The Gothic Journals

Fiction about Ravenloft or Gothic Earth
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High Priest Mikhal
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The Gothic Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Author's note: The following picks up where the original thread leaves off and incorporate changes made to the fiction and mechanics that inspired it. A compilation of the previous entries can be found here)

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, July 21, 1999)
Everyone arrived today on the same flight. Six people in one SUV and an hour in I-15 construction later we arrived. They forgot my house is not a fixed building--it's a magical construct. I can shrink it down and take it anywhere, remodel with a command, and basically do whatever I feel. So is it so odd that I'd have the same house here that I did in Raccoon? Why bother building one when you have magic? They did like some of the new features that Kyra created--namely a Jacuzzi, sauna, and outdoor pool. It looks "more like a home," they say. So I'm a minimalist.

Chris and Claire had already heard about my engagement to Kyra when I fought with them on Rockfort and Antarctica last year. Barry, Jill, and Rebecca had only secondhand accounts, and actually meeting her was a bit of an event in itself. Rebecca warmed up to her, eager to learn about the vagaries of divine magic; in fact she seems to have discovered how to become an archivist, learning divine spells instead of praying for them. That would explain how she could grasp the spells but never quite had the faith that normally went along with it. Then again I'm a psionicist, so I can't really comment.

Jill was friendly to Kyra, but Claire seemed a little left out when they began talking. What is it about women that they have to compare notes when they've had the same man before? Rebecca was flat out embarrassed by their topic of discussion and couldn't help but blush and giggle every time she looked at me afterwards for the rest of the day. As for Claire, she was distant towards me but also engrossed by the things my wife and Jill said about me. After what we've been through together it isn't surprising she'd feel so strongly; I feel strongly about her, too, but not in a romantic way. We fought two outbreaks of zombies and barely escaped both by the skin of our teeth. She's more like a combat buddy to me.

At least Chris and Barry didn't embarrass me. It's been a long time since I had a chance to hang out with the guys. We shot some pool, had a few drinks, and remembered the good times from Raccoon--before we were stabbed in the back, before everyone was sacrificed. My old pictures of the others from the STARS--especially Enrico and Kevin from the days before the group--fueled a lot of comments. Forest's goofy smile, Edward's quiet demeanor, Kevin and his landscaping, Richard and his gung-ho attitude. I miss those guys.

Once the ladies came in we discussed the Mansions at length. We'd heard most of it before, but it felt good to just get in the open again. Plus it was a chance for Claire and Kyra to hear what happened. But words cannot even begin to describe the sheer horror of both places. Watching what used to be men and women walking around with rotten pieces of flesh falling off rickety bones, seeing things that should not be, and knowing it was all in the name of "business." There was no greater purpose for all the suffering and evil, just base greed.

Then, as if to top all that, the G-Virus outbreak in September hit. Instead of victims in the dozens or hundreds, it was tens of thousands of people--the infected and the murdered alike. Umbrella stole their humanity and turned them into flesh-eating puppets! Worse still, and this is what truly sickens me, is that there really was no other choice. The government did what it had to do. A fuel-air explosive might have worked better, but the politicos didn't know that. Instead they may have seeded the ground for a new outbreak of an even deadlier Virus because they believed the myths that nothing could survive a nuclear blast. Why not just stick the Virus in a nuclear reactor? I'm sure that would have mutated it just fine without all the side effects of a bomb detonation.

If I could drink I'd be ****-faced right now.

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, July 23, 1999)
We spent most of the day yesterday at Lagoon Amusement Park, Utah's claim to fame for rides. It's no Disneyland, but then it doesn't try to be. It's been thirteen years since I last went and I must admit they've built it up quite a bit. A water park, new rides (the Colossus and the Rocket, in particular), and more artifacts in the Old Town. I guess it's considered cheating to use telekinesis to win at ski-ball and other such games, but as no one knows such things exist I can't get caught. Besides, Kyra really wanted that little teddy bear at the prize counter. A fuzzy pink one not bigger than my hand; it still cost me ten bucks in tickets though!

The others had a blast. Barry was sad his wife and daughters couldn't have come along, but I won them quite a few prizes as well so they should be okay. This was our day to let loose and have fun before those gods-awful crowds on Pioneer Day--or the eve of such, since it lands on a Sunday this year. For the first time in a long time I was able to forget the Office, Umbrella, and all the other bull that haunts me daily. I felt alive for the first time in months. Sadly all good things come to an end and we had to pack it in about midnight.

When we got back Claire asked if I had any aloe to put on her sunburn. She'd spent her time at Lagoona Beach and tried to tan. Instead she got a rather nasty full-body burn. Chris became parental at that and I could barely hold back a laugh as I listened. While not aloe, I did have a balm to put on her skin. Strangely her brother didn't offer to put it on her back and instead let her ask me to do it. It's pretty obvious she wanted to talk and that was just a convenient excuse for us to be alone. I was also more than a little interested to hear what she had to say.

As she gingerly did her front with my back turned she asked me all about Kyra. Claire is well aware of who--and what--I am. I couldn't hide that when Raccoon fell, or when I foolishly followed her to Rockfort Island. As such I think she knew that there couldn't be anything between us. But the heart rarely wants what the mind knows is best. And asking about my wife was a strategy to reaffirm that nothing could happen between us. At least that's what it would have been had Kyra not walked in, perhaps eavesdropping on us. I don't know what she said to Claire, but the girl was blushing violently when she left. If not for her sunburn I wonder if something might have happened. As it stands all I did was gently rub the soothing balm on her back and talk at length about my feeling for her, hers for me, and so on. This sort of emotional intimacy is something I've not done with anyone besides Kyra. It made me a little uncomfortable.

Today was a more somber affair. It wasn't quite a full year, but it was close enough. To those who died on the train or at the Marcus Estate, and the Spencer Estate, we remembered them as they had been. Not victims of evil, but as human beings. And not just the STARS but the researchers, the train passengers, and even the corporate soldiers. The way they died was truly the most horrid way to go. To be trapped in your own body, now dead and rotting, and hunger for flesh--it's too horrid to think about. And Jill, when escaping the city, nearly joined them. She was lucky that her constitution resisted the Virus for so long. If I ever meet this Carlos Olivera I want to thank him for his courage in getting her the vaccine.

There are still wounds for me, Claire, and Jill to heal once October comes and this reunion takes place. The survivors have already begun writing the surviving STARS and me about it, and there may be well over two-hundred people there. Only half that number actually survived, so this is a good chance to once again reinforce the true horror of what happened. If the truth doesn't get them, then the archived photos and research I've done will.

From the backyard we had a perfect view of the fireworks from Draper Park and the Pioneer Day Fair. We imagined the fireworks were the souls of those who died, burning bright one last time. Once the display was over we turned in. Everyone has to leave for their homes and work in the morning. I'm not that eager to say good-bye. But life won't stand still for us or anyone else...I just wish the Office had something to keep me and Kyra occupied. I don't know how much longer I can take this lull.
(End transcript)
Last edited by High Priest Mikhal on Tue Jun 10, 2014 6:25 pm, edited 6 times in total.
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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High Priest Mikhal
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Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, July 24, 1999)
As I saw everyone off at the airport Rebecca handed me a folio half an inch thick. She hadn't given it to me earlier partly out of a desire not to bring things down more than they had been, but also because she simply forgot. In it were details on other supernatural diseases--including details on the infamous Shadow Virus. I remember researching that back in the Realms of Dread; the infected would have their own shadow shatter and their bodies would literally waste away until they became shadows themselves. She had also isolated the strain of virus that ghouls spread in their bites, a bacterium that reanimates bodies as undead monsters, and half a dozen others. Of interest is the psionic virus, one that grants those it infects tremendous psionic power--until it overloads their brains and their heads explode. This could explain why the Red Death wanted the T-Veronic so bad; the latter doesn't destroy its host--at least as quickly.

