 2025 – DUG Mod Update Featuring Fixes, Updates, New Clothing Variants and More!
• Feb 25, 2025 – Sakhal Server Is Wiped for 1.27 Update
• Feb 26, 2025 – Location Update: Krasnostav Airfield
• Mar 8, 2025 – DayzUnderground Turns 11 Years Old!
• Mar 9, 2025 – DUG Mod Update Featuring New Clothing Variants (Including Fur Clothing) and Fixes
• Mar 23, 2025 – Custom Location Added: Novy Lug Town
• Mar 24, 2025 – DayzUnderground is Ranked #15 on BattleMetrics

Now, let’s show off the awesome content our community has made!

“Ceasefire” by Shifty

After years of war with no ending in sight members of Odyssey successfully capture Benjamin Smits after catching the Forsaken Loyalists off guard. A message was relayed with the clear intent of a potential ceasefire with specific conditions.

Video by Shifty

“The Fear of Cold” Animation by Jimmy

Hand drawn animation depicting the ORCC in a sad state during winter.

Animation by Jimmy

“Trust and Loyalty” by Alan

Alan learns the Forsaken Loyalists code, the hard way.

Video by Alan

“2024 Duggie Award Winners Announcement” by Deyko

The DUGGIES are an award show in the DayZ Underground community to show appreciation for players who really give it their all. This year they were hosted by Runa, Callahan, and Deyko.

Video by Deyko

“How I Joined DayZ’s MOST EVIL FACTION” by HeyBarmby

HeyBarmby’s 2nd video in the series recounting his adventures on DayzUnderground.

Video by HeyBarmby

“The Clowns and Friends” Artwork by Issame

“It Was Me” by Dill

“TRUST” by Alex

I have contemplated and questioned everything in my life up to now after being a prospect with the Loyalists all these months. All my morals, all my rules. They compare nothing to the Club. Of course, the way of life is much different these days, but it is confounding how my past morals carried me so far and yet if I applied them now, I would have been dead long ago. It was pure luck that we survived as long as we did in the Spades, and we almost didn’t.

The Code keeps me alive and prosperous. It keeps Alan alive.

It was a rare occurrence, but the whole Club was together as we made our way west on the tracks to Novaya. I didn’t get to see the guys together like this all the time, but when it happened, it felt like being in a moving force that could never be stopped. Not too long ago, I would’ve felt sorry for any poor soul that crossed our path but I didn’t feel anything anymore for anyone outside of the Club.

As serious and cutthroat as we were, it was nice hearing the occasional banter and laughs over the sound of our feet hitting the worn steel of the track. I got lost in my thoughts, when I heard Joe mention that we needed to stop to warm up. I didn’t even realize half of us were shivering, and that a blizzard was approaching. “We’ll take cover in this barn up ahead and wait out the storm”, he said, in his usual ominous tone.

I huddled in a corner as Alan grabbed sticks for the fire when I noticed the full patched members speaking with each other on the opposite end of the barn. Anxiety rushed in as my immediate thoughts went to Alan and his fuck up with the spark plug. Usually when they did this, nothing good came out of it.

I have dealt with crippling anxiety most of my life, even before the outbreak, but something was different this time. There was an internal fight occurring in my head that I couldn’t quite understand but it allowed me to stay clear and calm. Alan returned with an armful of sticks.

This wasn’t your typical fight or flight feeling, I knew that all too well. I pushed it aside for the moment as Joe said out loud “Impromptu meeting. Right now.”

Alan and I were standing next to each other on one side of the barn, with the rest of the Club across from us. A flashlight was pointed at us, half blinding me, but I kept my focus as best as I could directly on our President.

“A report on Alan’s progress, please.” Joe requested. Ben quickly briefed him of the past few months, how he had made an improvement despite the whole spark plug debacle and how he had completed his prospect task. A bit of relief rushed over me when nothing more came of it and the next matter was at hand: me.

All eyes were on Highlander, as I was his prospect, and he told our President that I have been doing what I’m supposed to and showing more aggression. I had not yet completed my prospect task but before I could explain myself, Joe stepped in.

“New task. Take this. I want you to shoot Alan in the head with it.”

The next five seconds were an instant in my mind as I grabbed the pistol from the ground and with no hesitation, pulled the trigger aimed at my husband’s head.

I now fully understood what that strange internal feeling was. I knew it as soon as I picked up that pistol. It was trust. I trusted them fully and unequivocally. It wasn’t the same trust you hear others talking about. It was something much greater than anyone left in this world could ever comprehend.

The “click” of the empty pistol was faint, but loud at the same time as complete silence had overtaken the barn. Alan dropped to his knees in relief and what seemed like disappointment in me. One day he would understand why I didn’t hesitate, why I have this level of trust in them.

“Welcome to the Club!”

