The Scroll of Return worked as promised. I have escaped that living hell, but now I don't know where--or when--I am. The others who went before me are nowhere to be seen, and I believe I've been diverted to a different world on the Material Plane. My planar sextant confirms this is the Material, but not the exact world I'm in.
Things began rather rocky--literally. The portal dumped me just above a large outcropping of granite. It still hurts to sit down, but that should fade soon. In the meantime I began looking around, noticing I was at the edge of a forest and near a road--a road paved with what appears to me a mixture of tar and pebbles. A paved road in and of itself is rare in the multiverse, but one made of such materials is unheard of in any world I've ever visited or heard about. It would require massive mechanization and advanced chemistry that the pseudo-medieval worlds I know could never match. I'd never seen anything like this before...except back home in Detria.
My mind reeled thinking of what level of scientific progress had been achieved by this world's denizens. I'm used to swords, carts, and torches. But this world has a look that suggests firearms, automobiles, and electricity. So I used the Rod of Stalking to cloak myself in invisibility. That's when I first realized that something was off with magic. Instead of a smooth transition to utter concealment, the magic sputtered for several seconds before taking the full effect. When I drew Dawn's Fury, the blade had lost its glow and instead left a faint trail of light in the wake of its swing. Indeed, I tried to cast a spell and it felt as if I was grasping at straws to get even the simplest of cures to work. It also left me with a headache.
I walked toward lights in the distance, coming on a town made of brick and steel instead of wood and stones. Electric lights illuminated the road and in the windows of shops I saw boxes with windows in them. It hit me that this is a form of a broadcast imagery receiver. Here they call it "television." Clearly I am in a world much more advanced than any I've seen since I left home.
As dawn broke I watched the people go about. Something seemed strange about them, their clothing and other items notwithstanding. Then I realized I hadn't seen a single non-human anywhere. Not in pictures, not in broadcasts of TV, not even a word spoken of them. By the Seven Heavens, where am I!?
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, Jan. 5, 1980)
I've not made myself known to anyone for four days now. I've taken shelter in a library and have spent every waking moment reading what's available to me. I now know that I'm on a planet called Earth, in a country called the United States of America. The year is "In The Year of Our Lord, 1,980." I've never heard of this place before, but there are literally millions of different worlds in the Material Plane. For this one to go unnoticed is hardly surprising.
From what I've seen only humans exist here--or so many believe. The existence of elves, dwarves, and other humanoids is seen as fiction. Further, it seems that magic itself is severely impeded in this world. So much so that I have had half of all my attempts fail. I've only ever encountered this in the Outlands near the Spire. It doesn't look like it's just one school or type of magic; I fear all forms of magic are impeded by some unseen force. This would explain why my magic items are acting so oddly. This also begs the question of whether or not magic is even known to this world. In all my studies I found references to it only as chicanery and superstition. Besides being unknown and difficult to use, the very act draws heavily on the endurance of the caster and I found myself winded as if I'd run a mile after trying to cast just a few spells.
Further, gold and other precious metals are no longer used in currency--save copper, which is used only in pennies. The magical pouch that creates gold coins I've come to rely on for money is now virtually worthless. I can't well take gold coins to a shop, nor can I exchange them save at an assayer's office. In coin form they will raise too many questions, but if I can find a smelting oven I can melt them down and cast them into bars and ingots that would be more readily accepted. But that's for another time.
Now that I've read almost everything in this library the question remains of where I'm going to live. That's when I remembered the magic mansion I'd found all those years ago. Sufficiently far from town, I could command it to take full size and not raise too many suspicions. I don't have transportation and it's literally been five centuries since I last drove an automobile of any sort. No doubt there are legalities to deal with as well. I can't leave this plane, so I have no choice but to try and forge a new existence as I did back when I first entered the Realms of Dread. Only this time it's not going to be so easy to explain where I came from.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, Jan. 19, 1980)
This is the first time in two weeks I've found time to sit down and write. In the magic mansion I found a workshop with a smelting furnace, among other items I will no doubt be using soon. Melting gold coins into bars took time, and the fact I brought in three to the assayer's office raised the spectre of being discovered as an alien. But the agent was mollified with a few words; this area has apparently seen a few gold rushes in the past. With plenty of cash in hand I began the rather laborious task of establishing an identity for myself in this world.
First was a trip to the local bank--usury is so advanced here, moreso than even Paridon or Borca. A simple account established me as a real person in the system, and I followed what I'd read in all those books to register myself in various other ways. My home is now filled with appropriate clothing, and I found out I could alter the interior with more commands. Instead of chamber pots and wash basins I now have running water, even electricity. For the first time in centuries I was able to take a real shower. Oh, how I've missed the feeling of one.
Though my skills are still rusty, I managed to acquire a driver's license as well and a car. Save for proper citizenship I believe I'm in the system. I've even begun to receive junk mail at the local post office. A real postal system...the things you take for granted. It's all beginning to make me a little homesick.
Where it took me months to adapt in the Land of Mists, here I've made myself at home in just under three weeks. The marked similarities of this world to the technologically advanced areas of Detria are truly amazing. Though much of the tech is still primitive by my people's standards, I recognize it and know all that I need to already.
It's amazing. A century ago the electric light hadn't been invented in this world. Now they've begun to unlock the potential of computers and even made it into space. These humans have even harnessed the power of the atom, a fact that terrifies me to no end. Yet they believe that magic is simply a fairy tale. So far I haven't encountered anything supernatural besides myself, so maybe they're right. Maybe this world is simply mundane? I really don't want to think about it. I've begun to grow comfortable here and I can finally relax after spending my days navigating bureaucracy and politics.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, Jan. 21, 1980)
I knew it was too good to be true! Today, as I was buying a stereo for my home, I saw a ghoul walk right into the store. Yet no one noticed. When I took a closer look I saw the translucent illusion of a normal human around it. After I left I began to take a harder look at everything and everyone around me. The ghoul might have been unique, but my gut says otherwise.
Back home I brought out a wooden case that held an item I swore I'd never use. Among the elite of my church are those that wield sun blades and high-powered rifles merged into one weapon, the Sun Gun. I was awarded one for successfully destroying an atropal centuries back, but the weapon was too cumbersome and there was no way to get ammunition besides making it myself. Metallic cartridges--hell, guns in general!--hadn't been invented in so many other worlds. It was mostly symbolic, despite being a potent weapon.
Now as I look down and see the faint glow of light around the blade's edge and lift it by a grip meant for a pistol, I see that I again have no choice. In this world firearms are the primary weapons. In fact, this reminded me of an heirloom I'd received before joining the church. I'd always admired this heavy revolver my grandfather owned. It was sleek, polished, and enchanted heavily to boot. Without a way to get bullets I just packed it away as a momento of him when I left home. Even here I doubt they make such large rounds. But if I have to craft my own so be it. I must fight fire with fire.
Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, Jan. 24, 1980)
Damn! I forgot that if magic is rare here, enchanted items would draw the attention of those in the know. Or in this case, what was in the know. That same ghoul cornered me in an alley, hissing that "his master" wanted to know who and what I was and where I'd come from. Another creature, a werewolf, came in and began demanding that his master be the one to get me. As the two began to argue I crept away, cursing my idiocy. I haven't worn the cloak in weeks. The spells on it would have kept me from being discovered like this.
For three days I've been laying false trails and eluding all manner of monsters that hide in plain sight. Some appear to be human or animal, others just don't register in the minds of people, and still others are actually invisible. I've seen more than a couple wielding simple spells, though even they had to channel the energy before anything would work. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm surrounded by creatures--that we all are. Worse, no one realizes it.
Only now have I been able to make it home, the magic mansion itself a shield against discovery with magic. I've already killed three of these creatures and the local authorities have taken notice. They'd never believe I'd killed a ghoul, a werewolf, and a doppleganger. I'd be shut in a padded room and promptly drugged into oblivion I tried to tell them that.
So instead I found a scroll in my backpack, one of many I've found. I've learned how to invoke the magic in items like this, but I'm horrible at it. So when I successfully transmuted the cloak into a trench coat without harming the magic inside it, I was elated. Now I can go out again and avoid the divining of my presence. But that's little consolation; I realize now this world is thoroughly infested with creatures of darkness. They hide behind the actions of human monsters, in the shadows created by societies, and even on the street with a simple illusion any novice wizard could create.
I'd question my sanity at this point, but when I cut off sight to the crystal in my head I saw them no differently than anyone else would. For once I'm sane and wish it was otherwise. In the past I'd probably just drink myself into a stupor and forget all about this. But that's not been possible for decades. I have to face this here and now. Yet I can't begin to hunt them down like I would in other worlds. Instead I have to fight them on their terms, in the shadows where they hide. I also can't let others know my activities. I would no doubt be arrested and imprisoned, or even killed. Then there's the idea the monsters might be in positions of power. How easy would it be for someone in a powerful business or in the government to simply put out a warrant on me--or a bounty? I couldn't hope to hold off a parade of monsters sent with the specific task of killing me. More than even in the Land of Mists, I have to hide my true abilities or else risk my very soul. I can't fight back tooth and nail if I want to live. I am on their turf. I am without allies or friends in this world.
I am, more than ever, truly, utterly alone.
(End transcript)
Just amazing, keep getting better and better wich every line
Priscilla suddenly showed up today. Since I hadn't seen her geist since I got here I'd just assumed she'd moved on. Instead she got separated from me in the planar transition and has been looking for me. The attacks by the creatures in the past few days were what finally led her to me. It appears I'm now well known among the darker forces of this world.
Joy at our reunion was short-lived, though. She warned me of creatures skulking around outside the mansion, including a couple of ghosts unable to pass through the walls. So now they know where I live. I've been here just three weeks and already I have to pack up and leave to escape from forces far more numerous than myself. So I went out and, not without a few bruises and gashes, killed or drove off the creatures. Again there were ghouls and this time two werewolves. I almost didn't get the spell to silver the dagger off. I'll have to train myself in the art of spellcraft if I hope to use magic with any regularity. But given the pounding headaches I get each time, I doubt I'll be relying on it overly much.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Salt Lake City, UT, Jan. 25, 1980)
I've miniaturized the mansion and everything inside, gotten into my car, and just driven. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't really care. I had to get away from there and lose those damnable creatures. When I finally came out of my haze I was in the state of Utah, nearing a restaurant called "Kentucky Fried Chicken," one that claims to be the first one ever. It was at that point that I realized how hungry I was. Amazingly, they have what's called a "drive-through." I place my order over a two-way speaker, pay, and they hand me my food. This is certainly new, but I like it. I liked the chicken even more. I'll have to remember this place.
I'd just fueled up my car and was driving down the streets of Salt Lake when I noticed someone running from two dark figures. They ducked down an alley and I pulled over, my instincts to help overriding my better judgment. In this case I made the right decision. Two shadows were attacking a young woman as she held them off with a staff that began to glow. Both shadows backed away as circles of light formed on their insubstantial bodies. I took the chance and attacked with Repose, destroying both.
The young woman thanked me profusely, then gave me a strange look. She could tell I knew magic, though she wouldn't say how. She introduced herself as Elizabeth and invited me back to her home. I didn't sense any ill intent so I took her to my car and she guided me to a small house amidst two newly built skyscrapers. Inside it was a veritable parade of arcane paraphernalia; animals skulls with runes written on them, herbs and rare plants, crystals of all sorts, strange amulets, and the overpowering smell of incense.
It was here that I learned a vital clue as to this world. Some mortals do know of magic, and still practice it. But much has been lost and the act of casting a spell is both difficult and physically draining. She called herself a "mystic," a person in contact with spirits who cast spells based on those she allied with. It sounds an awful lot like clerical magic, but I don't know for sure. Others who cast what even I knew were arcane spells are called "adepts." There are scant few all over the world, and most must hide their powers from both the masses and from the same creatures that have been hounding me.
We talked well into the night, and I'll write what I've learned here. This world was once as rich in magic as any other. A priest in an ancient country called Egypt, though, brought something into this world when he tried to achieve immortality. No one really knows what this force is, but they've dubbed it the Red Death. It feeds off of the magical energies of the world as well as humanity, leaving little magic for others to use. It can also corrupt those that dabble in arts that call upon the darker forces of the universe, just like the unnamed powers in the Land of Mists. I've traded one prison for another.
Throughout history there have been attempts to recreate the ritual and send this Red Death back. Yet it has recruited creatures of darkness as well as those who would ally with evil, using these minions as pawns to ensure that it remains in power. It has even instigated horrific acts throughout history to make sure the knowledge necessary to combat it has been lost--save to the few it chooses, and those that recover and hide it. In the Middle Ages it began an Inquisition in a continent called Europe, murdering thousands of people--innocents and threats to the Red Death alike. Pogroms against magic have likewise been encouraged through the ages, and science has all but put the final nail in the coffin. Unfortunately for the Red Death, it seems to have cut off one of its energy sources by encouraging enlightened, reasonable thinking.
This force feeds off of the fear of humanity, and fear helps its minions work in the world. Yet when people stop fearing, its hold slips and people aren't afraid to fight back against threats to their lives. In just the past century the rise of science and advanced technology has done much to dispel the darkness. More importantly, many have noticed a weakening of its grip on the world. Whole colonies of its minions have been slaughtered, lairs of its generals exposed to the world and rendered useless, and some dare say a weakening in the Red Death itself. In the present day the creatures that are in service to it act with a kind of desparation. Still more and more are going rogue and run their own plots. I recognize the actions of those still loyal to the Red Death; their source of power has been greatly diminished, and now they must find alternatives. Some seek it in the form of business, using "corporations" to spread evil and hide their activities. Where once folks were too scared to go after a "strange beast mutilating innocent victims," now they respond in kind and fight back.
In fact it's been like this for over a century and a half. In response the once powerful minions of darkness have adopted what Elizabeth called "masques." I believe I've seen some of these at work. They hide in plain sight using various illusions, enchantments, and other magical effects. Now that humans are powerful enough to pose an organized, effective threat, they've begun to infiltrate society and work to undo all that's been done.
Elizabeth is a part of a "qabal," a secret group of magic users and others that seek various goals. She is a member of the Society of the White Rose, a group dedicated to fighting the Red Death and all other forms of evil. While it would no doubt get me many, many allies, I fear my presence will just lead to its destruction when I'm discovered again. So instead I must remain clear of them and other such groups. Besides, after the Shining Force began to rely on me too much, I decided not to let it happen again. I'll offer aid in whatever form I can, but I can't risk drawing others into what I've gotten into.
I left Elizabeth's home as she slept, and I've driven deep into the canyons. I'm tired--physically and emotionally--and just want to stop. Where can I go from here? I've evaded those that pursued me, but I lack a home and my one source of income will only go so far before someone begins asking questions. The path before me branches in so many ways. Which one will I take?
(End transcript)
These past seven months have been some of the longest of my life. I took a page from my enemies' book and took a chance--I hid in plain sight. If the creatures around me can hide behind a simple illusion, why couldn't I? So as in Mordent I became Alexander Archer, minus the adventuring. Instead I became a businessman, trading in the stock market and finding that I had a real knack for it. But I'll admit that Priscilla has been a great help; she can easily spy on someone's real numbers without them being any the wiser and thus I avoid a lot of dead ends and con artists.
The more I worked the more I felt myself becoming Archer. I felt comfortable in the role and began to believe the charade myself. Then last week I saw the first sign of supernatural activity besides me or Priscilla since January. I was at a bar called Shaggy's, talking to some other folks that trade in the stock market when I noticed that one of the patrons was looking at me. It was a woman, a very attractive woman at that. But there was something odd about her that made my skin crawl. Then I realized it was her gaze--not the "come hither" look, but a focused gaze.
On a whim I checked for the presence of the undead, and she registered like a bonfire. No doubt this woman was a vampire, and from the look of things I'd become her chosen meal for the evening. Instead of just walking away, I took a chance and went over to her. She was certainly aggressive, inviting me to her apartment almost immediately. I played along.
Back at her place I found the windows covered in thick drapes. Apparently this affectation never raised suspicion in the past. Behind me she locked the door and attacked, just as I'd expected. Instead I buried Repose into her heart and left her paralyzed on the floor. From within the folds of my coat I withdrew my Sun Gun and beheaded her where she lay. It was all over so fast I was a little disappointed. But then I realized this was a prime chance to search her apartment for any information about her vampirism.
In her diary I learned she'd been "turned" only six years ago. Her "sire" was an older vampire that had been killed by undead hunters shortly after her own turning. She'd never met any other vampires before or since, and I realize this is a dead end. One predator out of the food chain. But it did remind me that I took an oath to hunt the undead at all costs. The time to hide was coming to a close.
Over the past few days I've watched on TV as the police and coroners investigated her case. To hear them tell it, she was a genetic mutation that had most of her blood drained before being brutally stabbed in the heart and beheaded. In fact they dug up details that linked her to the murder of three others and the case was soon lost amidst the other stories. Whether other creatures of the night had a hand in sweeping it under the rug is another matter. I really don't have the time or inclination to investigate just yet.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Salt Lake City, Aug. 3, 1980)
It seems that my adroit handling of the vampiress has raised a few heads of the wrong kind. Today one of the big heads from New York arrived. While the others saw a pudgy, balding man in a bad tweed suit, I saw the form of a rotting corpse hidden behind a powerful spell. I think my refusal even to shake his hand may have upset him on a professional level, but not a personal one. I am just a lowly "mortal."
Throughout the day I dug up what I could on the man from the others at the brokerage. Not much was known, but I did get his address in New York City as well as where he was staying in town. To think the Red Lion Hotel would host such a creature. But without any ability to see past the surface they have no way of knowing. In fact, if it weren't for those demons holding me in slavery, I wouldn't have the means today.
After he left I trailed him back to his hotel room. I used the rod and sneaked in invisibly, even picking up another phone receiver when he called back to the firm's headquarters. The vampiress I'd killed had been a part of a group of undead creatures, each pursuing their own goals in secret but sharing their resources to better handle "the pathetic living." Her manner of death made it all too clear there was someone that knew. From the tone I heard I could sense fear from the man as well as whoever--or whatever--was on the other line.
