In the wasteland, death comes fast and it comes easy. It doesn't take much: overconfidence, a moments inattention or just a little bit of bad luck. Carpets of parched bones speak to this brutal truth.
You reflect on this thought as you fade in and out of consciousness, lungs half filled with a mixture of brackish ditch slime and your own blood. It only took a second. A moment where you looked right instead of left, and then some bandits bullet was embedded deep in your chest. You didn't even have the strength to fight them off as they stripped your pockets, stole your weapons and rode off on your bike.
But you're harder to kill than most people. And you're going to pull yourself out of that ditch, back onto your feet, and set about finding those bastards.
You are The Scav.
You are a ...
Dead Man Walking