A note inside had the name "Watch and Seek." I remember that a qabal in MIT goes by that name, technically good guys but not the most active in the fight against evil. They're more interested in archiving mystical lore and studying the supernatural. Fitting that she would fall in with them. The details on the viruses also include a study of how they effect subjects down to the atomic level. This is the sort of information that the Office would kill for. Then again, W&S is trying to stay under the radar so this is something I can't share with my employers. At least I can add it to my own library of research.

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Aug. 18, 1999)
More out of boredom than anything else Kyra has begun to research the Flauros while I've been staying in touch with Rebecca via e-mail and the Internet. Other than meticulous research they've also been doing little to nothing lately. I admit it's that lazy part of summer, and the last chance for kids to enjoy themselves before school starts, but this is ridiculous. Is the whole world on vacation? The only ones who seem to be active are pundits hyping Y2K and the end of the millennium. If I know my history it won't even have been a full millennium until '06! The calendar was recalculated centuries ago as being six years behind. And then there's the arguments between '00 vs. '01 as the true millennium. People don't have anything better to do than bicker about semantics? Personally I side with the talking M&Ms, if only because I can just eat them if we disagree.

As for the Office, their fevered pace of work continues without telling us a word. Liz has taken this time for personal reflection and I haven't seen her in weeks. Even Herman isn't telling us anything. Perhaps the only bit of interesting news as of late is Peg and her club. The place is coming to a lot faster than expected; the opening date has gone from March of next year to Halloween of this year. On the upper levels a dance club and bar like the others around, but below the ground will be a real sex club. Not the filthy mess that was the Eye, but something a lot finer and grander. It looks to be something Kyra and I will enjoy. Also, Peg recently had to get glasses. I must admit they do enhance her appearance and give her an air of sophistication and maturity.

This long silence on the enemy's half is beginning to wear on my nerves a bit. I've studied the notes Rebecca gave me back and forth; every time I close my eyes I'm seeing protein conversions and cellular transcription. It might not be so bad if there was anything to do around here. I've played dozens of video games from beginning to end, worked on my PDA hardware and software, even trained and taken a step down a new path. I'm poised for battle when there's none coming. Perversely I even long to be back in Raccoon City during the G-Virus outbreak, if only to have something to do besides waste my time. I'd join Kyra in her studies but there's this odd air about the Flauros. It seems familiar and at the same time alien. I can't stand to be around it, actually. It's...creepy.

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Sept. 9, 1999)
More information about the Ritual has been found. This one is bigger than any before it, but it's not the first time the Red Death has organized like this. Records of another, similar worldwide effort was discovered by some archaeologists in Norway. Among some Viking relics was an account of a battle between "wolves that walked like men" and "living fires." Carbon dating put this document around 1249 AD, a year before something called the Little Ice Age first began forming. The magical energies that are being channeled is the life force of the planet itself! The Red Death is draining the Earth of energy like an Athasian defiler. This would neatly explain the drop in temperature and brief warm periods that have been recorded all over the world for the past eight centuries. With each drain the world gets a little colder, a little darker.

This time, in addition to channeling the power of humanity's collective fear, the creatures are attempting to finish what they started. If successful the planet and everything on it will die. That takes priority for us; the fear the creatures seem to be channeling is ancillary to stopping the geomantic portion of this thing. But for now we have a bigger problem. Already things are beginning to crack; the tribes of Kilamanjaro have declared open war on the creatures that are lurking around there, China has sent in special forces to the Five Sacred Mountains to disrupt things there, and there are reports of strange things happening in the Outback--especially near sites sacred to the Aborigines. The creatures are being driven away from their original planned sites, but that just means they'll be putting more effort into the ones they have left.

In Europe MI7 and other groups have begun scouring their own lands for any signs of a ritual there. It seems that the Catskill Mountains remain the only site left. The Office knows that to attack would be to invite a war we can't win; in fact, they planned on all these things happening. That's why they've been so secretive; their real plans are to dispel the Ritual at its heart. Only the Vistani are capable of such powerful magic and whoever gets sent in will be charged with the task of protecting that Vistana at all costs. No one is being named until it's time since the chance of assassination is too high. But I just know that I'll be one of the escorts, and likely Kyra as well.

The world has no idea what's in store for it.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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High Priest Mikhal
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(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Sept. 13, 1999)
Now I know why Garfield hates Mondays--especially Monday the 13th. With the lull in the Office--and paranormal activity in general--I've been getting involved with Peg's club. Most of the construction and detailing is done. All that's left is to wrangle the liquor license from the iron grip of city hall. The same day that she finally gets an appointment to apply for a license the city gets around to checking if its computers are Y2K compliant. This being a bureaucratic office the computers haven't been updated since 1983, so of course the computers aren't equipped to handle the rollover. Even when they're working the process is interminably slow. But without them it takes a lifetime.

After getting there right at the time they open I take a number, hoping to be out in less than an hour. After four hours of abuse from the cogs I finally got a temporary license for Peg to use. I can't get a real license as the computers are down and they can't register with the state. At least they'll send Peg the actual license in the mail once they do get their damn network back up. I'd sooner face an atropal than go through that again.

Afterwards I stop by the bank to drop off some paperwork for the club and there's a holdup. Men in balaclavas wielding nine-mil pistols came in as if out of a bad movie. Feeling a little vindictive I waited until the tellers had given them dye packs before manifesting matter agitation on their guns. They dropped their weapons and ran for a car, only to have the dye packs explode in a spectacular manner. It was a nice distraction but it cost me another two hours as the cops got statements from all of us. And I have to go back in the morning because I couldn't drop off the paperwork!

Finally I'm heading home and I get rear-ended on the highway by a man with no insurance. I'm not exactly hurting for money, but it's still a huge chunk of my savings to get things fixed. I had to get my SUV towed and take a cab back home. Then I get a call saying the repairs will take at least a week. If bad things come in threes I must have rolled nines today.

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Denver, CO, Sept. 27, 1999)
Two weeks to do repairs. That includes waiting on parts and sending part of the body to a specialty shop. What really aggravates me is that I'm in Denver for the Raccoon City Survivors Reunion and I can't pick it up. Kyra has only heard of the devastation, but the survivors have compiled countless photos, tapes, and other accounts of the events. As much as we all want to forget, that's a luxury we can't afford. Worse is that those responsible are still out there and eluding justice. No one knows what happened to Sir Spencer, the owner and instigator of so many tragedies. If he's dead I hope he's roasting in the Nine Hells.

This first day was rather hard for a lot of us. So many outsiders still don't understand what happened and they heckled all of us with bad zombie jokes. It took all of my willpower not to punch one of them in the face. I'd love to show them what really happened, but that's too risky. I can't show off my full psionic powers without inviting even more trouble from the Red Death. All I can do is swallow my anger and let it go. Goddess, I hate this!

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Denver, CO, Sept. 30, 1999)
As if to rub salt in the wound a group of pro-Umbrella protesters gathered outside of our hotel two days ago. They cite that, despite the Raccoon Incident, Umbrella was still a good company because of all the other things they'd done to help society. Is humanity this willfully ignorant? So we invited them in and showed them everything--the pictures and videos, the files the STARS and I collected, even some things I had to hack out of the company's blackest databases. People think the tobacco companies are callous and evil? All their doing is targeting kids with something more addictive than heroin; Umbrella was turning those same kids into hybrids of humans and flies, humans and reptiles, and otherwise infecting them with the most dangerous disease ever known just to see what would happen.

By the end even the most diehard Umbrella supporter among them was weeping or vomiting--or both in one case. Unfortunately a deal that would have put our story into a tell-all documentary fell apart because of how graphic and reprehensible the truth was. At least on network TV; there are plenty of independent filmmakers who are just chomping at the bit to show the uncut truth. This would--and should--have happened sooner. But legally the written permission of the survivors was needed and up until now only a few would consent to such. After encountering these folks who still think Umbrella was at all benevolent, the majority have agreed to tell every detail of what happened. This will probably be first seen at Sundance next year; I can hardly wait.