Cheering ensued but I only heard a second of it before Alan and I were punched to a pulp in the Club’s favorite form of hazing. Moments after, Ben handed Alan a Forsaken Loyalists jacket with the freshly sewn “Member” patch on the front.

“Here.” Highlander handed me my new jacket. “Good job.”
A compliment from him was something not many experienced, so I knew he meant it. I trusted the Club, that was clear, but my trust with Highlander was at a different level. He had even trusted me with certain things and I remember him telling me the only other person he trusted was Joe. My life had been in his hands multiple times already and I would never forget it.

Bloody and bruised, we walked out of that barn no longer prospects.

When we got to our destination, Locke pulled me aside. He congratulated me but then his tone became more serious. “Your marriage to the Club is more important than your marriage to Alan.”

“I know. That’s why I pulled the trigger.”

Full members of the Forsaken Loyalists (L to R: Locke, Benjamin Smits, Alex Palmer, Alan Palmer, Joe Fraser, Highlander, Henry Steelman, Frederich Uhrmacher. Photo by: Prospect, Logan Pilgrim)

Wearing our new full Member jackets

“The Suffering He Gave” by Charlie

Deep in the Black Forest, towering pine trees loomed, their branches stretching like shadowy limbs hiding the horrors within.

Wretched weeping pierced the eerie stillness of the icy forest. The sobs brought the long-forgotten, lone decaying house back to life. Shattered windows, broken floorboards, a leaking roof; when he wept, the house wept with him.

In the smaller of the two upstairs bedrooms, a young man, Charlie, grinned as tears streamed down from his dead eyes, soaking into his mom’s nurse dress. Holding it tightly in his hands, he set it aside and began his nightly routine of flipping through the radio channels, searching for someone who knew something, anything, about the whereabouts of the Forsaken Loyalists.

After listening to boring conversation after boring conversation, Charlie, impatient, squeezed the radio and began weeping deeply.

“Who is this?”

The radio crackled to life, and a gruff man called out from the other side.

Charlie hesitated before responding.

“…What’s your name?”

“I don’t give that out lightly… Tell me yours first.”

“Well, my name is… Ch… Charlie.”

Hesitantly, Charlie spoke his name.

“No shit! Charlie as in.. Cat’s Charlie?”

The man on the other end introduced himself as Joe Fraser, President of the Forsaken Loyalists. His tone was sharp, and his words were clear. He mentioned that he had something that might interest Charlie. Before Charlie knew it, Joe Fraser was on his way to come meet Charlie at the lone, dismal house in the Black Forest.

CLICK

The Loyalist’s voice faded as Charlie shut the radio off. Silence momentarily filled the room. Only to be shattered by the painful sounds of both Charlie’s moms screams, they wailed in pain. Tendrils of the void reached out, grappling Charlie pulling him into the blackness, into his own twisted paradise. That is where Charlie spent most of his days now.

Charlie in his Twisted Paradise

Momentarily shaking it off, Charlie scribbled on a note with a stubby red crayon. Assurance in case the meeting went sour. When finished, he quickly headed downstairs, peering out the window into the darkness of the Black Forest, awaiting their arrival. He slipped back into blackness.

Soon after, men and a woman emerged from the thick snowy brush of the forest. They wore green armbands and leather jackets, each adorned with a winged-skull stitched into the fabric, the symbol representing the Forsaken Loyalists.

Without warning, the rotting doors of the house creaked open, and a man wearing a black motorcycle helmet entered. Stitched into his jacket the word “President”.

The man removed his helmet, and instantly began to speak. As usual Charlie was selective in his hearing, only listening to the words that interested him or seemed important. But he quickly realized that Joe was a man who moved and spoke with purpose.

“Cat gave Altra this letter… and this tape recording.”

The President held the letter out to Charlie, his expression serious and unmoved.

“Charlie, I haven’t opened this letter. Altra requested it stay sealed.”

Charlie trembled as he reached out to grab the letter. Quickly he tore into the envelope, and immediately recognized the handwriting. It was the same handwriting that had graced the chalkboards of Berezino school.

“She… she wrote this? Before she…”

Charlie’s voice faltered and then broke. He quietly began to weep, tears streamed down his eyes and onto his cheeks.

Inside had contained a raw and heartfelt message from Cat. She explained why she went to Altra. Taped to the letter was an old Polaroid of Cat. One that Charlie had taken, after they had murdered some poor old man. Beneath it all, under the writing and photograph, a map with a tiny red circle marked in pen.

Cat’s Letter to Charlie

“When Altra… mercifully put her to rest, Cat gave him the letter and this tape. She told him to give it to you, but he never got the chance.”

Carefully the Loyalist explained, as not to upset the shattered..man. He then extended his hand once more, this time with a cassette tape player, preloaded with the tape.

With blurred vision from his tears, Charlie accepted the cassette tape player.

*Click*

Umm.. Hi Charlie.. it’s me… it’s Cat.. umm.. It’s your mom..