It was an epiphany for me. These creatures were literally as afraid of being discovered as I was. They'd made it this far by hiding amongst us, and now it seemed that someone could see past their disguises. I had to bite my tongue to avoid laughing. But instead of facing him I let him go, leaving without his noticing. This is a chance to strike at the heart of their power, but I've learned to avoid going in half-cocked. It looks like I'll be flying to New York City to pay the firm's offices a little visit. Actually, I've never flown before and I have no idea how my stomach is going to respond. Hopefully not as violently as on the water.
(End transcript)
My first trip through an airport had a moment. It seems that magnetic detectors scan those that go into the terminals. I had my coat, Repose, the Sun Gun, my revolver, and even the articulated mail under my clothes. I thought there was no way I would get through without setting off alarms. It seems that mithral and adamantine absorb magnetic waves, as nothing happened when I went through. The security guards even used a wand as an extra measure and found nothing. My relief was well-hidden and I focused instead on the flight itself.
The flight itself was actually quite fun, like a carnival ride. Better still, I don't get airsick. Finally a way to travel the waters without spending my time bent over the side. Where it could have taken me months, even years by walking across the entire continent, by flight it took only seven hours. This is quite a relief from the carriages, horsebacks, and hikes of the past.
In many ways NYC is much like Sigil. The air is dirty, the architecture is very eclectic, and you don't get much more cosmopolitan. People from all over the world live and work in this place. Even the phases of the day remind me of the ringed city; the buildings are so tall that little sunlight pierces parts of the city save at high noon. Such a place is perfect for the supernatural to find refuge. And apparently it has for many, many years.
The din of the city is no match for the clamor of the dead. The history is strong here and the souls of those that can't rest still haunt many places. In many places I could practically see and smell the taint of suffering and fear. A few places are remarkably clear of such taint, such as a shrine in Chinatown across from a courthouse, an area I found out was once a brewery from old records in a library. The place had been bought by a qabal and thoroughly cleansed of evil, even turning into a halfway house before being bulldozed during urban renewal. These few clear areas shine like beacons to my Ethereal sight and exude a kind of siren's call. To learn what was done to clear the place of lingering taint and lay the dead to rest is something I want to learn very much.
I checked into the Dolphin Hotel, one of the more posh hotels in the area. I was given room nine on the fourteenth floor. The room next door was empty, but there was just something about it that made my hair stand on end. The taints of fear, pain, anger, and insanity have built up into a black morass on the Near Ethereal. Echoes of past tenants jumping from windows and even hanging themselves flashed before me as soon as I laid eyes on it. Yet this malevolent force doesn't extend beyond the room. I believe the room itself is a phantasmagorum. One would have to be a fool to stay in that place.
My first stop was the home of the creature. The place was a tomb--literally. I believe this James Walters character is a zombie lord. Behind a veneer of a few normal rooms I found windows covered in boards, the floors torn up so the bare earth could be seen, and the basements filled with animated corpses. I was shocked and more than a little disturbed. Yet I swallowed my fears and searched around for anything that would point me in the direction of this undead qabal.
My search turned up several books filled with strange scripts and rituals, as well as what I recognized as scribed spells. These weren't spellbooks used by wizards so much as grimoires of dark lore. They seemed to be representative of the scattered, disorganized nature of magical lore in general. In all I found four, each several inches thick with pages. Three were ancient, but one was still new and had been printed mostly be a press. Only the spells had been done by hand. There were no identifying pieces, but the name "Mortis Dominus" makes me wonder. This could be the name of the qabal in question. The "Dead Lords" would fit as a name for a group of arrogant undead.
I also found an address book with the names of others. I doubt I'll investigate all of them, but they all meet weekly at a private suite in one of the newer hotels. Their next meeting is in two days, so I'll use this time to go over and find out what this place is like.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, New York City, NY, Aug. 4, 1980)
Thanks to a little eavesdropping I found out that the qabal has been having a mechanical problem with their automated window shutters. So disguised myself as a repairman and got full access. I'm not exactly trained in modern electronics and electrical work, but I still made it seem like I was. Plus even a total idiot would have noticed the melted wire, if only because of the smell it gave off. Nothing so foul as burning plastic.
From what I could see everything was tied into a central control that led into the walls and probably ended in the basement. So I made up a story about going down to check on it. The person that was there, a mortal no less, just told me to call him on the service phone when I got there. I'd guesed right in the central control, and called him as requested. He had me flip the switches that controlled the shutters from there; they worked just fine. He called me back up and told me it was the local control. I didn't have any wires, and if I did I probably wouldn't have had the proper gauge. Plus whoever put in that first wire used too high a guage; it's surprising there hasn't been a fire.
I told him I'd send in someone else and left, my plan forming instantly.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, New York City, NY, Aug. 6, 1980)
"The best laid plans" and all that...I guess I should be thankful that no one innocent was hurt. The qabal actually began to gather just before noon, the vast majority in heavy clothing. When they locked the doors behind them I returned to the basement and activated a security override near the central controls, effectively sealing them inside. Then I activated the shutters so they would retract and let in the sun at its peak. Not long after I heard the fire alarm go off and I ran out of the building.
The top of the building was on fire. I could see flames licking the sides of the building out of broken windows. The local firefighters were quick to respond, but the sheer height of the inferno made it impossible to extinguish quickly. I watched for several hours as they fought the fire inside and out, finally getting the last flames put out around six. Inside they reported finding the charred remains of two dozen people, as well as twice as many piles of white ash all over. All I had wanted to do was expose them to sunlight and filter out any vampires and other sensitive to light. Instead the fire began because one of them began fiddling with the switch for the shutters in the suite. That finally caused the fateful spark and the entire suite went up in flames. The body of the person who flipped it was still touching it.
But it what's wasn't told that interested me the most. The remains they had found were all strangely warped--most had oversized teeth and cruel claws in lieu of normal bones. All of them had flesh far too deteriorated for a living being to survive. Indeed, the soggy flesh melted rather than burned. None of them had been alive before, and none remained after. Even the officials are posing "strange theories" to explain the warped bones and already-rotted flesh.
On the quiet I left a note to the manager as an apology for the damage done and promised he would receive "anonymous donations" to rebuild within twenty-four hours. I'm going to have to train myself in a lot more than just spellcraft if I hope to avoid such mistakes in the future. I'm getting too old for this.
(End transcript)
Edit: Done. Check the FoS Fan Fiction boards.
Will you post the Ravenloft Journals too?
Edit: Done and done. I'll be sure to post copies on both these boards and Cafe de Nuit from now on.
and it'd be sad if I couldn't read these.My time in New York proved to be quite enlightening. The day after the fire at the hotel suite I got those "donations" going and went in search of those that still practiced magic. My search led me to an old Chinese man called Hen So. Right away he knew I wasn't human, which scared me quite a bit. He actually said he'd been expecting me. That I was "the agent of the Dragon," the Emperor of the Celestial Bureaucracy. I had no idea what he was talking about at the time, but he invited me into the back of his herbal shop to talk of things he'd claimed to have seen.
In one vision he described I recognized the location as Raccoon City. I was going to return in the future. Then he went on about an umbrella, a cannibal disease, and a young biker girl. The imagery became too vague to tell much after that. But that part about an umbrella and a disease rang a bell. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I've heard those two words associated before. In any case he gave me a heavy leather bag filled with various scrolls and asked that I take care to hide them. After that he more or less chased me out.
I spent the next few days touring New York, seeing more than I wanted to. In this place lurks darkness among the light. Once I hailed a cab and saw that it was driven by a wererat hiding in human form. In the open like that I couldn't attack him, and instead just held my tongue as he took me to Central Park. It was a nice change of pace from the supernatural creepiness I've been into for the past couple of days.
A trip to history museum was what truly opened my eyes. They were showing an Egyptian exhibition and had a slab covered in heiroglyphics. Either no one has deciphered it yet, or this was placed on purpose. It told of an Egyptian priest, Imhotep, who tried to achieve immortality. Instead he weakened the planar barrier and let a force of pure evil through. Immediately it insinuated itself into the magical web and corrupted it, fed off of it. Magic became much harder to use soon after and Imhotep himself was "gifted" with what he'd so desired. Later in the narrative it describes how Queen Nefertiti fashioned two amulets--the Amulets of Sun and Moon--that keep him from acting while the sun or moon is in the sky, limiting him to dawn and dusk.
This got me wondering, and I went to various libraries for anything on this Imhotep. I learned he was a priest in 2700 B.C. This was amazing. Magic was corrupted and stunted almost 4700 years ago. Suddenly it made that much more sense why so few believed in magic. In almost five millennia it's easy for things to be lost, covered up, forgotten, or deliberately eradicated. Now with science providing explanations for almost everything it was falling even further into obscurity. What little magical lore is still around must be worth more than all the gold on this planet.
A young woman made a remark about the "foolish priest" next to me, and when I looked I could barely believe my eyes. Though she was dressed in the modern fashion of denim jeans and a cotton T-shirt, she still wore the jewelry of a people I'd thought I'd never see again. She was a Vistana. She knew who and what I was as well, and invited me to talk over lunch.
She introduced herself as Sasha Kolidova. Her tribe had broken away from the main tribe in Eastern Europe and emigrated to America just after the first World War. Her tribe's raunie knew it was in America that evil would find a new home in the Twentieth Century. In response they followed, offering aid to those that fight against the Red Death and its minions. She spoke of these things so casually it made me nervous that someone would hear. But her upbeat spirit kept me at ease.
Over the past sixty-plus years they'd been all over the continent, gathering all the magical lore they could find and preserving it. I offered her the scrolls that Hen So had given me, and she seemed delighted. That night after getting them from my room she led me to a motel where her tribe was staying at. They'd adapted to the modern world, trading vardos for trucks and cars and campsites for motels. The raunie greeted me warmly and offered a cup of tea. As we talked I learned more and more about the truth of magic as well as what she called "epicenters." On each continent the Red Death has to establish itself anew when it meets people it hasn't corrupted. To do so it has to establish itself somewhere first, so it creates a focal point for its essence and spreads from there. In America it was close by, a house in Long Island that had recently become infamous because of a book and movie. Her theory was that if the epicenter was somehow neutralized, the Red Death's influence over an area would diminish and its minions would lose power even as magic itself became a bit easier to use. But after five centuries even she doubted it would make much difference.
I left late that night, and took a trip to Long Island the next day. Though the house is now boarded up, I sensed something horribly wrong about it. Two windows with a chimney in between look out like hateful eyes. On the Ethereal it was a total void, as cold as space. Just getting within a hundred feet of it made me ill. Many have come to see it, and many more have even tried to break in. But the local police have kept a tight leash on it, and even now it remains for sale through a local realtor. Even if I tried I couldn't get the locals to believe the truth. Sadly, this is one they'll have to learn the hard way.
Out of morbid curiosity I did some research on the house, and found that its evil went beyond the Lutz family and even the Defeos. In the past it was the place the local Native Americans put their insane and diseased to die; they knew long before the Red Death arrived that the land was corrupt. When the white settlers arrived the Red Death most likely jumped on it as the key to its influence in the New World. Further, the houses built on it attracted evils of other kinds as well. Paintings from the Marquis de Sade's estate, antique clocks from Europe steeped in torture and dark magic, and dozens more that I could list. Worse, the evil is so powerful it can take over anything inside and turn it into a tool for the Red Death--people, items, animals, anything.
Not long after I bought a ticket back to Utah and left. I was able to pass on a collection of lore to those that will use it and even learned a few things that I can use myself. As I waited for the plane to depart I realized there was a lump in my coat's outer lower left pocket. Inside was a small statue made of silver and a note that read, "You'll need this." I'm not entirely sure what this is or what it does, if anything. But the statue is of a Vistani woman praying. It would be best just to go along and see what happens.
I've had enough of the supernatural for a while. The next time I take a pen to this paper will be when I've encountered something truly noteworthy. May my life be horribly dull until then.
(End transcript)
It has been almost six years since I last opened this journal. In those years I've become more at home in this world than I have in any other. I enjoy the music of bands like Twisted Sister and Dokken, see movies like Ghostbusters or Top Gun, and keep up with the changing pace of technology. I am thoroughly addicted to video games as well and have found myself using particular brand names over others. Caffeine and preservatives from a Pepsi are my new poisons. In these ways I'm not that different from the average Joe on the streets. I work, I play, I go out with friends and enjoy what culture has to offer as entertainment.
Yet no matter how much I try to fit in--to imagine that I do, I know deep down that I'll be forever seperated from my peers. No one else sees what I do on a daily basis. No one else knows what I know. Indeed, they get to live in blissful ignorance while I'm faced with the naked truth. None of my friends realize the bartender at Shaggy's is actually a ghoul, or that the attacks by wild animals in the mountains aren't really "animal" attacks most of the time. They wouldn't believe me if I tried to tell them, anyway. So instead I fight the creatures myself, striking from the darkness and waging a shadow war against the supernatural. In these past few years my skills have developed nicely and I've even had reason to dig out a set of magic bracers I never expected to use. Now the truedeath bracers are a vital piece of my arsenal, allowing my strikes to ring true against any type of foe.
In reading my last entry I realize I did not get my wish of a "dull life." But then I wouldn't trade these last few years for anything. They've been some of the best I've had in centuries. Only the recent werewolf incident has been of any concern. The news touted the attacks as the result of "escaped wolves" from Hogle Zoo; in truth the animals had been put back in the wild up north, but the local cops jumped on the theory of it being them. Whether due to incompetence or corruption I may never know, but my gut says the latter. As I've learned, sometimes the worst monsters are all too human.
My own investigation led me to the slums of Rose Park. Indeed, the "wolves" that were attacking turned out to be a mated couple of werewolves. When I dug a little deeper I found out she was a natural lycanthrope, but he was an infected man. Indeed, the only reason he stayed with her was because he was too afraid of her wrath to leave. He put up a token struggle when I cornered him three weeks ago, and even pulled Repose deeper into his own heart. I've heard that sometimes these creatures want to die, but this is the first time I've seen it.
Not a day later his "mate" cornered me in the same alley and tried to tear out my jugular. This time it wasn't a weapon that saved my life, but the silver statue the Vistani gave me. I managed to slip it between her jaws and slug her square in the chin. It turns out the interior was some sort of liquid silver, held together by a wall of solid silver a quarter of an inch thick. She choked on it and died within seconds. I would swear I even heard Sasha's voice say, "I told you you'd need it."
I chalked it up to stress at the time. With her now taken care of, I thought I could enjoy a break. Instead I've received some disturbing reports from my fellow investors. They claim one of my most lucrative investments, Umbrella, has been under international investigation for alleged biowarfare research. Without some hard evidence I'm loathe to sell my shares just on rumors. But it also reminded me of what Sasha's grandmother told me, about an umbrella and a disease. Perhaps it was Umbrella, Inc.?
If true, I'll no doubt have more to write down.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Salt Lake City, UT, Sept. 13, 1986)
Since I last wrote I've made several contacts within the US government and even inside Umbrella. They've confirmed what I feared, that Umbrella has been conducting illegal and even profane research. Worse, I think that it was on the foundation of something far darker that the whole company was first founded. My inquiries into the histories of Ozwell Spencer, James Marcus, and Alexander Ashford haven't turned up anything yet. My precautions have no doubt slowed things down quite a bit, though. Digging up secrets on the rich and powerful is a dangerous game, no matter who it is. In the meantime I decided to try and see for myself what was going on.
As one of their biggest investors I was given the red carpet treatment when I asked for a tour of their local facilities. In hindsight I realize they were going out of their way to placate me. They must have pegged me for a fool as well, because the entire time the "representative" for Umbrella was lying through his teeth. What I saw wasn't cancer research, medicine studies, or even benign genetics. Instead I saw dark magic hidden by spells and modern science being married into unholy disciplines. Perhaps simple illusions work to keep others from finding out what they do even outside their top secret labs, but this damn crystal in my head let me see it all. Evil mystics were channeling negative energy into what I could see had been a monkey of some sort--before its coat turned pale white and its skin burst with overgrown muscle tissue. They seemed to be trying to control it.
After the tour I immediately began selling every share of Umbrella I owned over various channels. When I think about it I begin to get physically ill; what in the name of all that's sacred are they doing!?
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Salt Lake City, UT, Sept. 14, 1986)
Tonight I physically broke into the local Umbrella labs, and I wished I hadn't. I went in search of more on what they were doing, and I got it. I got it in spades. In summary, Umbrella has known of the existence of magic and of the supernatural since the beginning. They've married ancient rituals with modern science to create things that shouldn't be. They freely employ dark adepts and mystics, providing them with everything they need to grow powerful and unlock things better left alone. I estimate their collection of magical lore is second only the Vigilia Evangelica.
But it was their scientific progress that made me cringe the most. From the start the company has been a front for research into bio-organic weapons (BOWs) and a unique, mutagenic virus. Somehow I doubt the virus was at all supernatural to begin with. Instead they combined black magic and advanced genetic engineering to create something wholly new. I was able to collect one note that mentioned it: the T-Virus. Based on their other research I'm guessing it's powered by negative energy and infuses such into living creatures to weaken their genetic structure and allow foreign DNA to be written into the genome. This has proven quite unstable, as more than a few of their first experiments died of cancer. But now they seem to have gotten a little better at controlling the mutations; I think those white monkeys I saw were one of their experiments with the T-Virus.
Irregular mutations--accidents and secondary exposure--have revealed another trait that shakes me to my core. When exposed to oxygen the T-Virus protein wall loses cohesion and part of the living pathogen dies, so it draws in more negative energy to try and compensate. Or perhaps the Virus itself maintains a balance of positive and negative as long as it's alive, but this is lost when it dies. No more was written about this, but I'd wager dollars to just about anything that it reanimates the dead. So in its pure form, the T-Virus allows otherwise genetically impossible mutations to occur, and if oxygenated it turns into a negative energy factory.
I couldn't get anymore out of the system. It locked up on me and alarms went off. Figuring my cover was blown I shot six slugs from my revolver into the computers themselves. If I could destroy their cache of knowledge, I'd win a minor victory. That alerted guards, and for the first time ever I had to use this hand cannon against people. The nine-millimeter slug in my leg attests to their "shoot first, don't ask questions" attitude. Now I've made an enemy out of Umbrella, though they might not know who I am. They've certainly made an enemy out of me.