On the 29th we held a service for those who died and couldn't be given a proper funeral. Photos, cherished items, anything that represented the person to be remembered was put into a giant steel capsule and buried in the ground. I don't know who ordered the bagpipes to perform Amazing Grace, but there wasn't a dry eye around after that. Even I wept openly.

Finally we spent today in a New Orleans style party, rejoicing at life and remembering that we were still there. What good was life if it isn't lived? I remember an old French saying, "Mourn for men at their birth, rejoice for them at their death." The people we lost were gone and not coming back. But it also meant an end to their suffering and the beginning of something better in the afterlife. For that we shouldn't weep but instead should cheer and celebrate their lives. If Kenneth, Enrico, and the other STARS that didn't survive were watching, I hope they enjoyed the festivities. Kyra put it well. Their deaths weren't deaths; they were self-sacrifices to ensure that evil didn't win.

After the party, though, Chris and the others came to my room. The fight still isn't over. Umbrella is only a shadow of its former self, but it still exists. Chris has also found evidence that Wesker did indeed join up with the remnants of the company and now leads them with an iron fist. This is bad. If anyone could revive the experiments it would be him. This time it looks like the company is looking for a way to use magic to control their bio-weapons. If hybridized with something that could be controlled...it could work, but then they would be susceptible to magic control by the other side. Only something that could be controlled by a few who know the proper techniques would work for their purposes.

For now we can't do anything. Tomorrow is the wrap-up party and when everyone's leaving for their homes. The nuclear strike is one thing we all agree we don't want to discuss.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Dec. 15, 1999)
Ever since the reunion I've been suffering serious depression. It's not just the memories of Raccoon City, but also the Ritual, the Y2K scare, and the millennial cults and fanatics. In particular the last has been a source of headaches for all of us at the Office. There was a demonstration outside of the buildings just three weeks ago where SWAT had to be called in just to quell the rioting, a cult five weeks ago that was going to use ritual magic to bring about the Apocalypse (and who couldn't have pulled it off if they'd been allowed to try), and an evangelist nearby who thought it would be a good idea to stir up hatred of "those marked by God with dark skin." The LDS Church abolished that doctrine decades ago, but some people just can't evolve.

Beyond the usual antics of humanity, there's been a sense of dread around the Office. Probes into the Catskill Mountains have shown that the creatures there have begun to supplement their magical security with high-tech. The only chink in their armor is psionics, and that means me and a few other outlanders are going in for sure. Plans for the final assault have been revised, rejected, recreated, and other "R" words so many times that no one knows what's going on anymore. The politicos are in an uproar and the DC Office is in shambles. Things couldn't be worse if they'd planned this chaos!

On a more personal note both Kyra and I haven't been able to relax for at least ten weeks now. Peg's new club, the Black Kitty Cat, opened right on Halloween as planned and marked the last time either of us has had any sort of fun. The club on the ground floor was a total riot, but the sex club was a bit of a dud; not enough members yet. Still she has hopes and we both pledged to spend a few days there after we finished with work. As is we have orders to stay put unless otherwise ordered. The Office is being so anal about it that they call us five times a day at varying hours just to make sure we're ready at that second. Strangely Kyra hasn't been as vocal about her anger with this as she usually is. I'm the one who got in trouble because of a temper; those new LCD flatscreen monitors for the computers cost a grand a pop and I blew one up with a mind arrow when we were having a conference with the DC Office. All we got was double-talk and vague innuendos, and I just lost it. Actually I was aiming for the camera but blew the entire monitor along with said camera. So I forfeited a paycheck and had to take anger management classes. The most irritating this is I knew all the techniques before I went; the only time I lose it like that is when I'm feeling jerked around. My, I wonder why I would feel like that! In a letter I copied and posted all over the Office's buildings and sent to every member of every other Office I made it clear why I was so upset. I might have been reprimanded had 99% of everyone who read it not agreed--even management was asking questions that made DC nervous.

The only thing that keeps me going is the promise of a major Christmas blowout at the BKC. At this point I don't care if the Office orders me killed for blowing them off. Apparently neither does Kyra. We've had it with their flip-flopping and delaying tactics. In fact we've both considered resigning and living life on our own again. But common sense dictates we stay with them since we'll need their help someday. It's almost certain we will.

I'll be so glad when this stupid year ends.

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Dec. 27, 1999)
It's been a week since either Kyra or I have heard from the Office. After their constant calls we took the message to "enjoy some time off" quite literally. The party at the BKC was phenomenal, and the underground has finally begun to take off. Christmas wasn't spoiled by the constant need to be ready for something that never came. In fact we both feel a bit like balloons that have been inflated nearly to bursting and then deflated. What were those idiots at the Office doing? Was it some sort of sick joke?

Actually it turns out it was all a ploy. The chaos, the constant revisions of final plans, even the seeming lack of leadership at the top. It turns out the Office has been infiltrated on various levels yet again, and this was a feint to throw the Red Death's minions off the trail. Our own spies report that the other side thinks we're coming apart at the seams, and that's exactly what we want right now. In truth the initial plan was always the final one--and my prediction was right. Kyra and I got roped into doing the escort for a Vistana wizard. What really threw me for a loop is the Vistana in question: Sasha Kolidova, the same woman I met in New York nearly twenty years ago.

From a picture I saw she hasn't aged a day since then. She's been through a variety of safehouses (being a Vistana she has to stay mobile) for the past month and her next stop is Washington, DC. Kyra and I will be taking a private jet there, where it's hoped we'll be able to take the same jet up to New York. I doubt we will, though. There's a blizzard covering the entire eastern seaboard. At present it's not bad, but it's predicted to get worse as the year ends. Snow wraiths have been reported as far south as Virginia, so there's no doubt this is unnatural. The Red Death has probably figured out our plans, but it's too late to do anything more than stall for time. The dominoes have been lined up and none can be moved without sending all the others crashing down.

We leave first thing in the morning. If we can't fly up to NY then we'll drive up using a vehicle that Herman, from our branch, has been working on since he got hired. It's some sort of military-grade vehicle made to look as if it were a civilian one--complete with everything we'd need to cut a path through any terrain northward. If we have to cut across rivers and lakes this thing is amphibious; if we cross rough terrain the suspension will take anything up to a fall from a hundred feet; and if worse comes to worse it's also armored and has solid steel curtains to cover the windows. I just know we'll be driving; this blizzard is clearly intended to ground any and all aircraft. Trains have likewise been suffering a rash of "mysterious accidents" as of late. We railroaded them into the Catskills, and they're railroading us into the highway.

I think I'll be stopping at the drugstore tonight. If driving long distances with Kyra has taught me anything it's better to keep going until you're there instead of stopping for anything but gas. I'm going to need a lot of caffeine pills to make a drive straight from DC to northern New York without stopping for sleep.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Catskill Park, NY, Dec. 29, 1999)
The Red Death has martialed everything it can spare to stop us from getting to the Catskills. Yesterday we flew into DC at three in the morning on one of the Office's private jets. As soon as we landed we were hit by a fierce wind that nearly toppled us both. Snow blinded us as we walked to a nondescript SUV nearby--our transportation. From the airport we had to drive to the White House itself and pick up Sasha. Unlike in the movies the engine turned over easily as we pulled onto the road. Road blocks had been erected all over to deter and redirect traffic, forcing us to a crawl. Somehow our vehicle never once lost control or slipped on ice and snow. Further it was insulated enough to keep out the cold and I had no doubt there were magical wards on it as well.