…Everynight before you go to sleep I always tell you a story or sing you a lullaby

…Well Charlie there is gonna come a time where I wont be around to do that anymore..

…Twinkle Twinkle little star.. 

The tape played and Cat sang her lullaby, Charlie and Joe listened. As she sang her voice began to twist, the once soothing melody contorted into something ruptured and broken. Her soft humming turned into choked, raspy gasps. Her tone had grown unrecognizably deranged. The lullaby dissipated into piercing screams. She was dying, she was being murdered; at least that is what Charlie was hearing. This of course was different from what Joe Fraser heard.

*Click*

The tape whorled to a stop. Charlie had stopped it even though only half the tape had played. His tear ducts closed, and the moisture on Charlie’s cheeks had dried up.

“No no no”

Charlie murmured to himself.

The Loyalist began to speak, fidgeting as if he was ready to leave. A voice plagued Charlie’s head, and commanded him to prevent the Loyalist’s departure.

“Will you come with me.. To find her… To find Cat…Please…”

“If that is your wish, we will accompany you.”

Charlie reached for his red motorcycle helmet, its surface scuffed and battered from years of wear. It had been sitting on the kitchen table, surrounded by a scattered mess of crayon drawings he had made while cowering under the kitchen table. His eyes darted between the jagged lines of the drawings, each scribble a fragment of his tortured mind.

Sliding his helmet over his head, he felt the comforting embrace of the worn leather interior. The Loyalist motioned for the door, and Charlie pushed the rotting wooden doors open. The two of them stepped outside, and began their long walk to the supposed burial site. They were accompanied by the other Forsaken Loyalists, who seemed unsure about this little journey.

They trudged through the dense forest, the air was thick with decay, and as they moved, HE spoke to Charlie. HIS voice curled around Charlie’s thoughts like suffocating black smoke, dark and inescapable.

Remember the deal

The words echoed in his mind, heavy with dreadful significance, it spawned memories from years prior.

The circle of rocks, just outside of Gorka. Where they took him in, embraced him with cold veiled arms. They promised suffering, pain, and eternity. In the centre of the rock circle, Charlie spoke to PAPA, whispered to him, and pleaded with him. In that moment, he felt Зоя (Zoya) again.

The Rock Circle. Зоя (pronounced Zoya) means “life” in Russian. When Charlie lost his mother as a young boy, he lost his Zoya..his life.

“Do you ever talk to any of these fucks up the hill?”

The Loyalist’s voice broke the fragile trance that had gripped Charlie, out of his memories and back to reality. They had wandered out of the forest now, and were just downhill from Gorka.

“Mmm.. no.. not really.. I don’t even know who’d still be alive.. Maybe Chef? Do any of you have a shovel?”

Charlie hesitated, and his words trailed off. It had been a long time since he last set foot in Gorka, let alone ventured beyond the Black Forest.

“Lets go ask if they have one.”

One of the other Loyalists said, gesturing up the hill towards Gorka.. Towards Charlie’s old home.

The familiar smell of rotting corpses filled Charlie’s helmet as the group entered the town. Pikes lined the streets, each impaling a red helmet, failed warboys. The Loyalists led the way and called out into the darkness, but nobody answered back.

“We’ll find one on the way.”

Said the President, in a way that almost felt encouraging, but not really.

Charlie continued to lead the group, his steps steady but his mind continued to unravel. As they got closer to their destination, HIS voice grew louder, swelling from a mere whisper to a harsh, relentless roar. HE filled every corner of Charlie’s mind.

This is what you’ve wanted..

Let it happen..

LET IT CONSUME YOU CHARLIE…

Eventually Charlie couldn’t contain it any longer, he snapped. Letting out three guttural yelps for help.

“STOP.. Stop*..stop.”*

The words tore through the silence before Charlie struck down on them, biting his tongue hard enough to taste metal. He couldn’t let them know.. couldn’t let HIM take over.. Not until they were together again.

“Something wrong Charlie..?

The President’s voice once more cut the tension, his tone was laced with suspicion.

“NO.. Nothing at all..”

Charlie forced out a playful giggle, as he masked the internal pain.

Their march continued, and eventually Charlie brought everyone to a halt.

“Joe can you please look..? I don’t understand where we go next.”

Charlie pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he handed over Cat’s letter.

Joe investigated the note, and promptly started leading them past an isolated homestead on the outskirts of Khelm.

The house should have been familiar. Its decaying exterior, sagging roof, and the faint, musty smell of abandonment. But, his mind was elsewhere, occupied by the thought of seeing his mom again.

Joe led them into a wooded area, and something about the place resonated with Charlie. These were the same woods he had played in as a child, where he had chased hares and field mice. Where he’d hidden when Dad brought out the axe. These memories clawed at him, filling him with unease as they began their search for disturbed ground.