As I write this the pain in my leg is growing stronger. I'll have to dig out the bullet myself and heal it using magic. Tomorrow I return to Raccoon City, the birthplace of Umbrella. Perhaps there I will find more answers to this riddle of the T-Virus.
(End transcript)
My plans have been altered. Using my crystal ball I've been able to scry on the local Umbrella offices. My attack last night has them scared. In getting so close to exposing their secrets I may have inadvertently just made things harder on myself. Security measures both magical and physical have just shot through the roof. They nearly found my magical probe before I cut off the link, and from what little I could see before then I doubt that I'll have anything nearly as easy as last night's break-in in the future.
Their executive offices weren't so well-defended against ethereal foes. I used the power of flight my armor grants me, and spent nearly an hour on top of the building. Priscilla was then able to move in close enough to listen in on the plans of the senior executives. They've planned to move all of their local operations deep into a facility under the Great Salt Flats. I must admit it's an extremely clever choice; unbearably hot in the summer, lethally cold in the winter, and barren. One or two listening posts could cover hundreds of miles in all directions, and no one would blink an eye at "corporate warehouses" being built in such horrid terrain. It's so out of the way that any thieves would have to be very determined. Perfectly logical explanation.
My plans to visit Raccoon City have been replaced by plans to move back there permanently. Though I was chased away by the supernatural, in the time since I've honed my skills and learned to strike from the shadows as well as any assassin. I've caught up with the levels of knowledge in this world as well and am no longer such a fish out of water. Finally, I've learned enough about magic to use it reliably even if it gives me splitting headaches.
Yet I'm scared. If I do this I must be on the offense when I show up again. I have to show the creatures of the night that I will retaliate in kind for any attack on my person or the innocent around me. I must make it clear that if I go down, I'm taking them with me. Goddess help me. What have I bitten off?
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, Oct. 20, 1986)
My hands are stained with the blood and ichor of dozens of monsters. I see their faces when I close my eyes. In hunting monsters have I become one myself? Have I lost sight of what's really important as I cleave a bloody swath through the darkness? Or am I haunted by guilt that has no basis? Seeing a child turned into a ghoul, eating the innards of his own mother...I know that I did the right thing in sending him to his final rest; that ghouls would attack adults is bad enough, but an eight-year-old child!?
To hear Priscilla talk I've been working too hard. Her geist has never left me no matter how bloody and violent things got. Her words have acted as a pillar of support in this dark time. I know what I've done was just, yet I can't help but feel guilty. For centuries I cut down the undead like cordwood and it never bothered me. But never have I been forced to destroy undead children before this...purge. I actually wept as one tried to bite my throat and I thrust Repose through her chest in defense.
Halloween is in eleven days and the local kids are excited. This is a unique chance to get all the candy they can in one night. Instead of hiding in my mansion as I've done in the past, I'll go out and make sure that there's nothing to ruin the holiday for Raccoon. Maybe I'll even give out some real candy, not those bite-sized things the others pass off. These kids deserve full-sized candy bars. Just imagining the joy on their faces lifts my spirits.
As for Umbrella, on whose feet I lay all of this, my search has been fruitful. It seems that there are two estates somewhere in the forests north of town. Or one, and rumors of another. The first was designed by the famed architect George Trevor back in 1967, then abandoned just after it was completed. Umbrella had commissioned the building, and no one can explain why they wasted countless millions of dollars. But then most folks choose not to question the company that provides over ten percent of the local jobs and forty percent of the city's annual budget. They're entrenched here so deeply I wonder if only the utter destruction of the city would uproot them.
The magic mansion is back in the eastern mountains where I first put it, and this time I intend on staying come Hell or high water. Besides, I've begun to enjoy my life here. It's not normal by any measure, but this place is my new home and I won't let anyone take that away from me. Now the task of finding a way of fighting Umbrella takes center stage. It may take time, but if I have to kill myself to do it I'll find a way to stop them and destroy this unholy Virus.
(End Transcript)
This may, by the way, have interested me once more in D20 Modern and the possibilities of Department 7... What incredible opportunities.
But like I say in the rules: use it however you want. D20 Modern, Gothic Earth, whatever. I'm sticking with GE because I know D&D, Ravenloft, and MotRD.
Umbrella has been oddly quiet for the past few months. As I wait I've continued to get a more contemporary education in things I've studied before--history, engineering, medicine, the advances not present in other worlds. For the time being I've been focusing on genetics and advanced medicine. I know much, but I have to get some samples before I can say much more. What I've learned of the T-Virus is terrifying, but the analytical side of my mind refuses to believe the rumors without some proof.
My efforts have turned up scant little, though. Umbrella has their pet virus in tighter lockdown than Fort Knox. This at once both vexing and quite a relief. If I can't get at it then I doubt anyone outside the company can. The chance of an outbreak is minimal given this level of security, so that's another thing off my mind. Without access to the scientific aspects I've had to switch over to the more arcane parts of this pathogen. Specifically, the relationship that it has with positive and negative energy.
To living tissue--or more accurately, positive energy-using tissue--negative energy cancels out the spark of life in form of damage to the body or soul. If the balance is overcome in favor of negative then the spark is perverted as an alien energy takes over and a new form of "life" is born. In controlled amounts these forces heal or harm the living and the undead, but when you try and force them together the results are explosive, to say the least.
Living cells were not meant to accept negative energy. Yet like many other things the smaller you get, the more the rules change. Physics and metaphysics that apply to larger organisms like humanoids don't apply on the truly microscopic level the T-Virus operates on. This is probably how it can infuse living cells with negative energy without killing the host.
My working theory is that the host cell has its balance of positive energy corrupted by the negative energy charge. The two cancel each other out, in other words. Without the positive energy the host cell becomes unstable and the T-Virus can then rewrite the DNA in ways that are otherwise impossible. This would suggest that the living part of the Virus can't stand exposure to oxygen. Inside a living body oxygen is kept inside of cells and isn't "running around" like it is in air and water. The living half of the Virus likely dies and the negative energy is able to take over, perhaps even turning its once living partner into an undead creature in its own right.
This would neatly explain how direct injection of the Virus can create living mutations but secondary and incidental exposure merely reanimate the dead. Once inside a living cell the Virus likely uses the negative energy to cancel out the positive and render it unstable--cancerous, actually. The stem cells borne of such cancers are then directed to grow according to the DNA of the host. Creatures with only limited evolution--insects, arachnids--would likely only see slight changes. Higher-order creatures--like mammals--then would be mutated to a much greater degree because of their more complex genetic code.
It's possible that by splicing in specfic proteins a researcher could direct the path of the mutations. Given that the Virus is gradual in its effects there would be ample time to try new things before a critical threshold was crossed and the subject reached its limits. This also means time to find the proper combinations to unlock specific abilities. Though the fact remains that the creature has cancer and malignant cells are a problem. Likely these are surgically removed, along with whatever tissue was cancerous. Exposed organs, bone, muscle, sinew, and other things would result. I can't imagine the pain that would inflict, so likely pain sensors in the brain are also removed or overridden by inducing heavy doses of adrenaline to be produced.
But it's the undead that are most fascinating. This is a state even more unnatural than that of living subjects. The fusion of negative energy with the flesh is incomplete. The negative energy is constantly draining away and must be replenished. Strangely it seems to convert positive energy into the fuel it needs through a process not unlike digestion. Living flesh is the only source and human(oid) flesh is the most rich. This partial reliance on positive energy is likely part of the reason that T-Virus zombies are resistant to conventional turning and rebuking attempts and their immunity to magical control. They're not really one or the other, but have characteristics of both.
Reportedly they detect as undead and are vulnerable to the same things, but they have an extremely high resistance to such thing as well. Undead-specific spells are less effective and when such affects them physically or mentally they seem to brush the spells aside with great ease. This resistance doesn't seem to extend to spells that require physical reflexes to avoid or diminish. If something does break through their defenses they're fully affected, however. They're more likely to resist such things, but suffer the full effects otherwise.
I'm going on data that is several years old, though. Without more I can't make any more guesses. This will have to do until I can find something more concrete.
(End transcript)
I've spent too much time on this whole T-Virus thing. It's begun to invade my every thought. So I took a break and headed into town for a change. At the Bar Jack I met a local, Kevin Dooley. He's a Marine over at the local fort and is planning on joining the RPD when his discharge comes through. Besides being an all around nice guy I found out he's passionate about landscape gardening. Once I mentioned I was planning a garden he offered to help out in every aspect.
For over a week I took the specimens of plants I've collected and planted them in the local soil. The caldura roses in particular seem to relish the rich mountain soil. I couldn't give Kevin a stem to transplant--the sap would cause problems in that form--but I did have seeds from previous years. That was enough for him. He did make a comment about how many of the plants I have are similar to naturally occuring herbs in the local mountains. I'd noticed them as well and even harvested some for study. The blue variant in particular is quite intriguing; a potent antitoxin that seems almost universal. I would bet good money that a serum made from it truly would be able to counter any poison. Odd that news of this miraculous plant haven't made it to the outside world.
Richard has also introduced me to a friend of his, Enrico Marini. Enrico is one of the local cops--not chief yet but still a seasoned officer. When he learned I had prior experience in law enforcement he offered to talk to the chief about bringing me on as a consultant. I doubt that a town so small and isolated would need someone like me, but it's also a great chance for me to continue my work as a paladin. I've already been donating untold amounts into the community and now I can take a more direct hand.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, April 13, 1987)
Enrico, Kevin, and I have become something of a threesome. While I can't enjoy beers with them during happy hour, the Bar Jack still has Pepsi. Plus my work with the RPD has been coming alone fine. The only real snag is the Chief of the RPD. There's something about this Brian Irons that rubs me the wrong way and vice versa. He comes off as a snake oil salesman, completely slimy and untrustworthy. How he became Chief of Police is likely due to bribes and political back stabbing. It wouldn't surprise me if he was in league with Umbrella, though I've been trying not to blame them for every evil in this world lately.
What few things I have been called in on often involve rowdy Marines at one of the bars. The whole jurisdiction issue between the MPs and the RPD makes it almost necessary for a third party to come in and handle things. Instead of playing political one upmanship the two should just come to an agreement. It seems that not a week goes by that I'm not called to subdue some drunken soldier from the base.
The only big thing was a murder, and that was quickly solved. Raccoon had never had a murder before and the local cops weren't sure how to handle the scene properly. Most of my experience has been in much more archaic settings than this but the basics remain the same. I did make a slip when I suggested sending in samples for DNA testing; I keep forgetting this world hasn't developed that for law enforcement. Not that we needed it after the husband made a full confession.
It's been a week since then and the locals have largely stopped talking about it. It seems like they just want to forget the whole thing ever happened. Not that I blame them. I'm glad to go back to handling drunken soldiers. At least that's not bloody...most of the time.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, West Berlin, Germany, April 22, 1987)
More and more I find that my paranoia about Umbrella is well-founded. After a meeting at the police station with the mayor an Umbrella representative came forward and offered to begin a new organization within the RPD itself--a force above and beyond standard SWAT. They called it the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, or STARS. Since the town just doesn't have the crime rate to justify such an expensive venture the mayor vetoed the idea.
Indeed, it's been so quiet lately I've taken a vacation. I'd planned on taking a trip to see some of the infamous concentration camps the Nazis created, if only to confront such evil head on. The problem is that it lies within the east half and the communists are not keen on visitors to such sites. I got the feeling they weren't trying to keep people out so much as they're trying to keep something in. Many sites within the eastern half of the continent have been locked down since the Soviets came to power in addition and they all seem to be focused on containment, not counter-intrustion. What horrors of the world are locked away behind the Iron Curtain? In that sense I hope that the USSR doesn't fall simply because of all the things they're keeping in. If they fell the world would be inundated with new threats--supernatural and otherwise. Worse, if their nuclear secrets got out to the wrong hands...
For now I have to find someone willing to transport me towards one of the most infamous camps, Auschwitz-Berkanaut. I have to know.
(End transcript)
As for the deviation with Umbrella, that's more of a chronological thing. According to the The Umbrella Archives, a book that details RE0-RE:CV and all of the backstories as well as timelines, there's not going to be any new activity by Umbrella in Raccoon City until 1988; the year that James Marcus is killed, that Birkin discovers the basis for the G-Virus, and the underground labs are built. Simply put, there's not that much going on in the year '87 with Umbrella. Things quickly pick up after that--and of course the "relative" peace of the 80's is going to be shattered when the Iron Curtain falls and more than just nuclear secrets start escaping Russia. The perfect way to kick off the rot of the 1990's.
It's been five days since I escaped from the horrors of Auschwitz. I spent two of the most horrific days of my life trapped by the ghosts of the murdered prisoners and the former guards--now trapped and tormented by those they victimized. It started when I found a smuggler willing to drop me off near the site. Even from a distance I could see the ethereal resonance of the place as clear as daylight. Former Nazis were wrapped in barbed wire and disemboweled, locked inside of the gas chambers unable to end the pain, and other things I dare not remember. Still I went forward, determined to see the truth for myself.
The ground itself opened under my feet when I got close enough, strands of wicked barbed wire shooting upwards and grabbing me by my legs and arms. My clothes were shredded, but the mail underneath protected me. Still I was trapped and surrounded by the ghosts of former victims, many driven insane by their treatment in life and their horrific state of undeath. They dragged me inside and bound me to a chair. Each took a turn showing me scenes from their lives. I could feel my skin wither and shrink as starvation sapped me of my strength when I watched the living skeletons they became, my lungs burned when I witnessed the gas chambers being used, I felt their pain. I felt their anguish even more. It was the despair of the damned, utter hopelessness, even anger so strong it defied death itself. I didn't just want to kill the Nazis, I wanted them to suffer for eternity as I relived the events of the past. Worst of all, though, were the medical experiments. In them I saw my own past, when the demons forcefully grafted things into my body. Yet there was no purpose behind these experiments, just the perverse interests of those who performed them.
Finally I was released, physically and spiritually drained beyond any measure I can think of. Their last words were to never forget what happened and to make sure the world never does. After that I found myself lying on the ground where Auschwitz had stood, now rubble and quiet save the sound of birds. My clothing was untouched and I was physically unharmed. But when I dared look at the resonance I knew it wasn't a delusion. Though the physical remains have been destroyed, the memory will never fade. The souls of those who lived and died there are damned in this life and the next.
What still haunts me is that the evils committed there were done without any support from the Red Death. It didn't have to. The Nazis were pure evil on their own. Even those who didn't condone the atrocities have been pulled in by the sin of inaction and share in the fates of their most sadistic fellows. In death they now suffer as their victims did, yet they do not have the sweet release of death to look forward to. Their fate is to exist in constant agony.
For five days I've been wandering the Black Forest, unable to find my way to civilization. This has given me time to digest some of what I saw. Yet I'll never get over the things I've experienced. Not since my slavery in the Abyss have I felt this way. There's no way to put in words what I saw, what I felt, and what I realize. Even if I live for another six-hundred years I'll never feel the same pain I did when I relived the lives and deaths of those who were murdered in cold blood out of hate.
As I write this I see the lights of a city in the distance. Recovery is a slow and painful process, but I did it once before. I can do it again.
(End transcript)
It's been months since I've opened this journal. Not a day goes by that I don't think about the things I saw at the death camp. That's what it was--a place of death and suffering even the Lower Planes couldn't match. Who needs the Nine Hells when you have places like that? Never before have I seen such pure, unmitigated evil. Somehow I know I'll see more--and soon. It could be days or years from now. But my gut is telling me this has only just begun.
Enrico and Kevin have been supporting me as I deal with the trauma. Neither is aware of the full extent of what happened--how could I explain it to them and sound sane? But they understand how places like Auschwitz could induce gut-wrenching, soul-ripping feelings. Places like that even the most numb of persons could feel the utter wrongness.
A part of me has changed since I went there. I've grown more wrathful and vindictive, carrying grudges over the slightest thing instead of forgiving. When one of the locals picked a fight with me at Emma's Diner I finally gave in to my anger and punched him out after he attacked; his head left a hole in the drywall where he collided afterwards. I felt bad, but not for him. Instead I paid for the repairs to the wall and not his hospital bills. When six of his buddies came after me late at night, three were sent to the hospital in critical condition. A cursory trial afterwards ended with the three others all but confessing to premeditation when I cast a zone of truth without them realizing it.
Through it all I've managed to adhere to the paladin's code, if only in spirit. Yet I can't seem to control my temper anymore. I've seen how this path can lead to a fall. Every fiber in my being rails against it. But when I come under attack I lose all conscious thought; my body moves on reflex to stop the threat. So far I haven't killed anyone, but that's cold comfort. Even Kevin and Enrico have commented on my lack of self-control as of late. Both are justifiably worried, and spells I've cast on myself don't alleviate the symptoms of this mental state. It's deeper than so-called "madness." My soul has been touched--damaged by what I saw and felt.
So I've stepped up my regimen of prayer and meditation. It seems to be working, as just last night I let a drunken Marine go without roughing him up. The bitterness, anger, and despair of both my time in the Abyss and what the victims of Auschwitz experienced have collided and opened old wounds I have to work to close once more. Goddess forgive me.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, Feb. 28, 1988)
I had the most bizarre experience today. I was walking by the Circular River when I would swear I saw a dead body. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a strange white log. That's when I realized it was clothing. When I looked I saw lab coat spattered with blood, but not body. Thanks to an early thaw the current was pretty strong, so it's possible I did see a body but it was washed into Raccoon Lake. I wanted to tell the police, but they'd have to dredge the whole lake for something that may not even exist. I plan on investigating on my own in the future, but for now I'm a little too busy with something else. For all I know it could have been my imagination running wild again. Or even ethereal resonance; it's so hard to tell the two realities apart at times.
The infamous Spencer Mansion isn't the only strange place in the middle of nowhere outside Raccoon. I was collecting herbs in the deeper forest when I suddenly found a perimeter of trip lines and booby traps, all well hidden from view. Even the local earth showed signs of booted footsteps, all the same tread but in varying sizes. When I found a gap in the defenses I sneaked in and found an odd mansion tied to a small rail station. It looked like the place was being shut down as folks in Umbrella uniforms hastily moved boxes and equipment to a waiting boxcar. From their conversations I picked up the name James Marcus, one of the founders of Umbrella. This was his estate, but why?
