It doesn't seem to be moving - but we are. We groan, then perk up at the sight of a flare. The server crashes again, forcing us to hop into another - and back into pitch blackness. Trouble is, I can count the number of players I've interacted with on one hand. We only used our pistols once, and that was pretty much just for the hell of it.īut wait, you say! All this is missing the point! DayZ is a game about player interaction, the zombies mere set-dressing. In any case, shooting isn't something you get up to much - shots are impractically loud, drawing zombies from a wide area. Shooting feels a little better, but still leans towards the functional: bodies don't drop like they should do, and the weapon sounds lack oomph. It's like clobbering marshmallows that are moored in a different reality. Melee swings come down on undead flesh that judders about the screen, impacts that go beyond unsatisfying and into active frustration. We'd killed a fair few zombies by this point. Daybreak brings us light, a village with a water pump, and a shotgun I'll never get a chance to fire. I'm dying of thirst and have to stumble behind, occasionally yelling for my fellow survivors to wait up. The reality was to stumble blindly through a forest, until miraculously bumping up against a fence. The plan was to head inland, towards better loot. It's dark again, and we're down to our last flare. It's a brief intermission to the boredom, a rush of power that stems from having allies at your side in an uncaring, overly harsh world.
It's a moment that arrives after a long, lonely hike, a reward for overcoming a navigational challenge that no other type of game has ever asked of me. Meeting up in DayZ does feel a bit special.
Two u-turns and thirty minutes later, we're all hopping about in the same train yard. In what will become a recurring theme, it turns out we're both headed the wrong way and have been running in opposite directions. I spend twenty minutes following a railway, along with Pete's advice to keep the moon on my left. On a fresh server, I resume my quest to meet up with my pals. Zombies stutter to and fro, players clip through walls, and the independently clumsy inventory sometimes breaks and prevents me from changing what I've got equipped. That weekend took us to peaks that I haven't visited since, but DayZ is still a mountain range formed from bugs. I should say, everything so far happened during a weekend when the servers were buckling more than usual, under the weight of far more players than they typically need to support. I have been constantly drifting to the left, and continue to do so. I alt tab back in after noting that down, and find myself still in a sea - the normal one, this time. My other friend, Dan, informs us that a field has gone Blair Witch on him, dragging his avatar back no matter how far he runs forwards. My friend Pete reports via Discord that he has fallen through the ground and is now stuck in some kind of undersea, which I soon get to see for myself. I’d stuck my hands in the air while exchanging barely visible emotes with bean boy, and on rejoining find that they are trapped up there. The server boots everyone out, including the friends I’d been hoping to eventually meet up with. He tells me to go ahead and scoff the lot, then asks if I want to head into town with him.
Dayz standalone sucks crack#
I crack the can with my knife, slurp half the contents, and offer him the rest.
Dayz standalone sucks how to#
My new companion, it turns out, can’t figure out how to open his beans.
It sheltered under the promise that at some point, it would be gone. Years ago, the jank was vaguely forgivable. Roaming around DayZ's survival playground this past week has consisted of about 95% tedious jank, and 5% japes. I’ve got some glorious anecdotes from years gone by, filtered through rose-tinted glasses that show nothing but the highlights. “Would you like my beans?”.ĭayZ doesn't get more exciting than that.Īt least, it hasn't got any more exciting than that recently. My own breathing stops, thoughts racing behind a moment pregnant with possibility, a crossroads where anything could happen. It’s dark - so dark that even though he’s just a few feet away, I can only tell he’s there from the condensation of his breath. I spot the man seconds before my flare fizzles out.
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