January 7th, 2014,<br/><br/>"The world...is left in ruins. No one's certain as to who fired first...all we know is that everyone else did right after. We couldn't count the dead, because half of them were turned to dust, just as god created them...those who weren't, we had to leave behind, left to rot in the cold, lifeless surface. We savor each piece of bread, every sip of clean water, and we hope and pray that one day, the clouds will fade, and the world will become light again. The old and weary tell a tale of a bountiful, light and happy place, where food was plenty, and life was easy. Now, we're left to scrounge off of the poisoned soil, the wrecked and abandoned homes. We must fight both the deranged mutants which lurk in the darkness, and those of us who have tried to take advantage of our now lawless land. The old now wither from age, sickness and violence, leaving the fate of the world in our hands. If humanity is to survive, the new generation...must wake up, and smell the ashes."<br/><br/>-Alexey Aleksandrov, Russian 6th Army<br/><br/>Howl sighs as he reads the entry in the journal...it is the first of many solemn, depressing and sometimes strange entries made into it...his father was known for keeping a journal, especially in times of uncertainty. He lays the journal down on a nearby table and looks around. He is inside the living room of his small apartment, sat down on a couch. The room is complete with a reclining chair, a coffee table, a lamp...basically, it has all the usual furniture and accessories of any normal person's living room. The overall quality of said furniture is...well, poor. The couch is torn up, along with the recliner, the coffee table has plenty of scratches and dents, and the paint of the room itself has begun to chip. The most notable thing, though, is how there is ply-wood nailed to the walls...after so many recent bandit attacks, bullet holes have become commonplace, so survivors use any means to cover them up and prevent heat from escaping their homes.<br/><br/>Howl gets up, collecting his equipment which he left at the base of the couch while he was reading. He looks it over, making sure everything is there...bread, water, ammo, binoculars, compass, bandages, rope...and his trusty SKS; everything's in order. He throws on his combat vest, heavy coat, thick water-proof gloves, hat, backpack and ski-mask. His pistol is on his person at all times, along with two mags, the rest of the ammo being in his backpack and vest.<br/><br/>With everything set, he walks out the door and looks to his right: the roof had caved in on that side just four doors down, filling it with rubble and making it impossible to go through. On the left was the back-door exit/entrance, the door to it having been ripped off its hinges and cast off some feet down the alley. He heads left, only passing a couple other rooms before feeling a piercing, freezing and chilling breeze hit his face...feels a bit warmer than usual. He walks outside into a back alley, which he quickly walks out of and into the main streets. There are some wrecked cars from previous skirmishes, along with old blood stains on the concrete and bullet holes riddling the buildings. There is some light snow falling, and the wind seems to have died down...but an ominous patch of clouds some miles off indicate a storm is coming.<br/><br/>While he'd usually just walk around for a bit before going on his hunt for the day, Howl was told to show up to the town hall today for an important meeting, as was everyone else. So, he jogs his way to the town hall, going down the side walks of the littered and cracked streets, occasionally passing by the body of a dead mutant boar or dog. When he reaches the town hall, he walks through the entrance, not even close to winded from his jog as he sees a group of survivors gathered in the lobby. He looks at his watch...still an hour early, crap.<br/><br/>(Everyone joining is to meet in the town hall, and for one reason or another, has been summoned there by the local community government)