Unfortunately for Charlie, it had been years, and the ground was now frozen because of the relentless winter storms. The search dragged on, and on, he remembered why he had no hope, why it had abandoned him long ago, leaving him hollow and empty. Charlie wept, wailed and whimpered, as he clawed at random patches of frozen dirt in desperation.

The Loyalists, moved by his anguish, joined him in the search. Scattered throughout the woods in grim silence. But no matter how hard they tried, no matter where they looked, no one could find mom.

“If I can’t find her, how are they supposed to bring her back.”

Charlie murmured over and over again, his voice cracking in despair.

The lone female Loyalist, Alex, glanced at him. She didn’t understand the weight of his words.

“It’s okay Charlie”, she said softly, her voice attempting reassurance. “We’ll find her..”

Little did she know, Charlie would have traded Alex’s worthless life for even one more minute with mom. But the search never stopped, it was endless. She was lost.

PAPA’S presence slithered around him relentlessly, an unseen binding that tightened with every second of the search. No matter how fat the leech grows, it always wants another meal. PAPA feasted endlessly on Charlie’s suffering, feeding on every bit of what was left as he continued his hopeless search.

“If I can’t find her, how are THEY supposed to bring her back to me..”

Charlie murmured the words to himself, but this time The President heard.

“You didn’t make any deals about bringing her back? Now, did you Charlie..”

“I just really wanted to see her again”, Charlie brokenly sobbed. “That’s all”.

“I wanted to make him pay for what he did to her..”

Charlie shakingly explained.

“But you understand now? It was an act of mercy.”

Joe attempted to reason with Charlie, seemingly trying to calm him down.

“I..I.. I guess so.”

Charlie stuttered, his words fumbled over one another as he tried to piece together the information. It all seemed so clear, but yet, there was no grave to be found.

As Charlie’s thoughts spiraled and curled. The sounds of the forest grew unnaturally still, like they’d been sucked up into a vacuum.

A dark shadowy figure grew behind The President, it leered with twisted eyes of the void. Charlie cowered, as he had many times before; the sight of the Lord of Suffering was both terrifying and paralyzing.

“YOU ARE THE CATALYST”

Consumed

The words pierced Charlie’s mind, controlling and inescapable. Without thinking, his lips began to move, repeating the words in a shaky uncontrolled whisper.

“Who are you talking to, Charlie?” The President’s voice said sharply, it tinged with an edge that made it clear he already knew the answer. “Who are you telling to stop?”

Charlie’s breathing softened, his head throbbed as he began to spill the secrets he’d been keeping for years.

“Joe, I made a deal” he began, his voice unstrained now. “They bring her back.. And to get revenge on Altra”.

The President scoffed underneath this helmet, his grip tightened on his rifle.

“I wanted to undo Draven and Altra’s work .. I wanted to hurt him and the Loyalists at any cost.. Bring the Cult and DAMN back together.”

Charlie confessed smugly, hidden behind the visor of his helmet, as he confessed his past failures. It felt good to speak of them—HE made sure Charlie felt relief.

The Damnation. It had been a Warboy’s tale, a brutal truth, told for the purpose of shaping him into a weapon, to make him hate the Cult of Papa as much as they did. It was orchestrated by Draven and Altradoran, and the relationship between the Cult and DAMN was severed, seemingly for good.

As a Warboy Charlie had also heard the stories about the Forsaken Motorcycle Club (FMC). The FMC, once a powerful force, was almost wiped out by the Cult, with only a few stragglers like Altradoran remaining. The wounds ran deep, fueling Altra’s drive to use DAMN in the Damnation plot. After Cat’s promotion from Warboy, Altra split and formed The Forsaken Loyalists. They carried forward the legacy of the FMC, holding a key value in respect of their history, hatred for the Cult.

Pure Hatred for Altradoran

“Did DAMN know!”

The President barked, his voice shrill and demanding. Charlie no longer needed to be intimidated–he was the Catalyst.

“The whole group was there, they all knew.”

“When?” the President questioned with an annoyed tone.

“A few years ago..”

“And presumably they declined the offer” the President pressed, hoping for agreement.

“There was no. There was no.. decline” Charlie said, his tone dripping with a snide edge. Charlie was feeling enjoyment in hearing the Loyalists torment.

The President let out a deep exhale, one with a mixture of stress, anger, and disbelief. Signifying decision and judgment.

“Can we look for Cat some more?” Charlie pleaded, as the tendrils loosened their grip around his mind. He began to look around the forest, away from the Lord of Suffering.

“She’s not here Charlie..” Henry, the Vice President of the Loyalists, spoke smoothly.

“Charlie, if you were Cat, where would you want to be buried?” Joe Fraser said with a sense of calm in his voice.