It wasn't until we were within sight of the White House that things began to go wrong. Kyra was manning a screen that linked to sensors around the SUV when she spotted snow wraiths heading straight towards us. The blizzard that followed them was so much more fierce than the one we were in we'd be tossed around like a rubber ball for sure. Our only hope was to outrun them. So I floored it, crashing through the roadblocks and weaving between parked cars on a direct path to the gates in front of our target. Kyra was screaming into the radio for them to get those things open and get the target out. I saw the gates open and we narrowly made it in between them with half an inch to spare on either side.

Our halt was screeching and the entire car turned sideways as we skidded to a stop just feet from the steps to the White House. Secret Service agents escorted Sasha down and to the car. All she could say when she saw me was, "You." I just said, "later," and peeled out as soon as she was inside. The snow wraiths had almost caught up and we'd be dead if they caught up. Worse we'd stirred up the cops, though they were having a hard time navigating the ever increasing snow. All I did was head for the highway and outrun them both. For the time being, at least, we had a little breathing room.

Then I realized that our plates would be sent to other cops and we'd have to deal with them as well. The Office must have thought of this, since Kyra found a switch labeled "flip plates." Above it was a dial to change the color of the paint using electricity--electrochromatic paint! In addition the dossier had said there were extra plates in the supplies in back, just in case we needed to swap them out. The cops wouldn't know it was us if we just kept our heads down and acted normal. But what a way to start an op! Later I'd actually yearn for such simple troubles.

With the car under the effects of a mind blank the Red Death couldn't track us using magic. With the ability to change our appearance at will we'd be able to defeat technological means as well. This anonymity was our greatest--indeed, our only--defense. For the time being I felt like I could breathe again and let go of the wheel enough to let blood back into my hands. With nothing else to do we began talking between the three of us. Sasha had never once divined my future after we parted ways back in '82; she'd heard of me during the hype over Raccoon and Umbrella, but that was it. That I'd show up here was something of a shock for her. That I was also married and Kyra was my wife just made it more difficult to believe.

For the next several hours we drove, stopping only for gas and to stretch our legs. Day came and went and we still kept going, the two women finally crawling into a sleeping area in the back. By this time it was going on 24 hours since I'd last slept. But all I did was pop another caffeine pill and kept driving. Through Maryland and Pennsylvania I kept going, avoiding places I felt were too dangerous until I reached the border of New York around midnight. We were about a hundred miles east of the Catskills and the snow was getting worse. What should have taken two hours was stretched into eight as I circumnavigated roads blocked by the white stuff.

Finally in Hancock, New York, a few miles outside of Catskill Park, I made an extended stop. My mind and body just couldn't take any more abuse. Kyra took over at this point while I passed out in back. From what I'm told our progress was slowed by roads that weren't plowed and trees cut down and pulled onto the roads that were. We had to cut across the land itself before being stopped dead in a sinkhole. The GPS put at the western half of the park, still a ways from the Ritual site. We had no choice but to hike from that point on. Indeed, this was what half of the supplies we had were meant for.

Around six the evening of the 28th we found an empty cabin and shacked up there for the night. Neither Kyra nor Sasha could get magic to work too well there, suffering several "fizzles" as they put it. It must have been the effects of the Ritual; it was sapping the ambient magic out of the local land and it was becoming even harder to use. Both were skilled in the art of spellcraft, yet even they couldn't get off spells much more complex than the third tier. It was almost like the Spire of the Outlands--where man and god alike are rendered equal in power. Fortunately psionics were immune, and my own powers worked just fine. It was a good thing, too. There was no wood and no electricity at the cabin, so we had to use my abilities to keep warm that night.

The next day we made it as far in as Hardenburgh and beyond, finding a newer cabin at the end of our journey. I spent an hour fiddling with and cursing at a cranky generator just to get electricity on. Inside the two women were listening to the radio. There's been mention of our chase in DC, though "officials have taken over the case." Meaning the government is going to sweep it under the rug since this is supposed to be a black op. Also we're earlier than expected, and that may be to our advantage. The Ritual site isn't far from here and we could easily reach it in an hour's hike. Security is tight, but it's also full of holes. The creatures have humans running the technological measures, likely because they have no idea how these things work or what to do if something goes wrong. If I disable these humans I can destroy their technological edge. With that gone we should be able to sneak in and disrupt things.

I doubt any of us will be sleeping easy tonight.

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Catskill Park, NY, Dec. 30, 1999)
Slipping in unnoticed was almost too easy, thanks to my cloak and rod of stalking. Upon slipping into each sensor control center I found that I could reprogram the computers to follow false leads. Why destroy them if I could use them? After a day of chasing ghosts the sensors would likely be taken down or ignored as malfunctioning. Then there are the magical defenses; these I can't disarm without raising an alert. Instead I can map them out and we could avoid them where possible. Finally I found out who and what will be participating in the Ritual. There are five individuals, all of them human and alive, taking key points on an inverted pentacle. The Ritual itself only needs one person, so these four others are failsafes. If I kill them now then I'll tip my hand too soon; better to wait until the Ritual is just about to begin and there's nothing the creatures can do to replace them.

The initial plan was to come back in tomorrow evening and take out four of the participants. The Ritual has to be initiated for us to reverse the flow of collected energies, so I can't just kill them all. But once the rite is started I can take out the last ritualist and let Sasha reverse things. After that it's a matter of keeping her safe until she's done. That shouldn't be too hard with over a hundred monsters bearing down on us! Including what looks a lot like a balor, a pit fiend (baatezu and tanar'ri working together!?), and other things I tremble to think of.

So I had to rethink everything. We'd need a distraction of some kind a lot bigger than malfunctioning sensors to deal with that kind of threat. Kyra has learned several illusion spells and we could use those to great effect if we can get them to work. I could also send in astral constructs or various types to throw a wrench into the works, but then I risk creating more problems if they coalesce into dread elementals. For now we'll try to use Kyra's magic while I dispose of the ritualists, then get Sasha working on reversing this thing.

One last oddity of note is an attack on the cabin. I was just returning from my mischief when I noticed what looked like deer lurking outside of our shelter. As I got closer I saw their eyes glowed bright red. Further they'd not lost their antlers for the winter, and in fact they had sharp points that looked strong enough to puncture steel. Their teeth were oversized fangs and their hooves were tipped by razors. Finally their coats were ragged and rotten, skin falling off in places to reveal muscle and bone. Somehow I doubted this was more than a coincidence; the creatures were looking for a way in and attacking the front and back doors by charging them with their antlers or beating at them with those blades that were their hooves.

This close to the site I couldn't risk anything flashy, so I called my mind blade and attacked, taking down four and leaving three more that tried to rush me. Two fell after missing me while the third tripped over a tree root and skidded to a halt mere feet from my position. Once I destroyed it the women came out and thanked me for killing those things. Upon inspecting them I realized they were infected by ghoul fever. I'd never heard of the disease affecting non-humanoids. And as much as I'd loved to have studied these oddities we had to get rid of the bodies before scavengers came around. So I used my trench spade and dug a large pit, using telekinesis to move the bodies into it before covering them back up.

Bits of rotten flesh and congealed blood remained in the surrounding snow, but we didn't care. With the intelligence I'd gathered we had to plan our final assault. Once we finished it was time to get some sleep. After the attack we took shifts watching for anything more. As I write this I'm on my watch and so far the night's been quiet. The calm before the storm?

(Exerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Catskill Park, NY, Jan. 1, 2000)
The day began rather tensely, and time passed agonizingly slowly. Once ten PM hit we headed for the site, where the Ritual was set to begin in at eleven. As I'd expected the sensors were down and the the humans running them were cursing about "bugs in the system." Further there's a tension in the enemy camp I didn't detect before. Everyone was on edge and it wasn't about the Ritual so much as a breakdown of cohesion. Both the balor and pit fiend were arguing and the others were beginning to take sides. The whole place was beginning to split down the middle. That was perfect for us.