For the first time in a year I got on my computer and cracked into the secure files of Umbrella's local offices. There wasn't a whole lot there, just a note about the place being a management training center. Judging by the gear I saw being moved I'd say there were experiments being conducted there as well. It would fit what I know of Marcus. A scientist never stops working if they can help it.
Two more names popped up in the files I read. William Birkin and Albert Wesker, Marcus's favored students. Birkin was taking over some new field of research while Wesker went on to something else. I couldn't figure out more than that before I found a trace. I cut the connection before the trace could complete, but the files were booby trapped themselves. They activated some sort of virus that destroyed them and my entire hard drive. Fortunately I used it so little that nothing terribly important was destroyed. It was time for an upgrade anyway.
One thing still troubles me, though. Did something happen to Marcus? Why is his facility being shut down and his two star pupils moving onto different things all of a sudden? In hindsight I wonder if that "body" I saw is somehow connected to all of this. The labcoat would certainly suggest such. I'll have to run some tests on it--magical and scientific.
(End transcript)
My experiments on the lab coat have proven less than enlightening. When I try to get a psychometric reading all I see are leeches--large ones. The only other impression is that of being shot and then dumped in the river, so I know this is definitely a murder. But who do I report it to? How can I explain the reasons I know this is a murder? I'd be slapped in a padded cell.
My own diving into Raccoon Lake has proven fruitless as well. If there is a body in there I can't find it. For now I have no choice but to close this case and move onto something else.
On a (possibly) related note I've noticed some weird activities in the sewers of all places. In truth I came by this entirely by accident; while having a drink with Kevin and Enrico during Happy Hour I overheard two sewer workers talking about surveyors and engineers suddenly coming on for some sort of project. They weren't just expanding the sewers--they were digging into the ground underneath. When I investigated for myself--an experience I could have lived without--I noticed something else. Armed guards were patrolling the sewers and I could hear the sound of industrial equipment throughout. Also an old train station on the edge of town has just been reopened, but not to the public. Indeed I had to sneak in to see they were excavating a giant shaft some several hundred yards straight down where the rotation table used to be. All of this under the watchful eye of Umbrella.
What are they building so deep underground?
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, Mar. 23, 1988)
Irons has begun to renovate the RPD building. He's brought in some tacky looking statues and portraits that no doubt cost a bundle. Where he got that kind of money I don't know, but I do have my suspicions. He issued a standing order to all officers not to go into the sewers for any reason not too long after the first construction underground began. Kickbacks from Umbrella would explain where he got the money, and the strange order. Not that any of the officers went in there much anyway. Who can blame them?
Progress on all fronts of Umbrella's new project are proceeding at a lightning pace. They literally have crews working at all times. There is never a lull in the process and already they've cleared out countless tons of earth. To hide this from the public Mayor Warren has announced a new park is going to be built; the dirt from underground will form the park, and no one will question where it came from. Likely they'll just assume it was brought in from outside. I must admit it's a brilliant move. I just wonder who exactly is pulling his strings from inside the company?
On a whim I indulged my curiosity and again got burned for it. I've heard all of the stories about the Spencer Estate by now. How Spencer went mad just after he built it and locked himself inside, how it's haunted by his ghost, that sort of drama. So I decided to take a look--and quickly wished I hadn't once I got there.
Besides a similar layout of traps and sensors like the Marcus Estate, there are regular patrols by men and women in paramilitary gear with guard dogs. Their patrols overlap and reinforce one another in a way that screams of strategic genius and careful planning. But worse than that is the musty stench of necromantic energy that permeates the air around it. On the Near Ethereal I saw the place as brightly as I did physically; the anguish of man and beast alike is impossible to ignore. I've no doubt Umbrella using it to run experiments on their precious T-Virus, but the place is locked down tight. For someone to get past security the place would have to be compromised from within.
I've the pieces to a puzzle, but I don't know how I arrange them. All I do know is that Umbrella is the shared connection. Frankly I'm getting a little bit tired of investigating them like some obsessed maniac. Maybe it's time I sat back and waited for a while. The world news has been a lot more interesting of late, what with the troubles in the USSR. I fear the Soviet Union will fall in a matter of months, maybe a year at best. Besides everything they no doubt have about weapons of mass destruction, I fear the leak of the paranormal things they were keeping locked up.
For now, though, I don't know enough to move on any front. Umbrella is up to something and I can't find out what. All I know is that it's something bad. It always is with these corporate types.
(End transcript)
Almost two years ago I put this journal down and never once picked it back up. Things with Umbrella had settled into a stalemate and world events were just beginning to heat up again. Now, as if to shatter the relative peace of the Eighties, evil has begun to rear its ugly head en masse. Amazing how just forty-eight hours ago things were peaceful, quiet. It's only been two days and I already miss the Eighties!
Things began almost a year earlier--with the fall of the Soviet Union and the demolition of the Iron Curtain. Through contacts I was made aware of a mass emigration of supernatural beings from former Soviet territories to the West. Just like I'd feared. Vrykolykas, loup-garou, nightshades, and various other creatures have begun to show up with alarming frequency in the US and in most of Western Europe. More than once I've had to root out a lone ghoul or lesser vampire here in Raccoon, mere scouts for larger groups I fear.
Stranger still is a haze in the air--a heavy, heart-wrenching feeling that puts me on edge and has already spawned violence in various places. With the release of creatures with the Soviets' fall a massive surge of ethereal resonance has followed suit and begun to spread throughout the world. The violence in Eastern Europe has only been magnified by this strange phenomenon and has finally reached as far as the Americas and Japan. Soon violence on a scale not seen before will begin and a new age of terror will cover this world. I wonder if the Red Death hadn't planned this all along. With the loss of superstitious fear and the spread of knowledge this force lost some of its power--figuratively and literally. Humans now have weapons that can harm even the most powerful of creatures, can organize themselves to fight the menace almost instantly, and not even the Red Death can stop the spread of information to others. Further I've noticed a sharp decrease in the number of supernatural events over the past century, indicating that some of the Red Death's power has waned and its minions are beginning to weaken as well as a result. With more "human" menaces a new wave of fear will rise and empower the forces of darkness once more. Things have come full circle.
As for what made me finally take up pen to paper, a series of robberies has turned into murder in Raccoon. The quiet of the past is no more as we grow and face the changing world. I have no doubts that Mayor Warren will try to resurrect his Special Tactics And Rescue Squad idea in the near future.
(End transcript)
The past four months have seen more growth in Raccoon City than the past four years. More and more people are moving in--and more often that not they bring their bad habits with them. Already the number of armed robberies this year alone are more than were committed the past decade, not to mention domestic violence, car theft, assaults, and countless more crimes I could spend hours listing. The growing pains of a city; the place grows while the citizens are in pain.
To that end I've been officially deputized by the RPD. Irons was adamantly opposed to the whole situation, but the others put enough pressure on him to get it passed. I think he's afraid--as an outsider I'm free of his usual tools of manipulation and coercion. He can't control me, and thus he fears I may try to expose his corruption. If only it were that easy; as a deputy I've been out on various reports of crime twelve hours each day. I don't have the time to try and kick the rocks over, so to speak.
To ease the burden the RPD has recruited over a dozen new cops--including Kevin Dooley. He was discharged from the Marines just last month and is now my unofficial partner. He's still got a few things to learn about being a civilian police officer, but his background as an MP makes it that much easier for him.
To vent the frustrations of the day I often join the other cops at the Bar Jack after hours. Unlike them I can't tolerate alcohol, so instead I consume Pepsi. More than once I've consumed so much I was too wired to sleep; it's almost laughable how I've gone from being a drunkard to a caffeine fiend. At least a soft drink won't slow my thinking. No, it does the quite the opposite most of the time.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Arabian Desert, Saudi Arabia, Sept. 1, 1990)
Eight months of constant police work has taken a toll on me. At the insistence of Kevin, Enrico, and even Priscilla I've taken a vacation. Or rather a trip to look for something I've only read about. Priss isn't too happy that I'm still working in a fashion. I'll be hearing about this until I get back to the States.
In truth I've been scouring the sands for almost a week now. In reading up on Hebrew Qaballah I came across mention of a rare herb called Aglaophotis, said to drive out evil spirits. Given how old the Hebrew culture is there's a very good chance this is pre-Red Death lore. The problem has been finding even a single sample of this red plant. It's rare under the best of circumstances, and I wouldn't put it past the local creatures of darkness to stamp out any Aglaophotis they come across if it really is as powerful as claimed.
My luck changed this morning when I came across a single red leaf buried in the hot sand. Once I dug I found it was an entire stalk connected to a root system. Just touching it filled me with a serene strength and determination. I found what I had been looking for and carefully transplanted it into a clay pot to take back with me. I'll have to smuggle it in, as the laws are quite strict on importing foreign plants and animals. Plus I have no doubt the Red Death's lackeys would try to destroy it if they saw it.
For now I'm making camp in a small canyon to wait out the hot day. Tomorrow I'll begin the trek back to civilization and return home.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Arabian Desert, Saudi Arabia, Sept. 10, 1990)
Somehow the forces of evil found out I had found some Aglaophotis. The day I set camp I was attacked by desert zombies. Nothing terribly difficult, but they kept coming in a steady stream. Finally I broke camp and began to hike to the nearest town. Muduat, with their lampey-like mouths, swarmed me as I passed a small oasis. More than once they managed to land a bite and drain the water from my tissue.
Finally I was forced into showing my full hand. The zombies and muduat were easily dealt with, but more powerful creatures soon took their place. During the scorching days I fought off dust wights and dessicators, as well as sand golems and scorpionfolk. By night dreaded nightwalkers began to attack me at the worst possible times. I was forced to hide from the creatures until I had time to regain my strength. Those few that found me soon felt the sting of the sun channeled through my fists, unable to fight back in the light as I mercilessly destroyed each one.
Then last night I faced off against a dry lich. The creature had been a Bedouin mystic in life, and was utterly devoted to the Red Death as a creature of unlife. It demanded the Aglaophotis from me, and attacked me with a whip of sand when I refused. Everywhere that thing hit I felt my skin burn as water was sucked out, and the creature was no slouch as fighter itself once I closed in on it. Even after I finally destroyed it I had to find the canopic jars that housed its spirit, otherwise it would come back.
In the distance I could see an outcropping of rock and made my way toward it. As I closed in I was once more attacked by desert zombies, sand golems, and other creatures. By the time I cleared a path I was on my last legs. If this wasn't where the jars were then my body would be killed and I would lose the Aglaophotis. That's what this had been about all along.
In a small, carved niche I found five jars with animal heads as lids. It was the jars! Yet it had taken me a day to get there, and the lich reappeared. I was still weakened from my fights, and had I not found those jars I would have lost the battle. Instead as I smashed each one on the stone the lich recoiled in pain, begging me to stop. But after what it had put me through I wasn't in a merciful mood.
With the last pot smashed it fell to the ground, weakened but still not destroyed. From the portable hole in my coat I withdrew the Sun Gun and rammed the heavy blade into its dry, crackling ribcage. It let out a scream of agony and I felt a massive wave of energy sweep past me. Once the thing went silent it turned into ash and blew away on the breeze. I'd been able to defeat my foe, but I was almost dead.
With the dry lich's death the attacks have ceased. Tonight I have no choice but to rest and recover. The fuss created over this one plant has only made it clear that the forces of evil are afraid of it. This is a victory I'll savor for a long time.
(End transcript)
Both Kevin and Enrico have commented that I seem more stressed than before I left on vacation. I wish I could tell them what happened, but that's not wise. Instead I'll have to make do with a little skiing this winter. That's one of the perks of Raccoon City; only in Utah is there better powder.
My studies of the Aglaophotis have shown that it's a positive energy sponge. Unlike the undead which drain away positive energy around them, the herb merely soaks up excess and stores it--concentrates it would be more accurate. While I've no doubt of its healing potential, the real potential lies in its use as a purgative. According to ancient Hebrew texts (thanks to a stop in Israel on my way home) the stuff acts like an acid to possessing creatures. It literally burns them and forces them out of a mortal body. What it does to them in their true form I can only guess. Likely it acts as double-strength holy water, though it might also render them more vulnerable to physical harm.
Getting this plant to take to new soil has taxed my abilities in herbalism. The main stalk was dying before I finally hit on a solution. I have to channel positive energy into it directly. Whether a direct conduit to the Positive Energy Plane, a turning, or merely a consecrate or hallow spell is what's needed. There seems to be no limit as to the amount it can take; in fact, once I dissected a leaf I found that the cells don't age. There may be some sort of connection--whether genetic or mystical--to the Joshua trees in the American Southwest. Native lore does hold them as potent sources of magic, and both grow in desert terrain. I'll explore that later.
I've also discovered, much by accident, that more positive energy causes the Aglaophotis to grow at an accelerated--if delayed--rate. After one experiment in channeling positive energy I returned hours later to find that the plant had nearly doubled in overall size and width. This seems to have an upper limit, as the plant seems to merely replace trimmed pieces rather than grow more. Granted I've been observing it less than two weeks, so perhaps it's merely resumed its normal growth rate.
Going by the old ways I was able to reproduce the elixir that can purge evil spirits. I don't dare harvest any more for now, given how much I had to use to create enough elixir. It will be at least a month before I can try again, and I have no clue as to how long this stuff will keep. It may be that I can create only one vial at a time.
As I write this I grow tired. I'll need to encounter creatures of darkness to test it further, and hopefully that won't be for a very long time.
(End transcript)
I can no longer dismiss the increasing crime rate as the pains of a growing city. In the past year alone I've dealt with countless robberies, assaults, murders, and other crimes too heinous to write. The crime rate across the whole world seems to be on the rise--people are angrier, more volatile. Culture has begun to pick up on this negativity in a big way; optimistic if saccharine pop and upbeat metal have both given way to a dreary "grunge" style and the often violent lyrics of so-called "gangstah rap." Not that there weren't these things before; they just seem to have picked up in popularity as the people begin to lose faith and hope in the future. The world has finally begun to face the facts it so wanted to ignore. Instead of fixing the problems the world's whole psyche has begun to give way to feelings of despair and apathy. But many are also angry--angry and ready to express it no matter how destructive.
All this is in Raccoon alone; the world is even worse. People joke that society is going to hell in a handbasket. Well I can honestly say we aren't going there, we are there and getting comfortable. In hindsight I wonder if the collapse of the Soviet Union and the subsequent release of things kept in wasn't part of the Red Death's plan all along? A pall has fallen over the world and there's nothing that can undo it. But even in the darkness there is some light.
The fledgling World Wide Web promises to deliver information directly into the homes of everyone--uncensored by anyone or anything. Already I can see the minions of the Red Death scrambling to try and halt this new medium or at least try to contain it. With the advent of films the Red Death put into power groups like the MPAA to censor the truth; with radio and television it was the Federal Communications Commission. Now there's something that will dwarf them all put together. Humanity will be able to communicate instantly across nations and the anyonymity the creatures of darkness depend on is in danger of being dispelled. Already I've heard of tentative laws to try and control the flow, yet this country's own Constitution prohibits such as a violation of basic rights. No doubt they'll try, and when they fail they'll try inundating the Web with useless garbage to hide the truth.
Further technology like cellular communications and satelitte-based transmissions will no doubt merge with and redefine everything that comes into contact with it. In a way I'm prophesizing the future merely by looking at my own people's history, sans developments in magic. Information will become readily accessible and the horrid truths of the world will be laid bare. Not that everyone will pay attention, but enough will heed the warnings.
I just worry about those that would use the information for evil ends, even aiding the Red Death inadvertantly. I've already come across dark rituals contained in the lyrics of several "death" metal songs and even some more mainstream ones. It scares me to think of ignorant people using these powerful rites. I may have to leave the RPD and become a freelance paranormal investigator in time. And, to be honest, I kind of miss the thrill of the chase.
My musings aside, I write in this journal because there's been an update in the Umbrella arena. The underground has long since been finished and by my estimates is several miles down underground. No doubt it's a lab with their black projects, so illegal even their partners in crime like the US government couldn't ignore what's going on if they knew. I just wish I knew what was going on.
Mayor Warren has again brought his Special Tactics And Rescue Squad idea to the city council. Given the increase in violent crime locally and terrorism all over the world, many are beginning to agree it's a good one. Strangely this is backed by Umbrella, who has presented their own plan, Raccoon First. It's a series of renovations to the city and its services, including the formation of the mayor's STARS among the RPD. The plans will take a couple of years to become a reality; among other things the STARS has to draw on military and civilian personnel to build a truly effective squad, and the search could take a while. This is one area I plan on being fully involved in. If the STARS are made of people entirely on Umbrella's payroll the company will control them, not the people. I will not let that happen. This is my home now and I will do anything I have to to protect it.
To that end I've begun to go through the files of the military to see who could be useful. Three names popped up immediately as those with skill and a strong sense of moral duty. The first is Chris Redfield, a soldier in the USAF and a top gun pilot. His record of refusing orders he didn't agree with on an ethical scale strikes me as a very good sign.
Another is a friend and squadmate of Chris, Barry Burton. His knowledge of weapons is amazing and his own record points to a strong moral code, though he's married with two daughters. I hesitate to use a family man, as they can be used against him. But his skills and knowledge are too valuable to pass up.
The last is a woman in the Delta Force training team, Jill Valentine. She's mastered a variety of skills and is a solid fighter in her own right. Her tendency to freeze in combat is a concern, but she's proven herself to be an upright person time and again and able to overcome her own fear. If I play it right she won't necessarily be a front-line fighter, thus minimizing her weakness.
Enrico and Kevin are both high on my list for placement, though neither is yet aware of the STARS project. Both are good at what they do and are good people to boot. These are promising candidates, but I can't rest until I'm sure that Umbrella won't turn this into their own private task force. Already I've begun to expand my searches to include private groups (mercenaries) as well as more intellectual arenas like MIT and Harvard for the more specialized tasks like medics and chemical warfare specialists.
In the meantime, I'm keeping a close eye on Umbrella. So far they haven't noticed me or my prodding. Or if they have they don't seem to care. After all, I'm one man against a multi-national corporation. What harm can I do to them?
