• As of today (12/20/2021), Build 41 of Project Zomboid has been pushed to the stable branch!

    Everything written in our Build 41 FAQ posted 12/19/2021 still stands—Gateway Roleplay's applications will not be opening up again until What We Become Part II: What Remains concludes. Notes have been added to the FAQ to clarify this.

    We are still deep in the development stage of our next lore and need more time to make it as great as we possibly can for you all. We also don't want to cut short a lore that's been running for nearly a year and a half for the few players that have stuck it out with us.

    We're expecting to be finished with What We Become Part II: What Remains sometime in March, but that's not a hard date. It may be earlier, it may be later. So, stay tuned for the announcement on our next lore! If you join our Discord, you'll be notified as soon as our announcement drops.

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    Thanks for your understanding!!

Burnt Barbies and Greasy Doors


Fall, 2026
Northern Missouri

The warm glow of a setting sun shines through the broken window of a dilapidated building. Warming the skin of a bloated and rotting corpse that lays splayed across a cracked concrete floor. Bright orange maple leaves shift across the floor as a cool breeze flows down from the windowsill, spreading throughout the old warehouse. Slowly, a pair of brown eyes appear in front of the warehouse's broken back windows, soon followed by a steel arrowhead. The brown eyes are dark, nearly black pits, surrounded by a soft olive-toned face. However, the rest of the young face was covered over with a black hood and half-mask. The figure scans the old warehouse, focusing on every fallen box and deteriorating corpse. The building must’ve been an old storage facility for children’s toys, and it’s now opened boxes surrounded by empty shelves. Scavengers had been more and more desperate over the years as hundreds of different toys had been stripped for parts and now littered the floor of the warehouse. Dozens of bicycles missing their tires and hundreds of single-along stuffed bears with their microphones ripped out. Everything had a use. Even corpses.

The brown-eyed figure slips a gloved hand up to the windowsill, segments of glass still clinging to the edges. Carefully they score the shards of remaining glass with an old glass cutter before snapping each piece off quietly, timing each one with the whistling wind. Once the window is clear of glass the figure rises up and onto the windowsill. They stop for a moment to glance back out behind them; the warehouse was surrounded by dense woodland, aside from an old deteriorating road out the front. The figure would look to the sun as it fell slowly, before turning back to the inside of the warehouse. Pausing to find a piece of floor void of broken glass and stripped toys before jumping gracefully from the windowsill. Toe. Ball. Heel. The figure halts as they stick the landing several feet from the window, scanning the room as they pull a bow from their back followed up by an arrow. The figure appears to be a woman no more than 5’9”, carrying a multitude of weaponry and tools kept snug to herself. She walks across the warehouse floor, sweeping the shelves and aisles with an arrow nocked on her bowstring. The sound of shuffling feet and people talking could be heard above her; the warehouse’s second floor held several offices. Most of which had windows that were either covered with curtains or boarded up.

As she worked her way past the small mountains of Barbie, Bionicle and LEGO boxes she could hear the voices growing louder. At the far end of the warehouse was the only staircase leading up to the second floor. She made her way over and gently climbed them, taking each step patiently to avoid creaking. She shifted her weight from foot to foot as she climbed. Stopping at the top when met with a couple of feet of hallway and wooden door leading to the rest of the offices beyond. Kneeling, she puts her bow and arrow away and slips a small piece of a broken mirror out of a pouch. Delicately she slides it under the door to see just behind it. If it weren’t for her face covering, a grin would’ve been visible. She quickly retracts the mirror and gets to work. Pulling out a black bottle labelled “grease” from a pouch, she begins splattering the door and carpet with the oily liquid. Soaking as much as she could before placing the bottle aside and pulling out another. After emptying the second bottle she rummages around in her pockets before producing a single match and it’s empty box. The cloaked woman takes a step back before striking the match and lighting the carpet ablaze. It catches quickly, spreading across the damp carpet and up across the door. With her fire underway, she bolts down the stairs, the smell of animal fat filling her nostrils as she descends. Quickly she makes her way down to the warehouse floor, she slams through the nearest door and quickly turns, placing her back against the brick wall as she waits.

