Project Zomboid Is Actually A Cozy Game

1994. Kentucky. It’s going to be a warm July day, but there’s a chill in the air this morning. You eat fried eggs for breakfast and read the newspaper, but halfway down the page you realise that this is yesterday’s edition. You check the porch, but there is no new paper to be found. Across the street, Ms. Gildroych’s door is wide open, and a trail of blood-splattered clothing lines the street like grim stepping stones leading from the white-picket boundaries of her well-manicured front garden down the street to her 1985 Chevy Impala jack-knifed on the curb. She is in the front seat. Dead. Or is she?