Plenty, that's what.
(End transcript)
Without any real arguments, my top choices for the STARS have all been approved. One concession that makes my skin crawl is that the leader of the first team, Alpha, is none other than Albert Wesker. It seems he's been on the list Umbrella made since the beginning. I couldn't really protest it without letting on that I know who--and what--he is. In person he's amiable enough if rather cold--or perhaps sociopathic is a better description. The others see him as a calm, cool leader while I see a plant by Umbrella to subvert the STARS for their own ends and a man I instinctively distrust. The stain of evil on his soul is hard to miss thanks to the crystal in my head.
Most of the others--Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, Barry Burton, Kenneth Sullivan, Forest Speyer, Edward Dewey, Joseph Frost, and of course Kevin and Enrico--I rather like. I took a direct hand in their training as STARS and even became friends with them all. This is turning out better than I'd hoped and the STARS retain a certain moral independence that seems to irk Umbrella. Only Brad Vickers has failed to earn my respect; the man isn't very enthusiastic about his job and has proven time and again that he lacks a backbone. In short, he's a coward. Yet his skills with computers is astounding and he's even taught me quite a few things, including how to build my own hardware and bypass even the hardest computer defenses.
There is one last person on my list--Rebecca Chambers. Though only sixteen right now, she's already a student at MIT and may even earn her doctorate in as little as two years. I've been in contact with her and she seems to be rather enthusiastic about joining after she graduates. Though slated as the medic, her knowledge is much deeper than that and she could be a very big part of things if the STARS cross Umbrella and its T-Virus.
For the time being I've put what Vickers taught me to use. Already I've learned that William Birkin, one time associate of Wesker, has been studying a new variant of the T-Virus called the G-Virus. Details are sketchy and the file I managed to pull before my computer literally fried has been corrupted. I was able to restore only a few parts with the words "continued evolution" and "cellular metamorphosis" being the ones that really caught my eye. Also a name was there, "Lisa Trevor." Upon digging in the local records I found out that the same George Trevor that built the Spencer Estate and then disappeared shortly after had a daughter named Lisa. It also turns out that his wife and daughter disappeared shortly after he did, though this hasn't been part of the local urban legend. I fear I know what happened to them.
For the time being I can't dig any more since my computer is now a heap of slag. Current electronics just aren't powerful enough for what I need to do. I remember building a small, handheld computer from a kit as a child, similar to the crystal radio kits on Earth. If I can recreate that I should have something that will do. I've already seen primitive versions of this technology on Earth, with the Newton being the best example. These "personal digital assistants" will no doubt be the future, but I can't wait for the future to get here. I need to try and make one now.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, Dec. 27, 1996)
My fingers are covered in electrical burns and I still see lines of code when I close my eyes, but it worked. The pocket computer exceeds anything I'd dared hope for! The hardest part turned out to be writing the code; I had no idea there was so much that went into the tiniest things. No doubt I'll be writing new programs for things as time passes, but for now I can use what's available commercially and interact with virtually any other computer. I'm still a little annoyed at using up so much of my raw blue ice to create the circuits, but it's a better conductor than copper or silver and neatly solves the problem of overheating.
My first foray into the Umbrella systems using this new device revealed a number of minor problems I'll have to iron out, but even their best intrusion countermeasures fell like wheat. Sadly they've gotten wise and have put all information on the T- and G-Viruses on cold storage, even old data from the '60's. I'll have to physically connect to them in order to learn anything. And since they've put all such data in their blackest of black labs, I don't think I'll be getting anything new for a while. I've gotten a lot better at infiltration since I came here, but breaking into the Umbrella labs? Even I'm not that stupid.
(End transcript)
I think I've straightened out all the bugs in my homemade pocket computer. I haven't had any problems for over a week and, given past experiences, that's saying something. The others have noticed how I'm always using it and there have been some questions, especially from Vickers and Wesker. Vickers is just curious, but I think Wesker knows this isn't a regular PDA
That's another thing. In the year since I've met him I've learned two things. The first is that Albert Wesker is a cold, calculating man with a razor sharp mind and no scruples. Second is that he absolutely hates me, and the feeling is mutual. Neither of us show it; he seems to naturally have a poker face and I've been perfecting mine to the point of fooling even myself at times. The other STARS have noticed this antipathy, but chalk it up to personal differences. They have no idea how right they are.
Since I've met them in person I've become close friends with all of the STARS. I even had Thanksgiving dinner at Barry's house last year with his wife and two daughters. He might love guns, but he definitely loves his family more. You have got to respect that. Plus he's like a big teddy bear to his friends, always up for a good time and simply the nicest guy I've ever met.
Chris recently had his younger sister, Claire, over for a visit. I must admit I was a bit taken with the young lady; smart, tough, yet caring. Just like her older brother. Poor kids lost their parents at a young age and he's had to raise her. I'd say he did a pretty good job. As for Claire, her stumbling over words and almost schoolgirl-like bubbly attitude around me says she feels the same. Under different circumstances I would probably pursue a relationship of some sort. Unfortunately I'm involved in something I dearly wish she never has to go through. Plus Chris has been acting protective; it's more the instinct to protect his sister than any real disapproval, and over drinks he told me in a playful tone to "treat her right or I'll kick your ass." At the time he was pretty tipsy from scotch and I chose not to pursue the matter.
Other than establishing what may be my first real friendships besides Kevin and Enrico since I arrived on Earth I've been busy trying to dig up data on an Umbrella facility somewhere in the Pacific. So far I've only been able to dig up a name: Ashford. This led to some other things, such as the Ashford family. Details are sketchy at best and I only have a faint idea of what's going on.
Apparently Alexia was the result of a genetic experiment by her father--an attempt to recreate the family matriarch Veronica Ashford and her prodigious intellect. Apparently he succeeded, but the result was a twin boy and girl. The boy, Alfred, was smarter than normal. But it was his sister that was the true genius; a prodigy that earned her Ph.D. at only ten years of age. Reports after that are sketchy, and it seems that Alexia disappeared almost fifteen years ago.
My real interest in this matter is something codenamed T-Veronica. Supposedly it's a variant of the T-Virus that Alexia herself created, though details on it remain scarce. Apparently Alexia developed this outside Umbrella's official purview and since her disappearance all traces has gone missing as well. That would normally make me ignore this matter, but the facility mentioned is apparently some sort of prison used by Umbrella. No doubt they use it to stash anyone that threatens their dominion. With each new discovery I'm finding that the evil in Umbrella reaches deeper than anyone could ever guess.
For now I'm putting this Pacific prison on the back burner. More urgent matters like the increasing crime rate in Raccoon City is taking up my time. The STARS have been earning their stripes as well; already there have been hostage situations, major raids, and other situations that the normal police couldn't handle. As I've been reading, these are becoming all too commonplace across the US alone, let alone the world.
What's been notably lacking in Raccoon City lately is the activity of the supernatural. At first I thought the things that go bump in the night didn't have any real interest in the town. But I've begun to realize that there's a serious lack of paranormal activity in Raccoon--even for Earth. Someone or something has a vested interest in keeping out anyone and anything that might possess supernatural powers. I fear if I didn't have my coat I'd also be run out by whatever force is "protecting" this town. Because only magic can detect magic I'm safe in the magic mansion and while I wear the coat outside of it. I'll be pretty busy for a while as I try and find out what's going on.
(End transcript)
My searches for anything of a supernatural nature in Raccoon City have led to Umbrella, not surprisingly. My efforts began simple enough, such as casting magic weapon on a baseball bat or laying down a consecrate in an out of the way part of town. Tellingly only the longer lasting spells drew out any attention, and then only after some time had passed. Efforts to divine who had cast them failed obviously, thanks to the cloak-turned-coat I wear. But in each case I spotted what appeared to be the Umbrella logo. At least two of these "gofers" possessed magical ability themselves and worked to dispel the effects with ruthless efficiency.
Why Umbrella--why anyone and anything--would want to suppress magic is rather simple. The presence of magic means the chance that someone will detect their own experiments into the arcane, whether by chance or by deliberate search. The second is that the knowledge of things beyond the ken of science would no doubt spur a revival in the mystical arts, again with the results that they're exposed for the world to see. I've seen hardened skeptics become true believers after even the simplest of spells or rituals produced an effect that defies the laws of reality. It's just like Sherlock Holmes once said: "When the possible is ruled out, the impossible, no matter how improbable, becomes possible." Or something like that. Given what I've learned about him, the man was obviously speaking from experience.
Another, more ominous discovery was a strong aura of necromancy near an old water plant on the edge of town. At first I thought it was the lair of some undead creature. But the layout of hidden traps and the presence of guards told me this was an Umbrella facility. Since it wasn't as heavily guarded I was able to sneak in. What I found horrified me.
They've been using it as a disposal facility for their T-Virus experiments!
Dozens of zombies were being liquidated in a powerful acid as I watched and other creatures, some so horribly disfigured I couldn't tell what they were, waited for their turn. From a few papers I snagged I've found out that the facility is at its limit; they literally can't handle any more "disposals" than the current rate. Suggestions of simply burying excess "material," despite the very real possibility of leaks, makes me sick to my stomach. If that stuff leaks into the ground there's no telling what it could do or where it could reach if it hits underground cisterns. I can't even begin to guess as to what it could do to a simple earthworm, but the results would likely be very, very bad.
(End transcript)
I was out gathering herbs in the forest when I got a call on my PDA. The cops had found the remains of a young woman, roughly 20 to 23, brutally torn apart. At first I thought this was another case of a wild animal coming into the city; it's rare, but not unheard of. What was strange was that the coroner said the bite marks matched those of a domestic dog. They wanted me to head to the hospital for an immediate autopsy.
When I got there I found things that indicated dogs a lot more than just the shapes of the bites. Where cats often crush the spine of their prey, dogs are known to tear out the throat. Many other canines do this as well, such as wolves. But wolves aren't very common around here; cougars, bears, even the odd wildcat and coyote, but not wolves. Plus the marks were too small for the common gray wolf.
When I tried to detect for diseases I sensed something that made my stomach sink. The magic immediately picked up traces of a supernatural virus I'd never encountered before. It was dormant in the body and thus unable to do anything until stirred, so I took a sample of the tissue around the bites to investigate this on my own.
In a petri dish I was able to stimulate the growth of the virus simply by adding fresh blood. My own blood proved useless, but that's not unexpected. I am a paladin and immune to all known diseases. The sample of human blood I got from the hospital woke it up immediately, though. Within seconds the cells had been altered--the virus infiltrated the cell and replicated itself even as it kept it alive. It took a little under a second for the three CC's of blood to become utterly corrupted by the virus.
I can't quite tell what's going on using this equipment, but it matches what I've learned of the T-Virus. When I detected for the aura of undeath the virus radiated like a beacon in the darkness. I'm not absolutely certain that I've found the true T-Virus, but 99% sure definitely. That means that this aberration is loose and running unchecked. No reports of excessive materials at the Waste Disposal Facility have come across my hands--yet. So I have to assume that it escaped from somewhere else. The Raccoon labs are still locked up tighter than a drum, but things have been strangely quiet from the Spencer Estate for over a month.
I've discovered one of the worst biohazards in Earth's history, yet I can't do a thing about it. Who in their right mind would believe me? Even I'm not entirely sure if this is the real T-Virus or something akin to the shadow virus or some other paranormal disease. I need more information. And I'm worried I'll get it.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, May 22, 1998)
Two more bodies turned up, this time a pair of teenagers. The bite marks on their bodies were undoubtedly human. A media snoop got wind of this and now there's a rumor of a "cannibal killer" going around. My own investigations have turned up the same virus from the first victim in both bodies and Umbrella has discreetly, if rather strongly, said it would be a good idea to cremate the bodies. Naturally the police aren't having a bit of that; the bodies still have a story to tell.
Speaking of which, I must add something I didn't note. The voice of the first body said it had been caught unaware and died without seeing a thing. But these two both saw what it was that attacked. They described their killers as a pair of homeless men dressed in tattered and bloodstained overalls with gray-pink skin and the overpowering stench of rot about them. The girl indicated the one she saw had "eyes so white they looked like zombie eyes." Rather odd choice of words, but then this is the generation raised on bad B-horror movies. Zombies wouldn't be too hard to identify.
Also it seems my original assertion that the Waste Disposal Facility hasn't had any leaks was too hasty. A report that I managed to snag says they've been receiving increasing numbers of "waste," including things they aren't equipped to handle. So instead they've buried what they can't handle and are working overtime to get the rest. Yet this is an area far from civilization and the leaks would all be underground--far from humans. There has to be another leak. The murders have all taken place near or in the Raccoon Forest, and the Spencer Estate--the so-called "Arklay Facility"--has been silent for weeks. That Umbrella hasn't sent someone to try and contain this is rather odd; wouldn't causing a major biohazard be bad even for them?
I don't know what's going on anymore. Umbrella is sitting on its hands and the local police are being told not to go near the woods. Since before the first murder there was a standing order from Chief Irons not to go near the woods on penalty of leave without pay. Both times it was hikers or tourists that found said bodies and the public is beginning to get a little unruly over the fact the police aren't doing anything. I know Irons is in Umbrella's pocket, so the order isn't a great mystery. But this is turning into something even Sir Spencer can't keep a lid on. Sooner or later there's going to be a serious incident unless something is done.
In the meantime, though, I'm using my status as a "mere deputy" to go hunting for the killers in the woods. Irons isn't aware of this; no one is. If this is the T-Virus, I want to find out before there's a panic. And I want to know what I'm dealing with just in case.
A curfew. A f***ing curfew! THAT'S what Irons thinks will curb the killings? Or is it from Umbrella, who has their hand up his back? Either way it's a token effort and useless. The last two attacks happened during the day; a curfew probably won't even put a dent in the attacks. It's become quite clear to everyone that the police and even the mayor are dragging their feet over this issue.
Truth be told it's only been about seven deaths, but that's seven too many for me. Apparently it's also seven too many for the folks of Raccoon. Public outcry is beginning to grow and so the cops are putting out extra patrols at night in addition to a "curfew." The police inaction and the mayor's empty promises are beginning to cause the public's fears to boil over; Kendo, the local gun dealer, has reported close to a three-hundred percent in sales. An armed populace is okay; an armed and panicky populace is not. Already I've been a witness in six cases of accidental shootings at the local courts. Also, an increasing number of people have begun going into the forest to hunt down the killers. Tellingly, some have yet to return.
My own hunts have turned up little. Occasionally I'll find the remains of some animal, torn apart rather savagely, but nothing else. One thing I did notice is the noise--or lack thereof. Where before birds would chirp loudly and you could hear squirrels and other animals scuttling about, now it's quiet as the grave. I didn't expect to find much to begin with; Raccoon Forest is several hundred miles wide and I'm only one man.
Further putting a roadblock on my hunts has been the arrival of Rebecca Chambers. As the last member of STARS on the roster I have to train her in various avenues. Her time in law enforcement classes at MIT have helped her understand some of the procedures, but practical skills like shooting and the subdual of a perp weren't given. So I've been showing her how to safely use a gun, to defend herself unarmed, and even how to use a knife in close combat. At close range her shooting skills are quite good, though farther out her inexperience becomes glaringly obvious. Her rather thin, petite frame has made her unarmed skills rather weak in terms of raw power, but she can still throw a punch or a kick with some expertise. With a knife her low strength and poor combat skills become a problem; currently the plan is to issue her a little more ammo than usual and she can rely on her skills with a gun.
Outside of training I've been showing her around, introducing her to folks, and otherwise helping her fit in. The men in STARS look on her like a little sister, while she seems to have idolized Jill. So much so she even wears the same ballistic vest Jill does around the station. In a real situation she says she'll wear a lighter vest emblazoned with a red cross. Fitting, given her duties.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, June 13, 1998)
There's been some noise from inside Umbrella. Their computers are no longer a problem with my homemade PDA, and I was able to get a full story out of them without the company knowing. Apparently they sent in a team to open the old training facility--the Marcus Estate--and never heard back from them. This is in addition to reports of a spill at the Spencer Estate and some very weird occurrences.
Details on each are sketchy because Umbrella has chosen not to write more than they have to in their reports. But from what I can tell the Marcus Estate was going to be reopened and used once more as a training facility. A team of workers and guards were sent in, but shortly after all communication stopped. This was about the same time the spill occurred at the Spencer Estate. The latter is even harder to get details on; all I know is that during the night someone caused a canister of the T-Virus to open or be breached. Containment measures were taken, including distributing biohazard suits, but in the following days there were reports of "psychotic breakdowns" and "crazed behavior" among several employees.
This is in addition to increasing reports of attacks by feral dogs in the forests and sightings of strange people in the same. The curfews seemed to have worked, despite my feelings. In the past four weeks there has been one new murder, this one a hiker from out of town who wasn't staying in Raccoon. His body was found torn open and mostly devoured by a patrol sent in by the RPD. When I went to investigate the scene I also noticed something strange about the local fauna. Specifically, the crows. I've seen plenty in my life, but the ones that just sat in the branches and watched us silently were--bigger is the only word I think of. Bigger, more intelligent, hungry...not the looks of a flock--murder of scavengers, but the sharp, calculating glares of predators.
Adding fuel to the fire is Chris Redfield's demands we investigate the forest. In private he told me of a frantic phone call from a friend, a researcher for Umbrella named Billy Rabbitson. I've heard the message and it seems that the containment measures at the Spencer Estate failed; by now most of those in the place are either dead (if they're lucky) or undead. Wesker has been putting a veto on those plans, claiming we "don't have enough data." From a tactical standpoint he's right, but the stakes are getting too high to just sit back and wait for more information.
If it's data the man wants, then it's data I'll give him. I've begun to gather all the police reports, witness statements, and other things and begun to cross-reference those with the area in and around Raccoon Forest. The sheer number of things has prompted me to get the other STARS to help. Not much has been determined just yet, but signs already point to the area around the Spencer Estate.