Muffled conversations could still be heard through the windows above, though it didn’t take long for shouting to occur. Quickly the shouting turned to frantic yelling as what she could only assume was her targets panicking at the sight of their tripwired door going up in flames. Wouldn’t be too long before the grena-


An explosion shatters the glass windows above her, shards shower down around her. But she just stands calmly as small grains of glass deflect off her hood and cloak, with larger shards landing just a few feet in front of her. The woman continues to wait, pulling out a longsword from a sheathe on her hip and holding it by her side. The shouting and yelling above becomes louder and more desperate. The shadowy figure stares out at the glowing sun as it falls below the horizon, a grey tint following up behind the light as it retreats across the woodlands. She breathes deeply, gripping her blade tighter as thumping is heard above, followed by a body plummeting towards the ground.


A large man hits the ground hard, sprawling out in pain. The woman wastes no time, striding towards the man with her sword in tow. He only recovers enough to feebly raise a hand in defence. She swipes upwards with the steel blade, hacking off a portion of his palm and several fingers. A bloodcurdling scream erupting from the man before she swings the blade back down and into the side of his neck. It lodges into his neck with a sickening crunch. The hooded lady yanks it free from the man as blood splurts across the pavement. Glancing back at the building billowing with black smoke, she watches two men contemplate jumping, having just witnessed their comrade being cut down. The masked lady lays her blade on the bloody pavement below her and retrieves her bow from her back. She frees an arrow from the quiver on her hip, nocking it, drawing her bow, and releasing all in one swift movement. A moment later another man tumbles from the building, an arrow lodged in their chest. The last man jumps out with a lack of any better options. The woman simply watches as he falls, slamming into the ground with a sickening crunch. The man screams in agony as his shin snaps in two and breaks through the skin. The cloaked woman grabs her sword in her opposite hand and makes her way over to the suffering man. He clutches his leg in one hand and inches away with the other, tears flowing down his cheeks as he begged to her. “P-P-Please!!! Please!!! Mercy!! Mercy!!!” She didn’t seem to care as she strode over and kicked him back against the ground. Placing a boot down on his chest, she slammed the blade into his neck. The woman watched intently as the fear and life drained from the man’s eyes, his features drooped and blood spilled from his mouth. Stepping away from the corpse she looked back to the other bodies, moving over to the one to retrieve her arrow before walking off around the corner of the building. Arriving on the other side, she saw her comrades retrieving their arrows from their collection of corpses. The three other Crows looked over at her as she rounded the corner.

“Smooth?” One spoke up.

“As smooth as it gets, Rook.” She replied, walking over to them.

“Grab the horses, Mag. We’ll pile them out front here.” Rook said, walking off towards where she came.

Mag strode off down the road, shouldering her bow and cleaning off her sword with a cloth from her many pouches. Detouring off the road and into the woods she sheathed her blade right as the horses appeared before her. Four healthy brown horses stood waiting patiently, one which was attached to a small cart for towing supplies or in this case corpses. Taking their leads she walked them up and out to the road, guiding them towards the still flaming warehouse. As she arrived her fellow crows began loading the corpses onto the backs of the horses and the small cart. Mounting up once their targets were properly secured.

“The fire was a good idea, Mag.” Rook said approvingly as he started on forwards, a corpse laying across the back end of his horse.

“Wanted to see them burn.” She mumbled, slightly disappointed at the outcome. Following after him with her payload in tow.

“In a way, they will. Quincy uses bandit bonemeal for fertilizer.” He replied, clearly enjoying every word of that sentence. Rook’s hand lazily rose to his face, fingers pulling down his hood and face-covering as they made their way down the lonely road. Several streaks black and red face paint ran down his cheeks and as his horse strode closer to him she could smell the strong scent of sage radiating off him.

“I don’t trust the people there, Rook.” She said, scanning the treeline as they rode on, the shadows expanding as the sun made its final descent behind the horizon.

“I think it’s mutual.” He said with a masked smile before squeezing his legs and speeding on ahead. Mag followed suit along with the other crows behind her.

Far behind them now dozens of hunched overshadows circled the blazing warehouse, it’s flames licking up into the now dark skyline. Moans and groans of infected mixing with the sound of crackling wood and sizzling synthetic Barbie hair.