Charlie began to lead the group of Loyalists outside of the forest, and towards the isolated homestead they had passed before. As they walked up to the homestead, Charlie felt a sense of familiarity. The peeling red paint, the concrete base of the house, the shanty wooden shed in the backyard, and the dreadful basement windows.

This was Charlie’s childhood home.

Charlie’s Childhood Home

It looked more peaceful than he remembered, stripped of the violence that once filled its walls. He had told Cat about it once, on a field trip to Berezino, but he had always avoided it. The memory of his birth mothers gruesome murder had stained this place like an unhealable wound.

The Loyalists followed as Charlie approached the house. As he guided the group to the backyard, an eerie calm settled over him.

Beside the shed, close to the fence Charlie abruptly stopped. He stared at a frozen patch of dead grass below him.

This was it.

This was where Зоя, Charlie’s birth mom, was buried.

Silence settled over the group, thick and suffocating. Charlie felt it pressing on his chest, and the calm began to fade. HE crept back in.

The President let out a slow breath, his voice bleeding with something unreadable.

“Spectacular view.. Isn’t it Charlie? Over there into the sunshine”.

Instinctively Charlie’s legs shifted, his body turned away from the Loyalists. He now faced the direction of the forest they previously had searched, and the sun hung low.  As Charlie gazed out over the woods, the sky bled dark reds and blacks.

A sudden, unshakeable urge surged through Charlie. He wanted to kill Joe.

“I’m sorry Charlie.” Joe’s voice floated to him, distant.

Charlie had no time to process the words, before the tendrils pulled him into eternal darkness.

“Have I made a mistake?” by Gary

It’s over. Finally. I played their Clown games and somehow I won. Even more surprisingly, they kept their word. They’re leaving me alone. So why is it that I feel like nothing has changed? I thought once this was over I’d be hit with an overwhelming sense of hope and optimism. If anything though I feel worse than I did before. I still feel hopelessness and dread. On top of it now though, I feel regret. I no longer have to watch over my shoulder, yet I feel no safer than I did before.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, that is until I got back home to the House. That’s when it hit me. I’ve been fighting this whole time to come back to community that I feel less and less a part of with each passing day. You have Greeny, the stern father figure who you know you’ll never be able to please, but you’ll keep trying anyway. You have Natt and Wisp. Whenever I’m around the two of them together I get hit with Vietnam flashbacks of high school. Walking by the popular girls as they giggle to themselves and look on in judgement. You have Thomas, who I’m pretty sure hates my fucking guts ever since the “accident”. You have Pat, who is too busy cosplaying as Casey Kasem to really give a fuck about what’s going on at the house…and honestly I can’t say I blame him. Then you have Will and X. They seem like decent enough guys, but they’re basically strangers to me. Our relationship is the equivalent of the neighbor you wave to in the morning when you grab the newspaper. The only other people I’m close with at the House are Maybe and Kiwi, but they’re not even Coalition. One is a slightly “off” doctor and the other is a psychotic mute. I wonder now what this says about me as a person that these are the people I gravitate towards.

Then there’s Ivy and Mamie. My two rocks, the reason why I joined this group in the first place. I owe everything to Ivy. She’s the only reason I’m alive right now. She risked everything for me – more than anyone else ever has in my life. I’ll be loyal to her til the day I die. She’s probably the strongest person I know. As strong as she is though, even she’s not immune to the weight of this place. I see it taking it’s toll on her. I try to help her when I can, but I’m not the leader she is. I know it would be selfish of me to lean on her at this point, with all she’s got going on. I want to ask for her help, but she has enough to deal with. That, and I literally just shot her in the head(long story). Not sure how appropriate it would be to get her involved in even more of my shit.

That brings me to Mamie. She was like a mother figure to me. It’s fitting actually, that like my actual mother she’d leave in the middle of the night without as much as a goodbye. God has a sick sense of humor. She was dealing with her own stuff, I understand, but after all we’d been through….I guess it just hurt a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always be there for Mamie whenever she needs anything. She’s been there for me through some horrible situations, often at the expense of her own well-being. That said, I don’t think I can ever forgive her for leaving like that. All we have in this world are the people we trust, and to lose one at the blink of an eye…that’s hard to come back from.

So I find myself, sitting here, contemplating what the fuck I’m even doing. I fought for so long to come back to a place that is starting to feel less and less like a home. All for what? Because the Clowns are “bad”? That’s what I was told. Over and over. First by strangers at the Woodsmen event, then by Firefly Ed, then by my Coalition brethren. They’re bad people. Bad. Bad. Bad. What does that even mean? I’ve met some “good” people at the House who turned out to be pieces of shit. The type that will shoot you the second you turn your back, or use you for their own personal gain. The Clowns, as demented as they are, they don’t pretend to be anything they’re not. They also went out of their way to bring me into their family. They seemed to value me when no one else did. Surely they wouldn’t have left me in the middle of the night without saying a word….and I pushed them away, because they’re “bad”.