One final wrench in the works is that Umbrella has been refusing to give us permission to go near its property. They claim to have been sending in their own people to investigate, but none of us have heard a thing. Without that permission we can't legally do a thing. This is one case where I can't bend the rules or go around them; I have to be a good little pawn until I can make a move.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, July 26, 1998)
The past five weeks have been some of the longest of my life--probably the longest for all of us. A new wave of attacks came just after July began, with six more murders in four weeks. Even before then the media was hyping the "cannibal murders" at every corner. People are beginning to talk about an impeachment of both Brian Irons and Michael Warren for not doing all they could to stop these events, and I think that's what prompted the officials to finally ignore Umbrella and send in the STARS to investigate firsthand.
Wesker approached me about going with the Bravos, citing my experience in handling such things. This struck me as odd; Wesker is a very by-the-book type of person and I'm not even an official member of the STARS. To send me in as well as going against protocol and the last thing I'd expect from him. But his rather insistent attitude, and the fact I know he's an Umbrella plant, made me give in and agree. My gut tells me this is some sort of setup, a plan that Umbrella has been saving as a last resort.
What really worries me is that I can't very well use my supernatural powers or my magic around the others on this case. Wesker knows I'm more than I say I am, but I doubt even he realizes my true abilities and nature. If he did I'd be hunted down mercilessly. The others are still unaware of Wesker's true allegiances and would likely report anything strange to him. Plus who would believe me, even if they saw the effects? It will take something truly mind-wrenching to break their skepticism.
Even as I write that last bit, I just know I'll be dead wrong about it all in the end.
(End transcript)
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, July 29, 1998)
My hands are shaking as I write this. Of the twelve STARS, only five have survived the Marcus and Spencer Estates. That b*stard Wesker--he set us all up! He sent me along with the Bravos in hopes I would die with them, but when I reappeared his plans were thrown into chaos. When I rejoined the Alphas I didn't even bother to hide my abilities. This was when Wesker began to understand how badly he'd underestimated me. And Vickers...though he did come back, his cowardice is something I'll never forgive.
With the Bravos it was like a living nightmare, a host of horrors I'll never be able to forget. Then there was Billy Coen, a good Marine framed by corrupt officials. The man has earned my undying respect. I swear I'll vindicate him if it kills me. He left when we escaped from the Queen Leech, and I had to leave Rebecca to try and make my way to civilization. When I ran across her in the Spencer Estate I noticed she was holding the dagger I gave her like it was her lifeline. She remains unaware of the betrayal, and I loathe having to tell her how we were sent in to die.
With the Alphas I was like a madman; a primal fury gripped me and I let no creature escape my wrath. Yet even then we barely made it out with our lives and our sanity. The latter I'm still not so sure about.
Now the shock has worn off and the reality has begun to hit me like a load of bricks. All at once I want to scream and cry, to kill every last scientist working for Umbrella and hide from the world at the same time. What haunts me is that most of those things were people before the T-Virus and the corporation got to them. Each was once a person, with a family, friends, a life. And all in the name of profit those fiends at Umbrella took it from them.
The explosion of the Spencer Estate has not gone unnoticed. As I write this a special bulletin is being broadcast. Soon both the STARS and I will have to begin answering a lot of questions. We have files, and I have tissue samples of each creature stored for analysis, but the real evidence went up in smoke with the lab. Who'd believe we were attacked my zombies and monsters? No one is going to buy the truth. We'll be lucky not to be slapped in padded cells after this gets out.
I have to write about what happened. I have to send it over the Internet and get the truth out to as many people as possible. For the STARS that died and those who ended up as pawns in Umbrella's game, I won't let the truth be buried and forgotten.
(End transcript)
It's been two weeks since we escaped with our lives, but the questions and the phone calls just won't stop. No one believes us, as I expected. But what I hadn't seen coming was the political fallout from this event. The STARS have been suspended and will likely be dissolved soon and I've been stripped of my deputy status. Irons in particular has been vicious about all of this and more than once it's taken every ounce of self-control not punch that fat f*** in his greasy face on several occassions. The others have retained their jobs as regular police officers--including the lousy pay--but that might not last. I've been noticing strong political pressure on both Mayor Warren and Irons to fire them. It's still too soon for them to move without looking like they have something to hide (which they do) and we're still the laughing stock of all of Raccoon City to do anything truly effective on our side.
If young Rebecca is feeling the strain, she isn't showing it. Soon after we got back she came by my estate and once more insisted I show her how to use healing magic. I don't know the arts of mysticism, just the path of drawing upon the divine. So I've begun to teach her about drawing upon an ideal, a set of core principles to grant her power. I've seen people master this in days or struggle for years before they achieved that first step; if and when she does learn to use magic I can't tell. I don't even know if it's possible for natives of this wretched plane to even use the old ways anymore.
The more I taught her about the divine the more my mind kept going back to Kyra, the rather unique succubus archivist that I met during my slave days. I guess even the Abyss makes "mistakes." Kyra certainly wasn't evil, and she wasn't exactly chaotic, either. In fact she was taunted as a "half-succubus" because her innate powers were underdeveloped compared to others. In fact she wasn't even allowed on the Material Plane, instead relegated to the role of a literal archivist for the goddess that held me in bondage and less of a slave in name only. I remember, for a century and a half, watching her grow in power and even in moral fortitude. I'd heard of fiends redeeming themselves before, but I actually witnessed her profound change of heart and helped her find a new home once we both escaped. I still smile when I remember how she followed me around like a puppy, eager to please and always ready to prove herself a force of good.
In Rebecca I see the same passion to learn and the same zeal to right the wrongs we've witnessed. Perhaps it's just youthful enthusiasm, or maybe it's her true calling in life. Either way I'm pretty much stuck trying to teach her an art that's almost died on Earth. Another problem is that, if she succeeds, then at what price? What will the Red Death and its minions do when someone with even more command over magic than a regular mystic appears? Would they try to destroy her? Or worse, corrupt her? It's these things that have been keeping me awake at night.
But I only have to look to the others to realize she's dealing with this well. As soon as we got home, Barry checked up on his family. It turns out Umbrella had never even contacted them; Wesker had lied about holding them hostage to get him to go along. That realization has made him rather sheepish about his role in manipulating the rest of us at the Spencer Estate. We've all told him it wasn't his fault, but the man's guilt won't let it rest.
Jill has been suffering chronic nightmares since we got back. Understandable and expected. A week ago she called me to her apartment, where she looked like death had warmed over. I finally had to use my sleep psi-like ability to get her to rest. Since then we've talked extensively with the others about what's happened, and I think she's beginning to recover. But more than once I've spent the night holding her as she slept on her couch, shaking from the nightmares even I can't dispel. Some "dreamer" I turned out to be.
Chris is just plain outraged that Umbrella is getting away with this scot free. His sense of justic is strong and on another world he would have surely been called to be a paladin. But there's nothing we can do right now; Umbrella is a multi-billion dollar multinational corporation and would brush us off as if we were flies. Plus there are now rumors of a more potent "G-Virus" being developed that has us all up in arms. So to cover his investigations the man has begun to act like he's lost his mind; just the other day he punched out a cop in Juvenile because of the dripping of a coffee maker. His ploy's working out quite well. Irons and Umbrella have turned their attention away from him and instead are focusing on the rest of us.
As for Vickers, he's just plain disappeared. I doubt he's left town, but none of the others have heard from him since the inquiry. Perhaps that's for the best. If I ever see him again I'll probably kill him myself for what he did.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, Aug. 18, 1998)
Rebecca's training is going well, though she still hasn't tapped into the well of power that faith provides. I do sense a "spark" of power, the faintest beginnings of magic. But again it could be years before she manifests any true magical abilities. In the meantime she's also been helping me research those tissue samples I gathered and both of us are at once amazed and horrified at the potential of the T-Virus. There was one rather amusing incident. I had left a vial of holy water in my lab area, unlabled, and she used it on a sample to try and begin a new colony. For several seconds the sample fizzed and foamed violently as the positive energy reacted with the T-Virus. Her reaction was such that I just couldn't resist laughing; she didn't find it so funny. But the accident did confirm my suspicions; holy water burns T-Virus cells like it will undead flesh.
Then there was the sudden announcement by Chris that he was heading off to Europe to investigate the Umbrella head offices today. He even told us not to tell his sister, Claire, where he was. He wants her to avoid this at all costs. Barry has said he'll join Chris after making sure his wife and daughters are safe from Umbrella; I've even offered to help out with that. The rest of us will be joining him in the coming weeks. Rebecca is scheduled to leave in two weeks while Jill and I are going to try and find a few last scraps of information on the local Umbrella activities.
If all goes well we'll be in France by this time next month. While I doubt that five of us can take down the company, we've proven we can do a lot of damage to their operations. Hopefully we can find something concrete and at last make these people pay for their crimes. After that none of us know what we'll do; I fear the rot goes far deeper than just Umbrella and that I'll spend the next few decades fighting a losing war against greed, corruption, and pure evil. But that's what I've been doing for over four-hundred years anyway.
(End transcript)
The STARS have been officially dissolved and no longer exist in a legal sense. I now have no reason to stay in Raccoon anymore. Umbrella knows they've won this round and all we can do is regroup for a counterattack later on. But a new wrinkle in the story has disrupted both my plans and Jill's. During one of my random searches through the Umbrella databases I came across a file that indicated the whereabouts of the G-Virus research--right here in town!
It came when I found an e-mail to Irons concerning William Birkin--the same man that worked with Wesker and the one that discovered the G. Birkin has begun to inspect the sewers in Raccoon himself and has ordered a tightening of security from the sewer workers. When I followed the trail more I found an undisclosed number of payments to Brian Irons--many in excess of tens of thousands of dollars. All of this seems to be aimed at stopping anyone not in on it from getting access to the sewers. Some of the city workers I talked to say they've received orders to avoid certain parts of the system, and to report any strange individuals they spot down there. A number are also showing signs of illness, though given their occupation I'm not surprised or too concerned about it. The city hasn't exactly kept up with payments for the gear needed to protect its sewer workers. An expired filter in a mask or a hole in a protective suit would let anything in.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Raccoon City, CO, Sept. 21, 1998)
Something is going on. I had already shrunk the magic mansion down and was visiting with Jill one last time before I headed to the airport when I found the RPD putting up road blocks. My friends in the force have no idea what's going on; the orders came down rather suddenly from on high and there's been no explanation. There are also rumors that Mayor Warren has fled town, though I don't know if that's connected to the whole roadblock thing.
Then there's something else I noticed. Though Jill offered to let me stay at her place until this thing blows over, I just couldn't bring myself to impose. So I got a room at the Raccoon Hotel. As I was looking out the window I could see roughly six people moving in the darkness; because it was darkvision I couldn't see colors or exact detail, but I watched them as they entered the sewers from a manhole. I would write it off as teenagers looking for a thrill, but their movements were too deliberate--too well-trained, really. At this hour I'm too tired to even try and theorize. If anything comes up in the morning I'll look into it. Otherwise I just want to get out of this town--now.
(End transcript)
The morning paper was emblazoned with headlines like "MARTIAL LAW DECLARED." The police station is also in chaos as Irons has been ordering a series of changes in departmental locations--including relocating equipment and weapons. The officers can't find their gear and the bureaucrats are like statues--just standing there doing nothing. So the cops have decided to go on without them; they've reinstated my deputy status and there's nothing that Irons can do about it. He even physically threatened me with a gun in front of the whole precinct, but then fell for the "the safety's on" trick. Once I had disarmed him and turned his own gun on him I finally let him know in no uncertain terms what I felt about him. Did that ever feel good.
After that I was roped into helping investigate. When I mentioned what I saw the other night they immediately dragged me down there. We spotted one figure briefly in the distance before it disappeared. Near the spot where we'd seen them we found a broken thermal imaging scope, a box of nine-mil ammo, and a small block of plastique. There were no identifying markers on any of the items--not even serial numbers. Yet we didn't have time to look further; a call came from the station that all officers were needed to help quell a riot that was forming over the whole martial law thing.
It turns out there's been a minor epidemic. Dozens of people have been sent to the hospital with flu-like symptoms and raging fevers. Folks are scared and want to leave, but they've been turned back--at gunpoint, if necessary. This prompted me to head to the hospital to check things out myself.
The place was a nightmare. Dozens of people were in the waiting room, some sick and others waiting for any news of their loved ones. When I checked on some of the more serious cases, I saw things that I'd hoped I never would again. In all cases their flesh was turning necrotic--literally rotting off their bodies. Some were hemorraging from every orifice. At least one had eyes so full of cataracts there was almost no color left.
Most of the doctors fear this is an outbreak of Ebola, but I fear it's something far worse. In every patient I detected a faint necromantic aura, different from the T-Virus but also similar. It's hard to explain. There's even been a communique from Umbrella, details on a vaccine. The doctors were trying to adminster it as fast as possible, but few samples had been sent and creating it on a large scale is beyond the scope of a city hospital. Those given this vaccine have shown remarkable recovery within hours of administration and petitions for more have been filed repeatedly--and loudly. Umbrella has been strangely quiet all day.
By the time I made it out of the hospital it was close to sunset. Where once the streets were full of people and honking cars, now it was as quiet as the grave. When I passed by a bar I saw a small mob inside, drinking. Amazing how some businesses prosper in times of desperation. Squad cars were out in regular patrols, broadcasting news about a curfew like the on in May over their loudspeakers and urging everyone to stay inside their homes unless they absolutely had to leave. The folks in the bar didn't like this much and came out to throw glasses, rocks, whatever was handy at the cars. I chalked it up to them venting their fears and returned to the hotel. After a day like this even I felt a little like throwing a fit.
For now I'm exhausted. I spent the day magically curing those infected with this new disease and have used up my abilities until next week. The cases of infection have remained remarkably low, and I maintain a faint hope of stemming this outbreak. But my gut tells me not to count on it.
(End transcript)
It's been twenty-four hours since I last had any sleep. I was fast asleep on the night of the 24th when Priscilla's geist literally began screaming in my ears. When I woke up I could hear the sound of someone fighting in the adjacent room. Without even thinking I grabbed my revolver and ran in, only to find the fight over--with the victor now eating her spoils. Stringy hair, pasty rotten skin, and the stench of old meat and sour milk.
When she turned to look at me I shot her in the head. The aura of something like the T-Virus was all over her, except more powerful. This seemed like a good time to check out. Only the gunshot had attracted the attention of others who were no longer among the living. As they plodded towards me I had only enough time to grab my things and jump out the window--three stories up. I felt my left ankle twist when I landed, but I had no choice but to hobble away. I'd expected to see zombies walking the streets, but things were oddly quiet. It was only when a black-and-white came screeching up to the curb that things fell in place.
Once I showed them I wasn't "crazed" they got me into the car and drove to a medical station about a block away. Crude barricades using standard police road blocks and a few extra cars outside of brightly lit tents. Dozens of others had been injured in various ways trying to escape friends and family when an unexplained wave of insanity began hitting people. Some were calling it a disease, a "cannibal disease" like the STARS had tried to tell them about only two months earlier. That's when the full gravity of the situation hit me: there had been another leak and this time it wasn't in the middle of nowhere. This place was going to be overrun by cannibalistic zombies within days and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It must have been too much for me to handle, because the next thing I remember I was laying on a cot with an ice pack on my forehead--the sun up.
Most of the cots were empty by now--in fact, most of the cots were gone. I could smell the stench of a funeral pyre outside and knew the authorities had begun the grim task of burning the infected. One of the cops told me that Mayor Warren had abandoned the city and the new orders were to round up any and all survivors to predesignated safe zones. The infection had spread far, but only a few were showing signs of the disease. Given what I know this won't stay that way for long; those that survive an encounter with a zombie will likely become one themselves.
I hitched a ride on a paddy wagon to the RPD station. Several other barricades made of stacked cars, pallets, and heavy debris had been erected throughout the city and we ended up taking several detours. I got a good look at the devastation; what the zombies hadn't destroyed, looters had. The vast majority of buildings had been broken into and things stolen, and as a grand irony more than a few corpses still holding TVs, stereos, and other items were littering the ground--most savagely ripped apart. Still, I wasn't seeing the type of human devastation I'd expected.
That all changed when we hit the center of downtown. The cops had set charges and managed to destroy hundreds--maybe thousands--of zombies in the middle of the city hours earlier. It seems I had avoided that same explosion myself by scant minutes the night before. The hotel was in ruins and broken gas mains were fueling a massive fire. Thankfully there was someone looking out for me.
Once at the police station I found the place in chaos. Survivors were crammed inside and the cops were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Damn Irons and his "reorganizations." Nobody knew where the weapons were and now someone had gone and lost the keycard to the weapon lockup in the basement. What little they had on hand was not going to be enough if the zombies breached the station. Further they were taking in more survivors every hour. More than a few turned out to be infected, and the grim task of "euthanizing" them further degraded what little morale was left. But I did manage to find Jill, and we agreed to go around and find all of the survivors we could. She may have been suspended, but she was still a cop and her first priority was to save others. She's reminded me of why I took up the mantle of paladinhood by her example.
My next stop was the hospital, another "safe zone." Folks suffering injuries and non-Virus related maladies had begun pooring in even as the infected patients turned and had to be killed. Most of the vaccine had been used up to help staff and those who had a chance. Now they were having to turn away anyone infected. They were already dead. The best they could look for was a quick, clean death before they turned. But that wasn't even the worst of what I found. In the basement a pair of frog-like humanoid things with gangly arms had been subdued using tranquilizer rifles and stored inside of nutrient tanks. My stomach immediately sank when I realized they were Hunters, one of Umbrella's BOWs.
These things weren't supposed to be around here--unless they'd been released deliberately. That's when it hit me. Umbrella knew they couldn't contain this outbreak. So instead they were going to use it go gather combat data. All I could do was focus on what Jill had told me; we had to gather up the survivors and get them to safety. Otherwise there would be no one to tell the story of what happened. And this time, Umbrella wasn't going to be able to get away with this.
For the next two days I began scouring the town, checking every place I could for anyone--alive, dead, or undead--and helping them escape the city. Things had happened so fast that defenses were designed more to slow the zombie onslaught than keep anyone in or out. Sadly it also made getting out a real pain, and I lost more than a few to falling debris and fire. There were still a lot more at the hospital and police stations and I had to help them out.