Kyra began to work on casting a massive illusion of an invading army as I sneaked in and got ready to attack the ritualists. She must have been able to pull it off because I heard the sounds of tanks, choppers, and hundreds of foot soldiers. Both the balor and pit fiend jumped to lead the attack--only to end up fighting each other over who got that right as their troops attacked the illusion. The spell must have been of the shadow subschool because the things attacking were dying real deaths even as the magic army pressed forward. At this point I took out four of the ritualists and let the survivor begin in a panic. Without his defenders he was left very exposed and fell to a mind arrow, dead. Sasha quickly took his place and began to chant the counter-ritual.

As time passed the illusory army was beginning to lose steam. Both the balor and pit fiend had joined in the assault and were decimating their attackers. They knew these were mere illusions, but the attacks weren't fake and they had no choice but to wade through and destroy things. At this point I'd joined in, using every power I knew of to try and destroy the two fiends. They'd no doubt be back thanks to phylacteries, but at least we could let Sasha finish. Finally it was just my and Kyra against the two. Severely weakened from the assault they easily fell before us, the balor exploding into a fiery ball that melted the snow all around us and set some of the site's buildings on fire. By then it was almost midnight.

As soon as Sasha finished chanting she collapsed to the ground. I ran over and cradled her as Kyra came over, ready to heal any wounds she'd suffered. That's when we both felt it--a noise like a whistle that grew into a screech, a sense of foreboding, and finally a shake in the ground. All the power that was being channeled away from the Earth was now being put back all at once. Attempts to use the rods Kyra had created to teleport proved useless; magic was becoming too unstable there to use them. So picked Sasha up and grabbed Kyra's hand as I began to run away. Just as we came over a rise there was an explosion of magical energy. The world around us seem to blaze with blinding light and the screech became a blast of sound that echoed throughout the Catskills.

Then, all at once, it stopped.

Somehow Kyra and I had begun holding each other with Sasha in between us, perhaps to protect her. Looking up we saw the night sky was peaceful and the only sound was the wind. Looking over the rise we saw that the camp where the Ritual was to have taken place was now so much ash. Then Kyra felt it--the power of magic was returning to the place. But it wasn't like before; it was slightly stronger now. We'd beaten the Red Death at its own game.

Above us I heard a real helicopter, and a light began shining down on us. I was prepared to fight back, cursing my bad luck. Except this wasn't the enemy. It was the New York Office. They'd tried to head in themselves, but they weren't needed. Now all that was left was to clean up the mess--and give us a lift back to civilization. They'd already located our SUV and begun to dig it out, and the heads at DC had been told of our victory. The atmosphere was ecstatic to everyone else, but for the three of us we were too tired.

It was only after sunrise that we learned disrupting the Ritual wasn't a total success. The fear, paranoia, hate, and hysteria churned up by the turning of the century--and the millennium, depending on your view--was enough to restore a lot of the power lost to the Red Death. In a way we'd only broken even. Worse still, the energy was still flowing back into the planet. We have no idea what this will do, but theories of global warming thanks to this act seem quite probable. The timing couldn't be more ironic; for years pundits have hyped global warming thanks to high carbon emissions, and now it looked like their predictions would come true--in a sense. Ah, what the hell? Humanity needs a good kick in the butt to clean up its act. Maybe this will be it.

For now both Kyra and I just want to go home. Sasha is also eager to return to her tribe. If the Office wants to give us a medal then it can wait! After all this I think we've earned some time off.
(End transcript)
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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Jan. 9, 2000)
In stopping one big problem we've gone and unleashed countless smaller ones. We stopped the Ritual, even reversed part of the energy flow, but that's it. The tenuous alliances of the creatures has begun to disintegrate as they realize all their work was for naught. For now things seem to be in the shadows, covert fights between former allies that don't draw much attention. But that may change soon. Old rivalries and new scores to settle will eventually force them out into the open. Fortunately without the threat of mass retaliation the Office can act more freely.

In New Orleans the Swamp Muckers have reportedly broken up due to infighting, while in Japan several miko have reported an increase in the activity of oni--literally "goblin," but it's used for "demon" a lot of the time. There's also been some fallout in the economic world; the bust of online businesses has jumped drastically--the Dot-Bomb Disaster--has been linked to various groups falling from grace and scams being unveiled now that covers have been blown. The creatures are the ones fighting, but the rest of the world is going to suffer for it.

One the homefront things have been rather quiet. The fact that the world didn't end has been of great disappointment to many. I imagine this is what the Millerites felt back in 1842. But other than a handful of people crying because Judgment wasn't handed down it's been a little dull. With so little to do in an official manner I've been given some leeway to do as I please. Unfortunately there isn't a whole lot I want to do just yet. Other than our first anniversary, Kyra and I hope to take things easy for a little while.

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 2, 2000)
The lull in local supernatural activity has continued, though outside of the state things are getting a little hectic. So much so other branches of the Office have begun requesting aide. One of the more ominous requests is out of New Hampshire. Six years ago there was a series of murders there, done by a man named Walter Sullivan. Victims had numbers carved into their chests, their hearts cut out, and Walter's name scratched in as if to make the police catch him. Ten in all were killed before he was caught and committed to an asylum. There he killed himself by using a spoon to sever his carotid artery. He was buried in a graveyard outside of his old hometown--Silent Hill.

Three years ago his grave was dug up and found empty, the numbers 11121 carved into it. Six months later in Ashfield a drug addict was found, having died around the same time that Walter was interred. 12121 was carved in his chest, but his heart wasn't cut out. The thirteenth victim was tied to a religious cult in Silent Hill, and a little digging revealed it was the Order--the same Order that must have been after the Flauros. Then in Mexico another victim, a priest in the Order no less, was found. In looking at these deaths we've found out more about the Order than any of us wanted to. Brainwashing, child abuse, dark magic, these people are into some very sick things. The orphanage Wish House was more like a prison and torture chamber than a home for kids. Indeed, I sense a strong resentment towards Wish House from this last murder. It's a matter of record that Sullivan was raised in Wish House and is likely murdering his victims in some ritualistic way tied to the Order's teachings.

Thirteen victims and a missing body of the dead murderer. This could be a copycat, but the Office doesn't quite feel that way. At any rate the killings have stopped and the case is fairly low priority. If it weren't for our grisly discovery last year I wouldn't even bring it up. But the more we learn about the Order, the more we realize this is a group that has a much greater understanding of magic than most. Strangely they seem to be antagonistic towards creatures of the supernatural. If only to placate our New Hampshire allies, Kyra and I have been ordered to investigate the town firsthand and see what we can find.

I honestly feel like this is just a waste of time.
(End transcript)
Last edited by High Priest Mikhal on Tue Jun 10, 2014 8:45 pm, edited 2 times in total.
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 4, 2000)
I knew this trip was a waste of time. There is something to the murders, I admit, but we don't have any clues and they seemed to have stopped again. It's a cold case and one that gets really low priority in the face of other, more pressing work. With that Kyra and I caught a late flight back to Salt Lake the same day we went. The Office gave us today off so we get a three-day weekend. That's fine for Kyra, who's been busy over in Intelligence lately. But then it's not much of a change for me since Ops is as quiet as the grave--no pun intended.

All this time off is beginning to wear on my nerves. I've hit the Nickelcade so many times my hands are as stiff as rock. Meanwhile my talents go to waste while I wait for orders. This is why I avoided tying myself down to any one organization in the past. What really makes me sick is that I can't up and leave since I still need the Office. For now I'm using this as a chance to catch up on some things. Mainly why my stock portfolio has been losing money as of late.

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 6, 2000)
I really need to have a chat with my broker. He bought shares in several dot-com companies--the same types I told him to avoid. Fortunately he'd also made some smart moves and I'm not in serious trouble. I can't say the same for him, though. It's a Sunday so I can't tell him he's fired until tomorrow, but I've already begun looking for a new broker. Someone who will listen to me, the client. Gods, why didn't he listen to me!?

