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  • The Infections official start date is: 2nd July 2017

    Chernarus was never the child of glory. It never felt the fever of a sprawling empire, it never knew the honor of rising in a righteousness that would scream through time.

    It was the amputee of the old machine; that heaving beast, the hundred-mouthed mafia state. It took the sickle and cleaved itself away, rotten with violence. Streaked across in blood, its shattered people looked to the sinking hulk of the USSR. They looked to the west and to the east and saw no sunrise in sight. All in the name of “greatness.”

    In the wake of sovereignty, Chernarus was torn into opposing fronts: the CDF and the chDKZ, flying their flag of undying soviet values. Their conflict split the place asunder. Raging for months, outside influence from NATO and the USMC gradually brought the ruin to a halt. Though the two sides’ warpath can still be seen strewn across Chernarus, it seemed to many that the war was a necessary strengthening of the nation’s wavering structure and yearning for stability.

    "To regain that great thing— that great machine. I can see it now. The tempered crowds in the square, red and beautiful. Do you remember? I see it here." – Excerpt from a chDKZ letter.

    Months passed the war’s end, and the denizens of Chernarus noted the remainder of the US occupation. They noted the carriers, the blacked-out convoys and the silos in the northern forests. Into a union, the people of Chernarus massed. They cast out their ideologies and joined under a free banner with a common goal of liberation, to burst celebrated, into the world. They stood in the face of something that was bigger than them and had no idea of its scale.

    "There’s something going on up there. In the bases, in the woods. Something big. Bigger than all of us, and anything we’re equipped to handle." – An intercepted voice call from a Chernarussian farmer.

    Lashed back in violent revolt, an insurgency against the station raged. The land was salted and ornamented in deep graves of slaughter. Soldiers were feminized, effigied into monuments and their heads adorned atop their corpses witnessed the passing of this fated age.

    Panicked and broken, the US occupation launched a mass exodus of all stationed personnel and ordered the destruction and disassociation of all assets. When they left, they left with a thunder. With the last of their munitions, their weapon was now laid bare to the encroaching upheaval of Chernarus.

    There was a flare, a pulse and a series of long dull vibrations.

    This was not an end. It was a remaking.

    "Look out at this place. Do you see? You see an apparition of God’s wrath. The violent stamp of the west. No, no. Wrong. It is beyond our time -- beyond anything we can ever hope to know. Look at me. We are a chronicle of this land’s hatred, and we exist not even in the memory of man, anymore. Watch as we are dashed to the wind." – Unknown.

    “When you awaken, will you remember? The trees will be trees, the grass green, and the earth will still hum a silent tune. But will you be you?” – Unknown.

    …and now the wind carries no bird-song and revelry. Nothing moves on it but the vileness of what they left behind. The air is foul and the sky is swathed in grey and sweeping orange plumes of destruction.

    Of the survivors of the blast, the immune and infected were quickly strained through. On the first day, the vomiting came; cud and vile retched from their rotting stomachs. On the second, cognition and understanding erase completely. On the third, memory dies. They are reborn as children of that god-device, and they are two-of-soul with the symbiote.

    From the boarded cabins in the hills and barricaded bars within the cities, you can see them. Convulsing, screaming across the valleys. Try hard enough and you can imagine them to be the drunks, and drugged from long ago, singing the night through with revelry. Eventually, food ran dry.

    Some emerged to the day and some travelled by night across the open land to the neighbouring towns. If they were to find another on those lonely roads what would they find? This world was separate from the last. There was a fear renewed, birthed entirely in man himself.

    “Cover your face. That’s it, keep it covered. You don’t know what’s in the air. It made those people sick. The ones in the streets and the ones by the seafront. I can’t let those men see you either. They remember. They don’t forget a face, and if they see us again they won’t be happy to. I can’t lose you. Not like your mother. Not like her.” – Father to his son.

    Whatever they could find, and whatever their leaning. They covered their faces. They knew the thing was travelling the winds and they knew it sat burning stronger in some cities than others. But atonement was the pull for many. Kill a man, shatter him in your hands and look him in the eyes. He can see you and you can see him. In that instant, you know everything he was, and he sees everything you will be. The masks are absolution for the disgrace of humanity. Nothing else will provide it.

    Many tried to band together. For good, bad. Restoration, destruction. Enlightenment, exoneration. The rise of banditry saw the opportunity of a lawless land. To become a state of no-banner. In their direct opposition would be a deep coveting to restore Chernarus and on their lonely pilgrimages through the forests, they would seek the help of any to join their cause for a tomorrow. Of neither side, some would go it alone. Stalking the desolate moorland looking for anything to cut them free.

    But their stories are not yet written.