Dozens of squad cars and dead police littered the road to the station. They'd apparently mounted a massive assault--and been overrun. Inside things were even worse, if that's possible. Zombies had made it inside and the survivors were fighting a losing battle. Supplies were running low, ammo was nearly gone, and now there was something new to contend with. The witnesses that I talked to described it was humanoid, except it had no skin and its brain was so large it had engulfed the creature's head. Raw red muscle was exposed and it possessed long, razor sharp claws as well as a vicious tongue that could extend several feet. Even I wanted to say this was an exaggeration, until I saw the corpse of one. It was still hot with this new Virus, and I fear it's the G-Virus I've been looking for.
If this is the G-Virus, how did it escape the labs? Somehow I know something bigger is going on.
(End transcript)
It's been six days since the US government ordered Umbrella "sterilized" with a tactical nuke. I don't know what's worse? The G-Virus outbreak or that the f***ing government knew about the T- and G-Viruses but did nothing? They knew what could happen and they did nothing to stop it. They were actually partners in this! They were Umbrella's biggest client. I can accept bureaucratic corruption. It comes with the territory. But to be betrayed like this...the pain is indescribable. Worse still is that no one knows a thing about their involvement. Whatever faith I may have had in the government has died and blown away like so much dust.
The fallout of this incident has provided little comfort. Hundreds of politicians, military officers, even the President have been under fire for their decision. As time passes and the truth is released they will likely all burn for their sins even as they still live. But the true masterminds, those whose allegiance is only to the Red Death, will likely come out smelling like roses. It is them that I have set my sights on. But I have no idea who they are. Nor will I unless I make the trip to DC and begin digging. No doubt I'll draw attention and maybe even be utterly destroyed. But at this point I'd gladly die in the pursuit of justice.
As for the others--the remaining STARS, Leon Kennedy, and Claire Redfield-- they have chosen to pursue Umbrella at its rotten core in Paris. This is where our stories drift apart. I helped them in Raccoon, I still stand ready to aid if asked, but I have bigger fish to fry.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Washington, DC, Oct. 12, 1998)
The other survivors have begun to get their stories heard and the tabloids are picking up on their lurid stories of zombies and monsters. I've had a file on the Internet for almost two weeks now that details everything I encountered and explains in graphic detail the nature of these things using Umbrella's own research. The last I heard it had spread to several different qabals, was translated into a dozen languages, and has reached as far as Japan. When one voice believes something, it's a rumor. When half a dozen do, it's mass hysteria. But when the entire world believes in something, it's fact. Well this "fact" will no doubt help expose some of the more heinous evils lurking in the shadows of so-called "legitimate government."
Umbrella has already begun to hemhorrage money and its stocks are falling like lead weights on a daily basis. A company that size will take time to fall and it may be months before they're completely defanged. Worse still is their desperation. A dying animal is at its most dangerous and a corporation is no different. But they're no longer my worry.
A qabal in DC has supplied me with information the known conspirators inside the government. Most of these people are low-ranking cogs--secretaries, aides, middle managers, that sort of thing. The power behind the throne, so to speak. Worse still is that half of them aren't human. Lois Brown, secretary to an Ohio congressman, is actually a ghoul lord. Melvin Krietsjapf, werebear. George Gains, doppleganger. Janice Adams, red widow. And those are just four of several hundred. I've stepped into the heart of the Red Death's operations in this country.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Washington, DC, Oct. 17, 1998)
My actions have drawn the attention of some powerful spellcasters. I've been watching them as they followed false trails I laid. Not surprisingly they didn't find anything terribly useful in their searches. In listening to them I heard a name I really hadn't before--OSA. It rings a bell, but I can't think of where I'd heard of it.
When I ran a search on the acronym I found out it stands for the Office of Supernatural Affairs. Or at least that's the most common use for it. Could the US have a secret bureau to handle the occult? From what literature I could dig up on some qabals' websites it seems to fit. The origins go back to the turn of the century and Teddy Roosevelt, who fought and killed a werewolf and learned of the Red Death and its supernatural hordes. As president he had tried to form something like this, but it wasn't until WWII that things got kickstarted.
Hitler was a nut for anything occult. The Nazis had rediscovered true magic and were quietly gathering everything they could that was even slightly magical. The Allies countered with the OSA--American, British, French forces combined to investigate things. Details on them grow vague beyond the German surrender, but rumors of their existence never went away. Further I've picked up clues that each country has its own version. In Britain it's MI7, in France the Fantome Veilleur (Ghost Watchers). I know the Russians were in on it from past research, and so I have an idea of the things they were created to stop.
It's a long shot, it might even be a trap, but I have to try and find the OSA. I can no longer work alone effectively. I need their help, and if rumors about outlander members are true, they might want mine as well.
(End transcript)
That I'm writing this means I'm still alive, though right now I feel like death warmed over. It was the eighteenth when the spellcasters found me. Before I could react I was hit by a spell of some kind. It must have been corrupted; my flesh was searing not from the flames, but from something eating my soul. This was followed by another corrupt spell, then another, and another. Each penetrated the protection I had and nailed me full force. It was only when one didn't that things finally turned in my favor.
Above me I saw four figures. So I took a shot at one and ran into an alley where the shadows would hide me. From the sounds behind me I knew I'd killed one of them. The others must have just left their comrade since they followed me in. At the far end I ran into a wall--literally. The sound must have told them where I was, because they were stumbling over random garbage as they ran towards me. I managed to take down to more before one got close enough to ram a dagger into my shoulder even as I shoved Repose deep into his belly. Even more pain shot through my arm and I found that I couldn't move it even slightly.
The man who attacked me was dying, but conscious. Using my one good arm I trained my gun on him as he began laughing. His dying words were, "We know who you are, Alexander Dreamfire. We know what you are. You will die like me." He heaved twice and died as I watched. The only thing I could do was lean against the opposite wall and slide down. My right arm was paralyzed and the wounds I had suffered were from vile energies. These wouldn't heal unless I was in a hallowed area. Whoever these people were, they knew what had to be done and were willing to do it. It struck me as hilarious in a twisted sort of way. They'd been sent to kill me and had come close to succeeding, the man who survived Raccoon, the Abyss, even that damn demiplane. To be killed in such an ignoble way...I just couldn't stop laughing at my situation. I knew I'd just reform at my phylactery, but it was just as painful as if I would die permanently.
That's when things took a turn for the surreal. The pain was causing me to see flashes of light and even whole images from my past. I could see Rudolph and the twins, Barry, Chris, even Kyra. The only thing after that I remember is a feeling of peace and calm and the world going utterly black.
Some time later I woke up from the shock of my wounds. I was in some sort of room with magical and scientific tools of healing. I was laying in a hospital bed, stripped of most of my clothing with a thin blanket over me. When I touched my shoulder I realized the wound was healed. I could even move my arm in a stiff manner. When I looked around I saw a young woman with blazing red hair in a heavy sweater and jeans sitting in a chair and nodding off. My eyes had a hard time focusing that far, but I realized I was in the presence of someone I hadn't seen since I was forced to enter that ungodly demiplane in pursuit of a stolen artifact that could destroy existence.
Kyra, the succubus that used to visit me in my cell and turned away from evil when she fell in love with me, was here. Only she'd...changed. She no longer had horns and I couldn't detect the slightest bit of evil from her. Her features were softer than before, more beatific. It was like she'd been reborn in the time I was gone.
After several minutes of sobbing in utter joy she let me go and helped me sit up. Then she slugged me hard across the face. For an hour she tore into me about leaving her behind, never once telling her where I'd gone or why. About all that she'd done in search of me. Almost a century's worth of pain and anguish let out all at once. But once she had vented all those feelings, only an immense feeling of relief and indescribable joy was left in her heart.
As for me all the feelings I'd once felt came back even stronger. I thought I'd never see her again and largely given up hope. But here I was, holding her in my arms once more. I'm not ashamed to say that I began to cry, too. I knew I couldn't go on without her anymore; this time I wasn't going to leave her for anyone or anything.
Our reunion was interrupted when a man with goat legs came in, a tiefling. He was holding a clipboard and reading something. Kyra wasn't happy about the interruption, but he seemed to be glad I was awake. As he explained it the only way I'd been healed was by her very presence. Apparently she had done more than have most of her demonic traits removed; she'd also retrained herself as both an archivist and divine exorcist in one. She had an aura of consecrated energy that allowed me to be magically healed then and there. I'd just been asleep for nearly a day, likely from the spiritual half of the wounds.
As I would learn, she had detected my presence on this plane eighteen years ago, using a spell that is beyond the traditional nine tiers. Once she traveled here she lost my trail again, only to attract the attention of a secret group that searched for those with supernatural gifts: the OSA. It was during those weeks in 1980 that I didn't wear my coat that she was able to find me. But after she got here I once more wore it and she couldn't find me using magic. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on either of us. Had I gone even one more week we might have been reunited years ago.
Even as I write this, Kyra has pulled a cot beside my bed and is fast asleep. In giving up her demonic abilities she's become much more mortal in that she needs to eat and sleep. Save for her wings, her tail, and her ability to alter her appearance at will, she has given up everything that made her a succubus in exchange for redemption. The wings and ability to change looks I can understand. But why keep a tail? I doubt I'll ever get an answer. She was always a little strange that way.
Whatever poison was on the dagger that pierced my shoulder is still active and causing some pain. Attempts at curing it magically have failed. So I'm an experiment in seeing if time in the presence of holy energies will neutralize the effects. This is one reason why Kyra hasn't left my side in over twenty-four hours. The other...well, I really don't want her to leave my side, either.
Come morning I'll likely be interrogated and tested by these people--the OSA. It wasn't the way I'd hoped to contact them, but the way things worked out I wouldn't change a thing.
(End transcript)
The OSA has been putting me through the motions for two straight days. I've passed all their tests and proved myself trustworthy, and only now have even five minutes to write in my journal. For a group that's dedicated to stopping supernatural threats, the Office (as they call themselves) spends more time on bureaucratic bull than anything else. I've been filling out paperwork and getting photographed, had my prints put into computers, and even had my one real eye scanned for retinal prints. They claim that it's all for security, but security for whom? The agents? Or the handlers?
I've been here two days and already I see an organization that needs to be reworked from the ground up. The Office needs a massive political purge; the suits in charge don't care about the supernatural, just how they can line their pockets, and that's gotten good people killed. All of the computers are in desperate need of upgrade and standardization, the networks in place will need to be redone, and worst of all they haven't refilled the Pepsi machine in two years. Now that's just wrong.
Kyra has been only source of comfort in these times. When possible I've been talking with her about what's happened in the past century of our lives even as I deal with all the BS. Though she'd turned her back on evil, the archons wouldn't let her into Celestia. She had to quite literally purge her spirit of chaos and evil before they would even allow it. I remember hearing the same excuse for why she couldn't visit me at my home near the Silver Sea. I often wonder if those uppity archons are as dedicated to good as they claim.
So she did just that, travelling the multiverse in search of sites that would allow her to trade away her demonic heritage. In that time she learned countless new spells and became far stronger than she'd thought possible. But all through it she's shown an intense love of knowledge and has kept her focus on that area. It was that more than anything that interested the OSA. When she learned I'd left on a secret mission that Zaphkiel himself gave me she dedicated her time to finding me through whatever means necessary.
When I explained what I had seen and done in the Realms of Dread, she just shivered. Planewalkers have heard of this place, but only rumors have been heard until now. But by the same token we're stuck in this place, unable to leave the Material Plane or even enter a different world on the same. Still, if I have to be trapped once more, I'm eternally grateful that Kyra is here with me again. As a symbolic gesture I've even proposed to her; her answer was a resounding "yes." We plan on no fancy wedding, no major reception, just us and some friends.
It was that word, "friends," that reminded me why I was there in the first place. I'd come in search of the politicos that were involved with Umbrella and wound up getting in over my head. When I had my PDA trace names in the Office to names involved with Umbrella I was surprised by the number. No direct links, but plenty of unwitting underlings no doubt reinforcing the snail's pace.
I was hesitant to tell anyone that I was involved with that fiasco. That was one secret I hoped to keep. But Kyra, goddess bless her, sounded me out. In response she just gave me a small metal rod--one that allows me to teleport about at will. She'd actually built two, one for herself when the power was stripped from her, the other for me. I think she knew we'd be seperated again in the near future. I came to do a job and I plan on doing it. I just hope that the others are okay.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Washington, DC, Oct. 25, 1998)
Public outcry over the Raccoon Incident has become too loud to ignore. One Congressman Graham has even begun an internal investigation of politicians involved with Umbrella. Twenty have resigned in disgrace, thirty more are on the chopping block. This isn't even touching on the disruptions that rippled through the ranks of the government. Countless pencil-pushers and even a few "domestic staff" have been abandoning ship like rats.
In the Office it's been a nightmare. The organization is a house of cards right now as money and support dry up while the government reorganizes itself. No one here is willing to see this group die, so I doubt we'll be going anywhere. But this represents the perfect time to invoke some changes. Already bureaucrats that were slowing things down have been ousted from office in favor of dedicated and more knowledgeable candidates. Once things settle back down there are orders from on top to upgrade all of the computers--something about a bug in the electronic calendars. Y2K I think they called it.
On a personal note I received a call from Chris Redfield. He found out about his sister and has been frantic in finding her. When I contacted Leon he told me they were on their way to France to meet with the others. Since Chris is the only one under surveillance he's been distracting them to save the others a lot of grief. I just hope Claire doesn't go off half-cocked--like she did when she went to Raccoon.
From my position I can't help them much. In fact I've been rather busy with a variety of things in the Office. An unforeseen effect of Umbrella's fall was the disruption of several networks of contacts and informers. Some of them were insiders trying to take the company down and got caught in the mess, others were discovered in the chaos and are still in hiding. I'm amazed at how deep the roots of this company run. Networks as far as Beijing to Sydney to Cape Town to Edinburgh have been compromised and will take time to rebuild. All due to Umbrella and its puppetmaster, the Red Death.
Others are worried about what's going to happen, but I'm reminded of an old proverb. "The strongest bonds of order are forged in the fires of chaos." In other words, if we survive we'll be stronger for it. Umbrella has taken a lot from me in my time here; I won't let them take anything else.
(End transcript)
The methods may change, but the politics remain the same. The Office is still as shaky as a chihuahua, but some more competent leadership has stabilized things as of late. Hard lessons from organizing the Shining Force has served me well in making sure that we get leaders, not politicians. Further I've finally gotten the OSA to diversify its contacts and cooperation with other federal agencies. Before the Office was one of those obscure, secret branches of the government with little power and no real voice. Now there are talks with the CIA, NSA, FBI, and even Pentagon to start cross-pollination of agents and intelligence. To that end we'll be one of those "black" agencies that even the feds aren't allowed to discuss. Considering that each of the previous four has been infiltrated by the supernatural I have to agree it's a good idea. We can't hide forever; just until we finish cleaning house.
MI7 and the Fantome Veilleur have recently agreed to merge forces and I've convinced the new heads to do the same. The original OSA as was conceived in WWII will be resurrected, again once the politics are sorted out, only this time with most of the major nations as members. Hebrew qabbalists from Israel, Daoist sorcerers from China, Shinto miko from Japan, even a few koradji from the Aborigines of Australia and shamans from some of the Native American nations ("reservations." I hate that word!). Already in other parts of the system I've noticed frantic reactions and the Office has tracked down a number of internal threats. Most have been dealt with, others are only a matter of time. The enemy's weapon is being used against them and they're losing ground. I just worry this is going to push the Red Death to more extreme measures using outside forces.
As for Kyra and myself, news of our engagement has gotten around. No one has failed to notice the new band of white gold on her finger. I admit that a ring of regeneration is more practical than symbolic, but it's the only ring I had. I've put an order in with Tiffany's for her wedding ring, but it may be a while before they find gems of the quality I demanded. I'd say it cost me "an arm and a leg," but I've already lost one arm and had it replaced.
Further news on Claire has not been heard and I'm beginning to worry. Leon and the others haven't heard a thing, or else aren't telling me. On my end I've had feelers out for her, but all I've found is Umbrella's agents doing the exact same. Apparently they plan on capturing her as bait to lure out Chris. They're efforts are frantic, though; Umbrella is dying more and more every day and may be all but gone by the New Year.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Washington, DC, Nov. 29, 1998)
Changes to the Office are almost complete, save a few computers and some bugs in the new network. I really hate technology at times. But at least they refilled the Pepsi machine. That was the main thing I was upset about.
Things with Umbrella have been quiet for almost two weeks on all fronts. The company is do deep in the red they're defaulting left, right, and center. Most of their government spies and lackeys have been ousted as well. I think even the Red Death has abandoned them at this point; Sir Spencer has been left to take the fall and the Fantome Veilleur have him on Interpol's Most Wanted list. Their Paris offices are the last stronghold we know of. There are others, I'm sure. But they'll likely die once the head is cut off. I hope.
Claire's turned up, apparently having been following her brother's trail as he moved about. The last I'd heard she was in the village of Cheddar in England. Who knows where she is now? Chris has called me more than once, but always through secure channels and never more than a minute. The closer that Umbrella comes to death the more they seem to focus on him. And if what I hear is true, someone has usurped the top spot from Sir Spencer as well. Someone with a grudge against Chris Redfield, it seems.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Washington, DC, Dec. 22, 1998)
I'm counting down the weeks to the wedding. Jan. 18, I'll finally become a married man. Kyra has been going crazy trying to find a wedding dress she likes. Meanwhile the ring I ordered is finally finished and looks fantastic. This promises to be much better than I thought.
But things haven't been all roses. The Y2K scare has been causing an undercurrent of fear that's brought out the lunatics already. So far only a few have been of concern to the Office, but there's still a whole year left to go before we know for sure. I think it's just hype; every computer I've used has had the capability to move beyond 2000 on the calendar. Even the feds have computers young enough to handle it. Apparently humanity just can't take it when there's nothing to panic about.
Both Claire and Chris have been in contact with me this month. They plan on meeting at the outside of Umbrella HQ in Paris. Since these were voice mails I haven't been able to warn them that Umbrella is well aware of this; I pray that they've gotten my messages, but deep down I just know something is going to go wrong. Perhaps this was what Kyra meant by us being seperated again in the near future. If the Words of Creation work with magical items I might be able to save us all a lot of hassle.