Then there's a new assignment caught my interest. The Deseret Chemical Depot in Tooele has reported a series of bizarre accidents and at least four murders--or possible exposure to VX gas. The bodies were found in puddles of blood, only the bones remaining. At least one set of bones was also cracked open and the marrow sucked out. Sounds like ghouls to me. But something isn't adding up. Why would ghouls haunt a high-security facility? There's not much "meat" to be had and the chances of getting caught are extremely high. That's another real concern I have. How could their security measures be so easily breached?

That I'm not going with them is rather irritating. This is just the sort of job I'm trained for and they hand it to some amateurs? I know they need the experience and all, but there's something really wrong about this. I see red flags all over this one and nobody listens. But it's out of my hands; if something goes wrong I'll have gloating rights...but I wouldn't want to gloat about something like that.

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 15, 2000)
It's been over a week since the original OSA team went in to check out the murders at the Deseret Chemical Depot. When I tried to pull up their reports I found the files classified beyond Code Black. Attempts to hack the files using my pocket computer have likewise proven fruitless. What is so important that they'd go to such extreme lengths to hide it? Even the Ritual wasn't classified this heavily.

It was only when Baker called me in for a closed-door meeting that I got my first break. In showing me this she risked not only her job, but her life and the lives of her family for the crime of high treason. Despite being her first recommendation, the DC Office explicitly stated I was not to be allowed on this particular mission. The DCD does more than dipose of the United States' chemical weapons, it also handles bio-weapons--including the T- and G-Viruses! They worried if I found those stashes I'd destroy them. They lied to me about their intentions regarding the T-Virus and knowingly betrayed my trust, and thus any obligations I have to them are now null and void. But I won't be leaving the Office--not yet at least. There are still good people in the Office, and they perform a vital service.

The cancer still hasn't been fully excised, it seems. Despite ongoing trials of Umbrella's top executives and scientists the company is still clinging to life. Worse, after calling Chris and telling him about the stockpile, he told me that other facilities all over the world are still active. Despite the best attempts of governments and private groups alike there are still holdouts of the company actively creating BOWs and a hybrid T-G Virus. My work with the others has yet to be completed, I see. And with this...revelation of the Office's true colors I see little use in staying. I joined them in the hopes of them helping me eradicate the T-Virus and its descendents. This isn't the first time I've had a group do this to me, but it still doesn't hurt any less.

For now I don't know what to do. But I do know that I can't stay on with these people anymore. I've turned in my two weeks notice and cleaned up the few things I had at my desk. Kyra has supported me in this and is likewise quitting the job. Twenty years on the job is a major investment, but it's also ample time to realize how much she's been used and abused by those in charge. In the past she stayed because she needed somewhere to belong. Now we have each other and she has no reason to stay in the Office.

This isn't the first time I've felt the sting of betrayal by those I thought were doing good, but it doesn't hurt any less than before.
(End transcript)
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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 29, 2000)
Leap year. Ironic that this would be my last day with the Office. The heads at DC have been falling over themselves in their attempts to keep me. In fact I've been using them much the way they used me--finally, after almost two years of unsuccessful tries, Lt. William Coen has been "posthumously" cleared of all charges. I even made them promise a major bonus--five-hundred-thousand dollars, tax free--if he turned up alive and well. So imagine their surprise when he walked in not a second after the contract was signed and there was no way out of it. I promised him I'd clear his name and I have.

When I gave them a rather sarcastic show of thinking about my answer they realized the tables had been turned. Worse for them, half the money the Office had grabbed from the Swiss Bank from the bad guys got sent to an outside account they have no power over. I wonder how that could have happened? Since that money doesn't technically exist I'm not guilty of any crime they can prosecute me over. My allies still in the Office are likewise laying false trails to keep them from suspecting me. This way Kyra and I won't have to drop off the planet for a while.

All their efforts to get me and Kyra both to stay on have instead resulted in us achieving goals that government bureaucracy and political corruption made otherwise impossible. In the end we still chose to leave if only because we're sick of dancing to their tune. With this freedom comes a question of what we're going to do. My obligation to Chris and the other survivors of Raccoon City and Umbrella has determined my fate--in fact I took that money solely to fund the efforts of anti-Umbrella groups like theirs. I'll no doubt be joining them in their efforts. But Kyra doesn't have to join us. She's insisted on going, which has left me ambivalent. One the one hand her skills would be of incalculable value, but on the other I don't want to put her in such danger. No doubt she feels the same about me going and that's exactly why she wants to go with.

Our departure also coincides with the "mysterious disappearance" of quite a few magical artifacts. Among them is the Flauros and several others we have never seen before. The magic mansion has vaults far more secure than anything they can create, and once contained in quintessence they'll be utterly harmless, kept in temporal stasis and unable to act upon the world. Actually this last part comes at the request of Baker and several other high placed members. They wouldn't say why we should take these things, but I agree it's best for them to disappear so no one will ever use them again.

Finally comes the hardest part of this whole affair. Once more I'm forced to uproot myself and move so no one finds me. Only this time I can't stop in any one place for long. Technology makes it too easy to find me and Kyra and then reach us before we can escape. I loathe moving around as nomads, but that's the consequences of our decision. Thankfully with the magic mansion we can just up and disappear overnight--house and all. Even all records of our existence will be destroyed by our allies in the Office and other parts of the government. They've made it clear that our leaving is the best thing possible, even vital to the Office and to the fight against the Red Death. I once thought I had a clear picture of where the rot was. But these extraordinary measures tell me that things are a lot worse than I ever thought.

Chris has offered us membership in a group he and the others created--the Regional Biohazard Containment Unit (RBCU). Their only goal is to go around the world and destroy Umbrella's last remaining labs and any of their BOWs still around. In fact their current target is in the Sierra Nevada mountains near Donner Pass. I'd call it ironic they chose that location if it wasn't also so morbid in nature.

Goddess help us on our quest to stop this unspeakable evil.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Mar. 4, 2000)
Plans for a sudden disappearance have been delayed thanks to a nice little going away present from Baker and the folks in the motor pool. Things must be really bad if they're willing to part with a ten-million dollar vehicle like this. Outwardly it looks like one of those expandable RVs--the ones that people with more money than sense would buy. I have to admit it's as posh as you can get. Tour buses aren't this nice! But it's also loaded with a series of beacons and tracers that the mechanics couldn't fully deactivate or remove. So it fell to us to take care of them. Kyra is the mechanic. I'm better with computers than with vehicles. So between us we've managed to reprogram or remove the last of the remaining homing beacons.

Another twist is that this isn't run by a gasoline or diesel engine--it's a hybrid hydrogen-electric. So the feds are experimenting with alternative fuel sources? What do they know that we don't? Oh, forget it. I've had it with those hypocrites.

The grace period the others got us by dragging their feet has almost run out. Sooner or later the DC Office is going to find out what happened. This won't be viewed as anything less than "theft of government property" and we'll both be branded criminals. Somehow I'd always thought harboring a dangerous WMD was a worse crime, but I don't see anyone trying to bring the US Government up on charges. Maybe it's because they're just too big and powerful to take head on. All that means is we have to chip away at their credibility until the corruption is exposed for everyone to see. If I was less cynical I'd dare hope this year's election would change things. But even if Senator Graham wins the election I doubt he can do much. An idealist is a cynic in training, I say.

Kyra has commented on how pessimistic I've been lately. She claims this is completely unlike me. I guess she's right. I'm still smarting that a group I dared believe in betrayed me--again. I knew I was taking a risk when I joined them, but there are some things even I can't forgive. Umbrella and its damn Viruses destroyed my friends, my home, my life. Any who would harbor either is my enemy. Those responsible for everything will be held accountable in due time, but first the cancer has to be stopped. Going on a number of figures that Jill sent me there are literally thousands of metric tons of the T-Virus still in existence around the world. As Umbrella further disintegrates the stockpiles are at risk of falling into the hands of terrorists and madmen. What would happen if the Virus got loose in a major airport? It would make an outbreak of smallpox look like the sniffles! So of course I'm a little pessimistic right now.