I can’t help but think I made a mistake. On one hand, I could never abandon Ivy. Not after everything she’s sacrificed for me. On the other, was this my one chance at happiness and I threw it away? Will this eat away at me for the rest of my life – however short that may be? The more I think about it, the worse I feel. Unfortunately, there is nothing else to do with this newly found “peace” except sit and think. The more I think, the darker my thoughts become. Maybe Tedic was right…

“Melted Souls” by Trev

Our relationship with the Outrider Caravan Company has probably been the closest thing to “trust” that I have come across, outside of my fellow Peppers of course. Solus, Jimmy, Forest, Lee, Nash, and many others had never previously wronged us.

Some time ago, we had been taking our regular rest stop at the Trading Post, as well as conducting our usual business. Everything seemed normal as night fell. The air was filled with warm words and the smell of a small fire. Jimmy, our favorite, allowed us in. We had known Forest for a small amount of time, and even had seen her evolve from not being in ORCC at all, to then becoming an intern. Maybe one day she’ll become a full member, I thought to myself. She always seemed to share everything that excited her, and maybe even too much at times for her own good.

She had mentioned previously that certain members were seeming to take a liking to Rify, or at least the riches that were buried there. This sparked our interest. Not because we have some obsession over all areas consumed by the gas, as we only care as much about our home, but because it would be interrupting our supply. We promptly offered our Gunter, while also applying a debt that would need to be paid.

As we continued our conversation, we brought up our previous down payment. Cob mentioned how Forest promised goods such as plates and filters, while Jimmy looked at her with concerned and possibly frustrated eyes. Jimmy continued, saying that the debt had been paid, but everyone in the conversation understood the way things were headed. He kept repeating that there were no plates, or even filters in storage.

Forest, seemingly fidgeting around, said “this is our nervous dance!” jovially.

“Now the whole idea is we wanted you guys to keep the car for now, as we strongly d-disagree with being in debt, or just having stuff we haven’t paid off ye-“ Jimmy quickly stopped his thoughts, while being interrupted by Forest letting out a scream.

Cob walked over the fire. I could see where his shoes had melted on the soles, and his eyes burned with a much too familiar look. He pressed Jimmy.

“Jimmy, when have you ever known us to lead you astray?” Cob spoke with conviction.

Jimmy tried to interrupt, but Cob continued. “No no no, you can hold onto the car”.

The supplies were swiftly delivered, much more than to what they had admitted to having. I could tell Cob and Rowan had expected this all along, their coolness in the situation had shown to me that they were prepared for this day to come.

I attempted to act under the guise of their emotions, but my mind couldn’t be farther from what Cob and Rowan had portrayed. Why did they do this? Our business deals had never come to this previously. I was almost trapped under the notion that Jimmy and Forest had truly cared for us. My eyes started scanning the outside areas, expecting others to have their sights trained on us. Before I knew it, Cob and Rowan collected our things, and we started the long trek home.

–

Later on through our visits, we had met a fellow named Nash who seemed to be the new intern for ORCC. He was much of the same we had seen in the Trade Post previously. Bright, jovial, and naïve to the world occurring around them. Though, as conversations rolled on, it became apparent that Nash had lived much more than his short tenure insinuated. He expressed how Forest had seemingly been incapacitated by DAMN, and more specifically by a former member of ORCC, Dash. This was surprising to us, as we had encountered Dash and he was certainly not what he had later revealed himself to be. We promptly asked if Nash had some form of retaliation, but he seemed confused at this question. His heart told him to fight back, to protect the ones he loved, but his brain told him that a conflict with DAMN would be hopeless. His desire to fight back was all that Cob needed to see.

We supported Nash and reminded him of our history. How perseverance was the only way through situations such as the one he was in. He appreciated this, and through much more conversation, Nash expressed that he wanted to come down to Pavlovo and see “what the Golden Peppers were all about”.

We accepted.

–

The day came. As Cob and Rowan made contact with Nash in the Pavlovo Church, I rushed to get supplies and ensure Nash would remain safe on his trip. My heart rate slowly increasing as I neared our home. Had he brought Solus, who was ever so concerned with safety on this trip, with him? Was I going to get captured myself? Every breath that I took in the open cold air seemed to become shorter and shorter.

When we all arrived at the top of the broken down hospital, I could notice Nash had been a bit shaken by the whole experience. He clearly hadn’t broken the rules that we so often remind folk about, until now.

“This is where… we go, to be away from the hells of that place out THERE,” Cob sternly spoke.

“Nash, why don’t you take a second to take it all in. Walk around, feel it out,” I said.

At this point, I stopped hearing all of the noise of the outside world. Nash had no way out. There was nothing he could do to save himself. My senses slowly dialed down, and I wasn’t so jumpy anymore.

