I spot a zombie, giving me the stink eye. I've not encountered a single soul since dispatching poor zombie Paul, floating at the bottom of the Alamo, so I decide to make my way down the Great Ocean Highway in search of supplies and civilians. Putting him out of his misery was the only thing for it, and, for better or worse, I'm a lone nomad once again.Д«y the time I make it to the Paleto Bay safezone I'm shattered. Paul, God rest him, must have gotten infected during that melee on the hill. The sun is up by the time we enter the water, and it's not long before we face another setback. Michael is gone, but I assure Paul this is how it had to be. Paul and I pair off and start picking off the rest, before traipsing inland towards the curve of the Alamo Sea. In his fit of anger, I realise he's forgotten to unbuckle his seat belt (by pressing B) and is trapped.Д®ventually, the truck explodes and the flames wipe out more than half of the enemy crowd. Michael bursts into a tidal wave of profanity, and I can hear him furiously clicking his mouse and bashing his keyboard in real life at his end. I grab the gun, turn, and rain down on the truck below. 'We're not making it back, are we?' asks Paul rhetorically. He obliges, and it's only when we approach the weapon that I fully-appreciate the extent of the horde. Still determined to get on Michael's good side, I opt to make a dash for the Norinco Type 56-2 assault rifle that's up the hill to our right (in RottenV, item and weapon drops glow white), and ask that Paul provide cover. Sure enough, we soon hit a quarantine roadblock-models and assets purpose-built for this server-and get caught off-guard by a swarm of roving undead. On Michael's advice, we travel down the map's most eastward freeway, US Route 15, because he reckons we'll have a clearer view of encroaching monsters on that stretch. I agree to go, and board the base's shared off-road truck alongside the guys. In honour of Craig, I knock it out of the park.Д«y the time I get back, Paul and Michael are preparing to head north to collect the airdrop that's landed in Grapeseed, just next to Mount Chiliad.

In order to make peace, I volunteer for the next run and insist on going solo. If this were a Telltale game, the whole charade would have a вЂ Michael will remember this' header attached at the top of the screen, I'm sure of it. What if that'd been you out there, I'm asked. That's not how things work here, I'm told. We can't chain him up and keep him as a pet. Don't get me wrong, Craig seems alright, Scottish and all ( Editor's note: Joe is Scottish), but if zombie films and telly shows have taught me nothing else, letting this guy back into HQ in this state is not a good idea. But don't worry we've got plenty of antibiotics at the base, let's help him out.' He looks light on his feet, his face has changed, his arms are limp. Paul cheers, but as Craig makes his way back, I notice something is off. 'I got this,' says Michael, before icing his target with meticulous precision. He kills one, two, three zombies, before being floored by a fourth. Michael fights by my side and before long, we're flanked by an English chap named Paul, and a Scotsman named Craig-and the latter nominates himself to take on a swell of baddies that have gathered at the far side of the square, so long as the rest of us can provide cover from above.Д®quipped with sniper rifles, Michael, Paul and myself duly climb the apartment block to the west and follow Craig's path. I grab a baseball bat and, like Negan from The Walking Dead, start battering the blundering undead upside the head. As a newbie to this whole end-of-the-world thing, I decide to follow his lead and set about clearing the immediate vicinity of roaming zombies by his order. Once at Legion, I strike up a conversation with a young Russian fellow named Michael, who describes himself as a veteran of the apocalypse.

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