Here lies John Doe, the refugee center trader.
Due to the peculiar map generation, a quarter of the building lacked walls, exposing John’s booth corner to a large swamp and its inhabitants. John fought bravely, killing several creatures until he finally succumbed to a wolf, of all things. You fought well, John. You fought well.
Here lies John Doe, a bandit.
Killed with a gun and ammo that was looted from his own encampment by a desperate but slick survivor.
Here lies John Doe, a biker infiltrator.
Killed by his provocable temper. His .22cal semi-auto peashooter and “comical ball” ammo were no match to a .45cal burst from a Vector SMG.
Here lies John Doe, the ranch foreman.
Killed by the choices he made regarding the location of the ranch, which resided almost next to a slime pit. John killed many slimes but not enough.
Here lies Jane Doe, and her two friends. All bandits.
Killed by a swarm of pissed off ants that were lured to their direction by a survivor with a noisy modified RV, decorated with some ant guts moments prior.