He asked a lot of questions, and genuinely seemed to see the peace that we always saw. He walked around, consumed with silence, which was only to be broken by the sharp, piercing wind of a snow storm. When he was done taking his walk, we continued our conversation inside. Cob continued to explain how the gas offers us a sense of solace, to which Nash picked up on. Quickly, Cob’s attitude seemed to change. He asked Nash what our two rules were.

Nash nervously answered, “Don’t go into the gas… and don’t have your guns out in the Golden Pepper’s territory.”

“Yes, we’re glad you remember them. You’ve… technically violated one of them, haven’t you?” Cob said with a cynical smile on his face, while Rowan swiftly pulled a Taser from his holster.

“…Yes,” Nash said as he looked down in regret.

Cob, with a manic look in his eyes, finally asked “And what should we do about that?” before the quiet sound of the Taser rang out in the small room.

I watched as Rowan holstered his Taser, and rummaged through his bag for a rope he had been holding onto. Nash quickly awoke.

Cob continued to speak down upon Nash. He spoke of how he recognized that Nash reminded us of something that we once were. His kindness, and his seemingly caring attitude that vowed to help others in need was not something unfamiliar to us.

“…And while that’s all well and good, that leaves you at a disadvantage, doesn’t it?” Cob said.

“I wouldn’t say so, I mean I just try to see the good in- AH,” Nash said before being abruptly punched in the mouth.

They continued to argue. Nash, wanting to see the good in people. Cob, determined to drill into Nash’s head that the only way to save the ones you love is to “carve people out of this world”.

“Nash what would you rather do, spend time trying to save those that are too far gone, or spend time trying to save those that you know aren’t?” I said, before being interrupted by Cob pulling his rifle from his back. Rowan seemed to be searching for something in his bag once more.

I felt as though I was trying to convince Nash to throw himself into harm’s way to save those that he kept close. Jimmy, Forest, and the others had long been tormented by the relentless abuse that this world had delivered to them, and while I still felt paranoid around them for what they had done, Nash needed to be the one to relieve some pressure. For some reason, I still contemplated whether they had made a mistake before, or whether they had truly meant to lie to us.

But, as the conversation continued to stretch, I could tell that Cob was not concerned with the safety of Jimmy, Forest, or even Nash. He simply wanted everyone to suffer.

“They say it will affect the relations at the trade post, but it is hard to not to want to go out and kill every person that has harmed us before,” Nash spoke.

“Well Nash, that’s why you’re here. You see Nash we believe, you, can do something in the future about it. Any threat to ORCC is a threat to our trade that we have going on, and it’s important to our way of life. We can’t fight your battles. But we can make you stronger of will. Even if it’s one of you. You have the capability to talk to others in the North. Many others with similar hatred for similar people,” Cob said.

Cob’s words reminded me of why we were there in the first place. Before I could ponder more on the thought, I realized it was time to carry out our plan. There weren’t much more words exchanged. I swiftly locked the door behind Nash. Cob and I calmly slipped our gas masks over our faces while Nash began to cough violently. Rowan, of course, stood there in amusement.

This had been the first time in a while that my nerves had completely shut off. I was no longer worried about what was to come, what we had to do to save ourselves, or if someone was waiting for us outside. I was drowned in silence as Nash laid unconscious, no longer fighting for air.

The silence was only broken by a sharp inhale.

“Dreams in the Dark” by Wisp

“Operation Last Call” by Misha

I had never listened to the complete “Always Hope” speech by Harry Churches until today. As we all sat quietly around the fire, I imagined each of us reflecting on how the speech applied to our lives. At least, I did. He called on former bandits, criminals, cannibals, and others to leave their old lives behind and start anew. While I never considered myself one of them, I did have a past. Tonight’s mission would prove to the Fireflies—and, more importantly, to myself—that I now stood on the right side of history.

Santiago looked at Peterson and me, then said, “¿Listo muchachos?” [“Ready, boys?”] in my native Spanish. “Siempre” [“Always”], I replied. Before meeting the Fireflies, the last time I had spoken this much Spanish was with Forest and Jimmy. Jimmy had told me that Forest was last seen months ago, dragged away by DAMN. I knew that tonight I would rub shoulders with those psychopaths while they enjoyed the festivities our so-called allies, the Woodsmen, had prepared for them and the other scum that roamed South Zagoria.

As I approached the redbrick factory, the acrid stench of smoke and cooking human flesh filled the air. I made my presence known to the Forsaken Loyalists’ outer security perimeter. Vadim, whom I had met a few times before, greeted me with his usual old-world mobster charm. “Priviet, what is your name?” he asked. After I gave him my alias, he escorted me through the ranks of Forsaken Loyalists.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of them barked, a sharp contrast to Vadim’s composed demeanor. Although it was clear I was already under Vadim’s escort, these so-called security operators couldn’t shake off the thuggish and brutish nature they tried to conceal beneath a thin veneer of professionalism. “You will be searched, and your weapons emptied,” Vadim commanded. I complied, ensuring nothing I carried could be traced to the Fireflies. Tonight, I was just another survivalist seeking excitement in this brutal spectacle.

