I was an 18-year-old man. I was only visiting my cousins in Egypt through a transition when the plane crashed into the ocean. It was sudden. One second seated, the next in a makeshift submarine. I unbuckled and swam all the way to shore. Only I made it out. I approached the fence that lined the airport, climbed it, and found a ton of zombies everywhere. The military found me quickly and took me to safety.  I was simply shocked at the state of the place as we flew over it. I spent the next few years training with the military and learned to fly a plane and a helicopter. So one day, I thanked the military and flew away. I was approaching the city when I was shot down. I crash-landed at William's Encampment and spent the next few days healing, while I was with the surviving locals. I then thanked them and left, walking and walking and walking until I arrived at a place that seemed to be man-made rather quickly. There were many other people just like me. It made me happy. There I learned the name of this country, Cheranus, and all its little secrets. How to sell, how to loot, how to survive the wasteland. I spent the rest of my days at that safe zone, Dunkertown(which I had just learned), and went with people to loot. I stayed out of the war zone, kept to the road, and scrapped every extra item I could. It made me glad to stay at this place. I slept at the campfires, hung out at the bar, became a supplier for a shop, and have been enjoying my time at Cheranus, my new home, since then.