There was a time when I struggled to survive. I took refuge in a little villa with a group of friends, telling bawdy stories, waiting for the plague outside to go away. But things changed.
It wasn't the zombies that did for me. I could handle the zombies. At least they're honest.
It was the PKers. It was going to sleep in the corner of a warehouse and waking up to find some other survivor had killed me and dumped my body outside. Again. It was getting shot in the head by a "zombie killer" while waiting at a cemetery for some kind soul to come and revive me. And then standing up. And then getting shot by another Zombie Killer, with a stupid name and some kind of promotional link on their profile page.
I finally realised, this town wants me dead. So that's how you'll find me.