West of Mylta, in the grassy plains next to Farm.
Evan, the rifler from the North American team Underhood, saw that he was nearing the safe zone.
He opened his backpack, reaffirmed the count of the four bandages in it, and then let out a long sigh of relief.
'Hm, this should be enough.'
If the audience had witnessed this scene, they might have felt a sense of pity well up in their hearts.
'This poor child has a tough life…'
Especially compared to 'that guy' who had been making rounds beyond the blue circle. Not to mention, he would gulp down an energy drink every once in a while to keep himself healthy.
Evan was so, so poor.
At the start of the match, Evan had drifted his way to the Shooting Range in the north to search for resources. Unfortunately, he found no vehicles, and even when he did, someone else was one step ahead of him.