By this time tomorrow we should be halfway to our destination. Already the magic mansion has been shrunk down and stowed. Kyra is fast asleep in the RV's sleeper and I'm just finalizing the last measures to take us off the government's radar entirely. The others have all had their official records destroyed or flagged as deceased. You can't track the dead, after all. Soon Kyra and I will also be "dead" as well and free to move about under the noses of those that we would oppose. Fake IDs, the criminal underworld, and the constant threat of death from all sides. Is this the sort of life that she wanted when she agreed to marry me? Knowing her all she'd say is, "so long as I'm with you, I can endure anything."

I have to fight the sensation just to ignore my friends' requests for aid and run away somewhere. It would be so easy to go somewhere and start over anew. No more Office, no more supernatural horrors, just us living as normal people. I know I'd become bored by such, but at least we'd be out of danger. I want to help my friends, but even more I want to protect Kyra from potential danger. I know she feels the same way about me and that is why she's going with me.

They got that saying wrong. There's no rest for the righteous.
(End transcript)
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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Donner Pass, NV, Mar. 6, 2000)
For some reason I thought I'd feel better about what we were doing once I met up with the others. Yet for some reason I still feel a little sick to my stomach about everything. Perhaps it's the fact that the others are having a hard time acclimating to the high altitude, or that their largest guns are a pair of police shotguns, or that we have no intelligence on this target. Call it a hunch, but I think this mission is going to turn sour just like it did when we hit the Spencer Estate. Poor weapons, no maps or idea of what we'll be facing, and to top it off Chris, Jill, Rebecca, and Claire are suffering from altitude sickness. Barry is also a member, but has chosen to instead work on their logistics as opposed to being directly involved. He has a family to protect so I have to agree that's the best place for him. Plus no one knows more about guns than him. Efforts to recruit others have been unsuccessful so far. Not enough people have suffered at Umbrella's hands to take up arms against them and those like them.

I just had to ask why Rebecca would leave Watch & Seek to put her life at risk like this. To hear her put it she can't learn anything more from the qabal and has to "get her hands dirty again" to grow in her new path. That was in addition to her need to make sure Umbrella didn't harm anybody else ever again. What's that saying? "The path to hell is paved with good intentions."

The events of the past couple of weeks are still gnawing at me, obviously. I've faced worse odds and managed to come out successful, so I should be confident about this. Right?

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Donner Pass, NV, Mar. 7, 2000)
Our plans have been pushed ahead by the arrival of Umbrella troops. The trio appeared in our campsite in the middle of the night, armed with gear we desperately needed. Too bad they didn't notice the traps and alarms I put up the evening before. One caught a spiked branch right in the throat and the other two were killed after triggering a flash-bang and were shot to death. Their loss is our gain, however. Night vision goggles, assault rifles, and encrypted transceivers. Those last items were a particularly nice find; this is the sort of hardware the military uses to keep others from hacking their communications. Without a relay station their range is only a couple of miles, but that shouldn't be a problem for us just yet.

Their presence, whether or not they were just on patrol or sent to attack us specifically, means we have to move. When they fail to check in there's going to be an alarm going off up in the Umbrella facilities. Worse still is we don't know if they already knew about us or called our presence in; the entire campsite had to be moved and camouflaged just to be safe. As for the bodies, Kyra used a dust to dust spell to get rid of them and leave their gear behind. Other than their clothes the rest of the items were taken, including two maps of the facility inside the mountain itself. Know we knew where to look and had an idea of the security layout. Thick doors and concrete walls seemed to be the worst. So few guards' barracks were shown. In fact the majority of the facility seemed to be dedicated to large storage areas behind layered security doors.

As we were looking at the maps, Claire managed to tap into the facility's communications. The absence of the guards' reports was causing a bit of a stir and there was some sort of conflict going on between the guards and a site manager. The former wanted to call this in to Umbrella HQ while the latter wanted to wait and see what happened. This was just the sort of chaos we needed to sneak in and destroy the place. Though how we were going to do that was an entirely different question. The others had been able to gather a few pounds of plastique, but not much else. Rather their plans centered around the self-destruct systems that Umbrella seemed to incorporate into everything. If I had something that big to hide I'd put in a similar feature, so I could see their logic. Unless found more weapons and gear on site, though, we were screwed.

Jill reminded me there's a name for this sort of thing: guerrilla warfare. If so we had already blown two core rules. Always get intelligence first and never attack without the element of surprise. Just like when they tried to warn people about Umbrella, they're going to have to learn the hard way.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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High Priest Mikhal
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(Double post deleted)
Last edited by High Priest Mikhal on Tue Jun 10, 2014 7:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Las Vegas, NV, Mar. 9, 2000)
Some may call this op a failure, but I tend to think that it was a success of sorts--we called it off. After taking some time to consider things the others have agreed with me, especially Chris. He's really got to learn to stop going off half-cocked like this. Had things at Rockfort Island been slightly different he and Claire alike might be dead and Alexia still alive or in the hands of that villain Wesker. Somehow I don't think the cards were in his favor this time around.

For now we're holding up in Las Vegas. Given Umbrella's...problems they probably can't send anyone out to fortify their Donner Pass facility, but I'd rather not take the chance. While we're here I've taken the time to do a little money laundering. I have to obfuscate our trail as much as possible, especially given the sources we'll be dealing with to get the hardware we need to really make an impact. Plus there are bigger problems--mainly in our lack of numbers. There are others that support the RBCU, but none of them keep in regular communication. Kyra has already begun working on setting up a secret website for everyone to use. She actually knows some anarchist hackers who will maintain the node and even keep it moving so the authorities--and Umbrella--don't find it. Her resourcefulness gives me more than a little bit of pride.

My own contacts, especially ones in the military, have proven willing to do us a few favors in exchange for cash. Umbrella's influence is still felt and there are a number of soldiers and sailors who disagree with the brass in the pockets of the company. As I keep saying, the rot goes deeper than I thought. Even Congressman Graham, who's campaigning on a platform of social and business reform in the wake of the Raccoon City incident, has no idea what he's up against. Queensryche was half-right; the rich do control the government, the media, and the law, but it's incomplete. That is their biggest weakness.

The main concern for me is that we have no real headquarters. Even the VC had a place where decisions and strategies were made and orders and information was disseminated, despite how mobile they were. We're like the proverbial chicken without a head, running around blindly. Plus we need locations for safe houses, depots, and even workshops. Chris and Jill did some of the latter, though their limited resources means their results were minimal. For now we're heading to the central part of Utah, near La Sal where there's almost no civilization. We'll setup base there for now and begin organizing in the middle of rocky canyons and expansive deserts.

On a more personal level this incident seems to have driven home the real gravity of what we're doing in the others. I don't think even Chris was aware of how monumental something like this is. Even if Umbrella is destroyed, there are others perpetuating research on the T-Virus and its variants. Plus there's the fact they're facing forces they have no idea about. Even without the Red Death's supervision, Umbrella retains much of its original magical staff. Now that the unity among the creatures of darkness has been shattered I can only imagine what sorts of directions their research has gone off towards.

For me and Kyra this is "business as usual." Considering the lives we've led this is almost sedentary. For Chris and Jill it's like being back in the miltary, and they're coping well enough. But for Claire and Rebecca it's not been easy. Living like nomads with an unsure future takes a toll. This has been especially hard for Rebecca, who just doesn't have the same kind of experience as the rest of us. As a prodigy she knew only school and labwork until the STARS, and returned to a similar life not long after they were disbanded. She's put up a strong front, but more than once I've found her crying, alone. Things should improve once we begin to set down semi-permanent bases. If not for the RV even I'd be missing the simple comfort of sleeping in the same bed each night.