With my guns now rendered useless, I stepped into what looked like a fever dream of post-apocalyptic hell. Blood smeared the floors, human flesh cooked in multiple pots, and the cacophony of shouting drowned out my thoughts. The Woodsmen had constructed a wooden arena crowned with barbed wire. To the left, Poopy and his DAMN crew of cannibals occupied a tower, while Mittens and their abominable Clowns loomed from the opposite side. At the arena’s center lay a charred skeleton surrounded by scattered bones and flesh. Fighters frequently tripped over the remains, much to the crowd’s amusement. The sight sickened me. I stayed close to the walls, bracing myself in case I vomited.

After taking in the grotesque smells, sights, and sounds, I refocused on the mission.

Two fighters had just finished their match. Mango emerged victorious, while the other man was left unrecognizable. Mango’s supporters cheered as DAMN members descended upon the loser’s body, carving him into pieces. I watched in horror as Gideon, rather than stopping DAMN, searched for another fighter to challenge Mango. My fingers brushed the loose bullets in my pocket as I wondered how many I could load into a magazine and fire at Poopy before the crowd overwhelmed me. My thoughts were interrupted by Pete’s voice in my earpiece.

“Can we do the transmission, Misha?”
“Copy that,” I confirmed.

During a lull in the chaos, I approached the largest cluster of people and shouted, “The Fireflies are on the radio!” Word spread quickly, and soon, radios were turned on throughout the crowd.

Pete’s words echoed through the factory. Some people shouted questions about the Fireflies, others speculated about their intentions, and a few hurled insults. Most, however, listened silently. Among them was Vadim, who knelt beside me to hear the broadcast. Regardless of the varied reactions, our mission was a success: they had listened. Our last call to the Woodsmen.

Not wanting the broadcast to disrupt his event, Gideon called for another fighter to challenge Mango. I watched with anger as he laughed and joked with his new friends—a man I had once broken bread with. I shook my head, knowing the Forsaken Loyalists would soon demand something the Woodsmen couldn’t deliver.

As I contemplated that future, a sniper’s shot zipped past my head, striking a DAMN member and killing him instantly. Panic ensued. DAMN members surrounded the body and pointed their weapons at the crowd, threatening to kill anyone who approached. The Forsaken Loyalists stood by, forfeiting their authority to avoid confronting DAMN. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

“Everyone stay back! There’s a gilly in the woods,” a Loyalist guard shouted.
“They’re going to massacre us all! Haha!” one of the Clowns cackled.

Amid the chaos, I kept an eye on those around me, wary of anyone trying to smear me with human flesh or inject me with God knows what.

Eventually, the commotion died down, and Gideon declared the event over, inviting attendees to the Woodsmen Embassy for fireworks. Most people left the factory in fear rather than excitement. DAMN headed toward Pusta, which I relayed to my comrades. Meanwhile, the Forsaken Loyalists loitered, and at one point, shot a civilian for reasons unknown.

I exited eastward, ensuring the Woodsmen’s base remained in sight to avoid suspicion. Once clear, I reconnected with the Fireflies and confirmed there were no hostiles near Pusta. I presented my intelligence report as objectively as possible, though I held back my personal disdain for the Woodsmen. I sensed the Fireflies might reconsider their stance toward the Woodsmen but keep the door to diplomacy ajar.

For me, no further proof was needed. I burned the clothes I had worn that night—the stench of sweat, blood, and human flesh was unbearable. As the embers cooled, I began crafting a way to convey my opposition to further dealings with the Woodsmen without appearing overly subjective. With images of carnage still fresh in my mind, I headed off for my next mission earlier than planned. I didn’t want anyone asking me what to do about the Woodsmen since some still believed in their redemption. I was the only Firefly who had witnessed Fight Night firsthand, and I knew their true nature in ways others could not.

“Banshee of the Bog” by May

I am nothing more than a shadow of who I used to be.

Lost to all who knew me, in my own purgatory.

Unwanted by Heaven or Hell, deep in the Bog is where I dwell.

The world has all but left me, twisted heart and broken will.

I fight every single day to remember what it’s like to feel.

My enemies grow stronger, will they ever find me? Only time will tell.

I used to drown in Spirits, until I became one as well.

I won’t let the bullet tempt me,

But even ghosts don’t feel this empty.

I endure hardships as well as the pain,

always weathering the storm no matter how hard it rains.

I am a Revenant, and haunting this earth is how I shall remain.

Q1 2025 Community Events:

• Guns Down Gloves Up Fight Night Boxing Event – The Woodsmen
• Warboy Wednesdays (On Thursdays)
• Forsaken Loyalists ‘Ride Along’ Event
• Community Meetings

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