I played DayZ back in 2012, but not for long, and here's my experience on the ones I can remember.
Every single match I played on, I could never work out on how to turn on the flashlight, and no matter in what buildings I searched in, I could never find a weapon. At one point I saw a hatchet stuck in a log and I was thinking "Finally." (It was by a shed in some person's backyard), but when I got to it, it was apparently a "fake", and I accidentally attracted dozens of zombies, so I hid in the shed, and eventually escaped, but then got hit and downed in the middle of the street and died. The next match, I spawned near a loving army base, and ran in there, it was surprisingly empty, and I sneaked around the two zombies that were in it, and found a full batch of AK-47s. but guess what? They were loving fakes too. I could not pick up a single one. So after a minute of softly crying to myself, the endless wave of scattered zombies found their way into the army base and feasted on my guts while I accepted defeat. The next match, I was spawned near a town, and I saw a building where it looked like it was 2 to 3 stories high but you could only get inside those two rooms, but anyways, I was walking over to it, and suddenly I notice some zombies running at me (Now remember, I never got a weapon in all my time in DayZ) and I ran into the building, and ran into one of the rooms, to find some guy bandaging himself in it, and suddenly he pulls a gun out of nowhere and shoots me one time, making me bleed badly, so I guessed i'd might as well make this death my grand finale, so I ran out of the building, ran standing up and attracted every zombie that was nearby (Which was about 5 to 9 zombies) and ran back to the house with a line of zombies right behind me, and ran into the room where the guy was, and he was still there, and since I guess he didn't see the line of zombies chasing me he shot me about 5 times and made me go unconcious and die, but before I blacked out, I heard like 3 more gunshots and the zombies hitting the guy.