Be safe, my friends.
(End transcript)
It's been about twenty-four hours since everything happened at Rockfort Island and the Antarctic Base. The things Claire and I saw, learned, experienced there has filled me with a kind of numb dread. Since arriving I've been researching instances of true psionic activity. Other than some old and ultimately unverifiable accounts from the Far East and India there were no true incidents. In my own time here I've found the genes necessary for even minor psionic power are present, but latent in all but one-millionth of one percent of the population. True psionics are so rare that even the Red Death hasn't been able to tap into this source of power. Until now.
Apparently Alexia Ashford developed a variant of the T-Virus called T-Veronica that, if given time to fuse with the host as she did, can awaken the latent powers of the mind. Just being close to her was enough to give me a throbbing headache; she positively radiated mental power. So much so that even in cryogenic stasis she created a dimensional lock over the Antarctic Base. It wasn't until Chris finally destroyed her that I was able to teleport away safely. But that was only after I tried to see Claire and Chris off safely.
Instead I encountered him--Albert Wesker. I knew he was still alive, but now I know what happened to him. He's literally sold his soul to the Red Death, gaining unnatural powers in the process. And the body of a young man infected by the Veronica virus, Steve Burnside, has given him and the Red Death the keys to psionic power. Yet such power comes from within, not from without like magic. The Red Death can't weaken something that isn't linked to the web. It can taint it, but never deminish it.
Even as I write this I've heard that Umbrella has declared bankruptcy and has all but ceased to exist. For the others, at least, it's over. Umbrella has paid for what it did and may it rot in hell. Their quest is over. They can go back to their loved ones, establish new lives. For me it's time to close this chapter of my life and focus on more important things--like Kyra, my wife-to-be.
Being stuck in the Office's clinic for observations means she and I have had to celebrate the New Year in a sterile white room. As much as I'd have loved to join her in champagne, she's well aware of my alcohol allergy and has become quite adamant in keeping it away from me. I know she's just trying to protect me, but gods is she taking it too seriously!
For now the world is at peace--supernaturally speaking. Kyra has told me she has an apartment in town that she hasn't been to in weeks; just once since I was found. According to her the few boxes that hold her belongings are still not fully unpacked, even after moving in ten years ago. Well that just makes it easier to move into the Magic Mansion. And after spending two months in this hotspot of hypocrisy and back stabbing, I really miss simple Utah. They might be a little looney there, but no more so than any other state. Without Raccoon to go back to, that's the only place I'd call "home."
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Jan. 11, 1999)
I remember when this area was a giant horse ranch. Now it's been plowed and leveled for homes. Fortunately I was able to find a place far enough away that no one really noticed the Magic Mansion until I could insert some things into official registries. Now we're just another of the disgustingly wealthy that live in the side of the Salt Lake Valley to everyone else.
Our wedding is only a week away and Kyra seems genuinely excited about a honeymoon in Moab. This winter has been fairly dry and the Arches and the Painted Desert are clear of snow. Plus it's cool enough that we won't die of heatstroke while riding ATVs. I'm a little surprised she's never toured the state; the most beautiful natural formations in the country are located here and she just loves nature.
One thing I really hadn't considered was that the Office would follow us here. They had local offices, but now they want me to take the lead. Abso-f*****g-lutely not! I helped whip the OSA into shape, but I never said I was going to become a leader. Direct management just isn't my style. Besides which I'll be getting married soon. Instead I'm acting head of ops until my replacement arrives in two days.
So far the local Office has been hit-or-miss. They seem to have the talents but not the discipline. So I've had a former drill instructor in the Office be sent as head of operations. She'll no doubt have things in order by the time I get back. I really hope so; this is just the vanguard and things had best be squared away by the time the field agents arrive. So far things have been quiet, though.
That's exactly what worries me.
(End transcript)
It's been nearly three weeks since my last entry. Things have been kind of harried with the arrival of Mst. Sgt. Karen Baker to head the local branch of the Office. She's fought sexism, racism, and other nasty elements all through her life and even in the Marines. So imagine my non-surprise when she didn't take anyone's sh*t. If one department didn't perform to her standards, then everyone would pay the price. Even those Gen X slackers in Intelligence have gotten the message and aren't just playing hacker games all day.
Kyra and I were married two weeks ago in a humble ceremony at the old courthouse in Draper. After that we made a six hour drive south to Moab and checked into our hotel. The problem is we never left the room once we got there. She may have been a virgin, but there was no denying she was also part succubus. I'll decline to write more.
After a week down south we returned north and she seems to have settled down some. Just in time, as it turns out. Not a day after we got back there was a call from the Office. I was hoping for more time to get the legalities and other, less romantic aspects of a new marriage out of the way before I got to work again. But evil waits for no one and we were both called back to our respective departments at the request--more like demand--of MI7.
There hasn't even been time to fully work out the details of a partnership and already they're demanding aid. I can see how they'd be upset, though. In the Scottish hills is a stone circle similar to Stonehenge called Callanish. For many years a few locals came on the Celtic holidays to perform traditional rites to the old gods, perhaps out of real faith and belief. There was nothing even remotely supernatural about these gatherings, so MI7 didn't look into it. Apparently that all changed this year.
Someone--or something--has desecrated the stones. The old rite of healing and light was corrupted into a thing of death and darkness. Authorities got a call when people saw the traditional bonfire built at the circle suddenly snuffed out in an inky darkness. By the time anyone had arrived the folks at the circle had been ritually murdered, their blood used to ink inverted symbols of the goddess Brigid. Instead of a celebration of the coming spring and the lengthening days, it was an invitation for famine, disease, and the cold of the winter. Whoever did this must have been a spellcaster; the area was magically desecrated before the murders, and the bonfire going out is a sure sign of magical darkness.
MI7 has done all it can to keep this out of the news; this wasn't about magic or dark faith, but about panic. Forensics at the site have identified the person who did it--a known wereboar living in the States, Leonard Manson. Originally from Brittany, France, we've been keeping an eye on him for several years. It seems that he hasn't been up to much in all that time; what he does in the privacy of his home we couldn't investigate--until now. But I'd bet dollars to donuts he was continuing dark mysticism in his home, perhaps even being in communication with one of the Red Death's generals.
Authorities in Edinburgh want his head on a platter, but cooler minds have kept them from acting rashly. MI7 has been pretty good about keeping any of the Red Death's minions out of their ranks and thus keeping their operations a total secret. They've collected DNA samples from numerous paranormals and kept them in vaults more secure than the Crown Jewels; America has done the same ever since 1993, not longer after the OJ Trial introduced the idea. However the two never tried to share information and now we have to setup a whole new network just to handle this. As an old friend of mine once said, "knowledge is the greatest weapon against the supernatural."
Then there's Leonard Manson himself to consider. Already a contingent of our agents have begun investigating his home in New Orleans, as well as much of the surrounding area to see if we can't round up other minions. I doubt that in these times the Red Death's agents feel a need to stay in close proximity. If a message is just a few keystrokes away from reaching folks all over the world it makes more sense to disperse than bunch up. But perhaps someone has seen or sensed something. The Office has allies among the Vodoun community there and hopefully someone knows more about this guy.
Mardis Gras isn't for another few weeks, but I think I'll be getting my costume ready now. I have a hunch I'll need one.
(End transcript)
Leonard Manson was found dead this morning, impaled on a shaft of oakwood in his own front yard and his house burned to the ground. Because he was under federal investigation the local police have had to turn the case over to us. I got the feeling this wasn't too popular a ruling with the heads of the local police, but the chief has proven to be very cooperative in spite of his subordinates. Apparently he's been initiated into the darker truths of this world and knew what Manson was, and what he'd been up to. What's strange about this is that Manson had just returned to the States hours earlier; someone must have been waiting for him.
In our investigation we managed to copy every file off of his computer. The decryption work was a little harder, but eventually we cracked it and now an extensive list of his accomplices and even immediate superiors. He was part of a qabal known simply as the Swamp Muckers. Legally this was just a group of locals that met in the swamps for hunting, fishing, and other outdoorsmanship. In reality it seems that every member is a paranormal of some type. Most are lycanthropes of phenotypes native to that area--alligators, boars, possums, even rats. At least one is a zombie-like thing that I believe to be a zombie lord, and two others are plain human adepts. While it appears the zombie lord is the official leader, further investigations showed that one of the adepts reports to a third party. The Intelligence department in Louisiana has begun mapping out this twisted web of alleigances while the rest of us explore more local concerns.
Finding Leonard Manson's files has apparently cracked open a rather large bombshell. In pursuing just one lead we find as many as five more to follow in addition. It's incremental; there are literally thousands of names sprouting from this find. But of more immediate concern is what Manson was doing at Callanish in the first place--and who had him killed. From some e-mails we are fairly certain that it was, indeed, merely a terror tactic. One connected to an even larger plot to plunge the world into mass hysteria as the new millennium approaches. Apparently the Red Death hasn't been getting nearly as much fear as it needs and took the opportunity to stir things up. For a primal force of pure evil I never really expected it to have problems "modernizing." Ghosts and werewolves don't scare folks much any more. Vampires are rather blase' by today's standards. Even the walking dead have been turned into something almost humurous. People today are more likely to panic about other, more realistic (if still ludicrous) problems: computer crashes, biowarfare, terrorist attacks, things that can be seen and quantified by modern science. While this does mean it's easier for the Red Death's traditional minions to move about, it also means there may be a huge change in tactics in the coming years.
For now the creatures we know of are pursuing apocalyptic cults and trying to hype what will happen "when" the Y2K bug crashes the world's networks. It doesn't seem like they're having as much luck as they'd hoped, though. I feel like this is just a smoke screen to hide something more. If I were trying to get my enemies to look one way I'd do the exact same thing. I think this is just a feint, though some of those cults are a real danger. Baker seems to agree and has been arguing with the heads of the Office to look elsewhere. Let the local police handle the mundane stuff; our job is to handle supernatural affairs and this really isn't in our purview.
But getting back to the initial topic, Leonard Manson's murder. Who knew this man's itinerary? Why would they kill him? And how would they know to use an oakwood pike? The methods seem to be akin to old-time cover-up tactics as well as a warning. Not to us, but to someone else. Burning down the house is one way of destroying key evidence--so long as no one got to it before the fire. Hard copies of his records were destroyed around the same time, but not digital ones. Not until several hours later, that is. This speaks of someone who hasn't adapted to modern methods.
One suspect, a long-time Bayou resident and convicted felon, Nicholas Rocco, seems to fit the bill. I've just learned there were possum hairs found near the impaling site; Rocco is a known werepossum. I doubt he's the one who had the order executed, but he's likely our murderer. And the next piece to this puzzle.
(End transcript)
Like a gift from above there's been new cases for the Office to investigate. I admit I was getting a little tired of the Manson case. There's only so much an agent can do when they're on the other side of the continent. And frankly I'd say there's been too much attention paid to it. You don't need the entire OSA on one case--at least not yet. There are countless other things we've got to handle. Now that the supernatural is back up to its old shenanigans, that is.
Central Intelligence had the bright idea of starting a website where folks can report supposed paranormal events. They're calling it the Scrapbook because of its graphic similarity to a real scrapbook. Articles clipped from newspapers and user posts from websites about real incidents will be displayed based on themes--vampires, the walking dead, ghosts, strange occurrences, etc. They invited others to post their accounts of paranormal activities and within one day there was a glut of posts that could be attributed to hysteria, lies, or outright misinformation. I could have told them that would happen, but I'm a field agent. What would I know about research?
Luckily Kyra doesn't feel that way. In fact she's been sharing this job with the entire Utah branch of the Office. Out of literally thousands of posts we found about a dozen that were just too close to reality to be discarded. Up in Park City there have been oversized wolf prints found and animals savagely torn apart; the Sundance Film Festival is about a week away so this one gets priority. Another one is about a poltergeist in Orem that looks like a real ghost. But the one that I'm most interested in is a little less obvious in its nature. There are underground clubs for "illicit activities" in every state and Utah is no exception.
If not for the post of a mystic who frequents one we might have missed it altogether. Men and women alike have been seen going off with a strange and rather creepy man, only to reappear about an hour later as very different people. When the mystic checked them out magically each one gave off a necromantic aura. They don't look any different and seem to be the same people intellect- and personality-wise, but each is clearly not among the living when detected magically. The Cellar, the club where this is happening, is underground more or less simply because people want to trade freely in narcotics. Little wonder that no one noticed a few people acting out of sorts. It would be weird if folks weren't acting differently after a while.
Kyra managed to identify three of the people mentioned--each a high-ranked employee of local businesses. IRECO Explosives I can understand, but why in the world would you choose folks in the Delta Center or car dealerships? Is it just a plan to embezzle money? That's the only logical answer I can come up with. IRECO might be just a stepping stone to Kennecott Copper, one of the richest mining firms in the state. And a major contributor to our annual budget through shares. That alone warrants immediate action.
I'll have to observe whatever these people have become. Theories point to them being lebentods, and I'd have to agree. That just makes my job harder; this requires a lot more finesse than just walking into their offices, cutting them with enchanted blades, and letting people see the walking corpse. That could start a panic and tip our hand to the enemy. Rather I'll have to see about having them removed through more lawful means before they disappear completely. And if they are embezzling money, that won't be difficult to do.
(End transcript)
Justice--or at least discipline--can be swift in this age of computers. Intelligence leaked the fact that funds were being skimmed and within only a few hours each of the known targets was fired from their job. They would be under arrest for theft as well...if someone hadn't made them "disappear." This came just as our dark adept was arrested for trading in illicit drugs; none of our doing, but a happy coincidence. His plans really weren't more than using the undead to embezzle money. His spellbook was confiscated and so keeping him incarcerated shouldn't be a problem.
Nothing has come of the possible werewolves in Park City, but the security for the Sundance Film Festival has already begun to pick up. This should be enough to scare off anything until after the celebrities leave. After that will be a massive sweep of the surrounding mountains by Ops. Fortunately I can sit that one out. Between us this job has kept me and Kyra from having any real "us" time. I'm not happy about it myself. But Kyra is seething. She's still a newlywed and she hasn't been allowed to be with her husband for long? If I don't make tomorrow really special...well, I don't want to think about what she'll do to the Office--or me.
(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 15, 1999)
For once things went as planned. Diamond earrings started Valentine's Day, as did a trip to the less-formal Spaghetti Factory at Trolley Square. Neither of us did like those high-class, suit-and-tie-required establishments. So this was just the ticket. Plus we were close to a theater and saw some indie film--I'm not really sure what it was about. Halfway through we left in boredom and got some ice cream. Not quite the romantic scene of champagne and caviar that she reads about in those cheap novels, but romance is in the spirit and not the details.
No one faulted us for coming in late this morning. Even Ms. Baker seemed to understand. Not that there was much for us to do that day. Agents had been sent out to handle the few cases we did have and most of those were solved rather quickly. What new real problems we were finding were all outside of our jurisdiction. Vampires in Vegas, zombies in New York, monsters in LA (and not the studio producers for once), things that people never notice. It's truly amazing how well the Red Death has hidden its activities from the masses.
Back east I hear they nailed Rocco and, just like a possum, he's squealed. It's certainly colored The Red Green Show for me; I'll never see Possum Lodge the same way again after this. For the Office it's been a major coup as our opposition has a name--the Spinners. Like a spider they weave a web of plots and trap the unwary to poison their souls, all in the name of evil itself. In Hong Kong they're calling their masters the Yama Kings; in Christian Europe and the Americas it's Satan. It's fairly safe to say that these are fairly high-ranking generals of the Red Death passing themselves off as creatures of legend...if they weren't the inspirations for such legends themselves.
For now, though, I'm maintaining my plans to head to New Orleans in a month and do what I do best. Mardis Gras is just too perfect a time for evil to take a few mortals for its own ends without anyone noticing until it's too late. I'm hoping to at least stop the supernatural predators.
(End transcript)
I'm beginning to lose my patience with this job. The sweep of the mountains surrounding Park City turned up a large tribe of werewolves--some three dozen in all. Blood tests have confirmed they're all natural lycanthropes, which just complicates things. Ten children are among those counted and the Office is divided on what to do. It is possible to redeem them and turn their natural inclinations away from evil, but that's not guaranteed. Doing the same for the adults isn't so easy, and many are pushing for them all to be put to death. I'm for trying to reform these creatures; they're evil, but as far as I can tell aren't in service to the Red Death. They're just trying to survive.
Added to my woes is pressure from on top about what we'll do about the ritual being planned. As one of the outlanders in the Office I'm supposed to be more knowledgeable than natives, or so they see it. I'm not a cleric, I can't ask for a miracle and expect one to happen! Kyra could, but who's to say how such powerful magic is warped here? Besides which the other side has put all their time and energy into magical defense. Our only real edge is technology. Creatures more than a century old seem to have a real hard time keeping up with the current pace of change. This would be the humans' realm of expertise, not mine.
For now I've gotten Baker to agree to at least talk with the werewolves, work out a deal of some sort. As for what's being called the Ritual, that's out of my hands. New York--indeed, the entire Eastern Seaboard--is a hotbed of paranormal activity. The Office branches there have their hands full as is and certainly need some help. But not from here! If they need help so bad they can bug Iowa; they beat Utah in the Red Green Tel-a-Thon again this year, so they obviously have time and money to spare.
With only four weeks to go until Mardi Gras I've been scouting maps and even old newspapers on New Orleans. Besides the current problems there's been a history of paranormal activity. Perhaps the most disturbing the case of Madame Delphine LaLaurie; I can't even write about what she did to people. I've no doubt she was a "Lord" of the Red Death and might even be around to this day in one form or another. Evil that strong doesn't die easily.
Our contact is a rather eccentric Voodoo priest called Papa Tombe. He honors all the loa, but follows Baron Samedi in particular. He's the latest of a long line of "Papa Tombes" and possesses a wealth of knowledge about what goes on with the supernatural. However his time is bought, not borrowed. Like the Baron he enjoys rum and he's demanded a particular vintage. A hundred-grand for two bottles! But he's supposedly worth every cent so I went ahead and bought the spirits to pay him with through the Office. DC isn't happy with my logic, but hopefully we'll find something to aid our search.