Then there's something...bizarre of note. Lately my dreams have been invaded by someone--or something--capable of overcoming my skills in lucid dreaming. The visions are quick but detailed--the six of us are in a house, a mansion really, facing a veritable horde of the T-Virus zombies as we retreat up the stairs even as we take down waves of the undead. In the same dreams I see us talking with a girl with a Southern drawl and asking us, "is this y'all's first time in Georgia?" Then there's a phrase that keeps repeating itself: third ash. When I ran a cross-reference on the phrase Georgia I found out there are roads in Macon that intersect--at Third and Ash St. This is a point straight south of the Medical Center of Central Georgia, a prime point for T-Virus research. But why am I being led several blocks south? It doesn't make much sense.

For now I have to concentrate on getting the team properly equipped and getting an intelligence network going. We'll get nowhere if we continue as we have.

I really should begin body work on said RV, first off. Aluminum is fine for a normal vehicle, but this is hardly a normal situation. I'll have to use my powers to create adamantine plates to replace the outer shell. My head is already throbbing as I think about the time and energy creating adamantine from psionic energy will take. My brain already feels like it's on fire. I wonder if they sell asprin in kilogram doses?
(End transcript)
Last edited by High Priest Mikhal on Tue Jun 10, 2014 7:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, La Sal, UT, Mar. 25, 2000)
Military pre-fab building materials, tens of thousands of dollars. Having the grunts on our side assemble a veritable fort in two weeks, priceless. I was skeptical when the colonel offered to help us build a base. I kept picturing tents and hovels from CNN's coverage of the Gulf War. Instead they've built a strong, secure structure with all the amenities. They even helped us setup the necessary facilities--munitions, surveillance and intelligence, and a lab that Rebecca has more or less claimed as her own private territory. It's home for now, but no one can tell how long we'll be here before we flee to avoid the wrath of our enemies. To that end I've begun ordering a series of auxiliary bases in various locations all over the country, as well as others in both France and Japan where Umbrella has stubbornly held on despite its fall.

With material concerns more or less solved we've begun the real task of locating Umbrella facilities and working out plans of attack. The STARS training and experience means Barry, Chris, and Jill are still in fine shape in terms of working as a team. Rebecca's a little rusty, but she'll be able to catch up quickly. Claire and Kyra, though, have almost no experience working as a tactical squad. It looks like we'll all be doing some training before we get to our first target.

Then there are the dreams. The ones about Third and Ash in Georgia have gotten longer and more complex. I can see details now, and it looks like a suburban area that hasn't seen much development yet. There's also been a new number that keeps appearing--77001254. I'm taking that to mean 7/7/00 as the date I should be there and 12:54 PM the time. Why? What is so important about this particular location? I've discussed these dreams with Kyra, analyzed them backwards and forwards, and yet all I find are more questions. Even when I look into the area I find no further clues. As to who this girl that keeps appearing, if I had a name I could begin to look for her. So far all I know is that the area is suburban or even mildly rural in nature, and the location I'm being shown is near a railroad track. A train is passing by, but I can't quite seem to make it out. All I know is that when I look at it I get a feeling of intense dread and hate.

While I'm busy trying to figure out this strange bit of oneiromancy the rest of the RBCU goes on. So far we've only got two more volunteers ready to oppose Umbrella. One is a girl trying to pass herself off as a boy, and the other is one of the survivors from Raccoon. We'll see how well they do in a boot camp run by me.

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, La Sal, UT, Apr. 17, 2000)
Every day more and more people send us e-mails and messages saying they want to help. A lot of these are college kids and others fed up with the establishment, not the professionals we need. The best they can do is funnel money our way and spy on local Umbrella subsidiaries. Quite a few have taken that last duty a little too seriously in my view. It's one thing to just observe from the outside. But to get yourself hired and act as a mole? That's going too far. These people don't kid around; they'll kill anyone who threatens their interests, especially in this weakened state. They're dying and they know it. They'll take anyone they can with them.

As for those who've passed screening and been brought to the facility it's been like something out of a real boot camp. To date we've jumped up by six members--to a total of eight new recruits. We might have more had I not insisted on meeting potential recruits in person first. I've been picking out those rare individuals who have the guts, determination, and moral compass we need. Four of those are ex-Marines, one a pathologist and an adept, the other a mystic from one of the Ute reservations. The latter is an experienced shaman and a badly needed addition. Getting the four former soldiers to accept the reality of magic and the supernatural was a lot more difficult than I had anticipated, though. After a few run-ins with zombies and BOWs that simply can't exist according known scientific laws will probably dispel the last bits of skepticism. Eight soldiers, six officers. We're just forty short of a platoon. Not much by military standards but we have to start somewhere.

Kyra helped me in creating adamantine to armor our RV, though I was a bit liberal with my estimate. We had more than was needed to replace the aluminum body with an inch thick replicas. In my experiences adamantine is one of the few metals that does stop bullets and thus makes excellent body armor. But wearing medieval armor on this world would be asking for trouble. So instead I've been using my powers to create unique silks stronger than steel. Woven into armor and reinforced with plates of adamantine they'll be the equivalent of a knight in full plate mail, though a lot more mobile. There are just two problems. The first is I have to make the things by hand and it could take weeks to finish just one suit. The second is we lack enough raw materials to make more than four suits. So far the three STARS and Claire will be getting one, and it may be a while before I can make more.

Aside from all that the dreams have stopped coming as frequently. Only a new detail has been added; the girl in my dreams takes us rail hopping on a train that passes by fairly slowly. Always when we enter the tunnel at the end it ends after I hear the screech of rail brakes. After the Eliptic Express and the Umbrella underground rail line I'd just as soon avoid trains from now on. But it looks like I don't have a choice. Something is showing me these visions for a reason. To be able to invade my dreams like that...only a few beings besides the gods can do that to my kind.

So far everyone seems to be holding up well enough. Rebecca is busy with her lab, while Chris and Jill are training the new recruits, including Claire. My wife and I keep busy dividing our time between modifying the RV and the tedious tasks of setting up the necessary caches, hiding places, and a few other items effective guerrillas need to survive. Barry and some of my contacts have already made good on promises for weapons and gear, so I can relax about that. Plus we received several metric tons of MREs and other items--all from the US Army's surplus that had to be sold off. I don't know why Chris and Jill loathe the rations so much. I think they're pretty good eating actually. Not a replacement for a Pepsi and a pizza, but still a lot better than hardtack and salted meats.

Actually, when we were discussing that I heard something I hadn't heard in all the time we've been at this. My friends actually, truly laughed.
(End transcript)
Last edited by High Priest Mikhal on Tue Jun 10, 2014 7:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, La Sal, UT, May 1, 2000)
Every day we have new people arriving, each one having passed our strict screening process. We've jumped from eight soldiers to fifty, and it's not slowing down. More than a few of these new recruits are magically gifted in some way, even if they don't realize it yet. That has led to some reorganization, where the more experienced spellcasters and help show the others how to truly harness their power. Everyone else is getting the crash course on the realities of the supernatural, and it hasn't been very pretty. Simple illusions and demonstrations of true magic have raised all manner of questions and personal problems.

Some, especially from more conservative Christian denominations, were taught magic is the tool of the devil. Charlatans like fortune tellers and psychics hotlines were bad enough, but to see the real thing? That's an all new game. Others are simply in denial about it and refuse to accept that the reality they know is only half the picture. Still others are fascinated by it and eager to learn more.

Other than these growing pains the RBCU is doing quite well. My friends all have completed suits of armor made out of spider silk and adamantine plates, armor that doesn't look like much more than a heavy coat and pants. Integrating electronics and a climate-control system comes next on my list of chores. I know how hot it gets in a suit of armor, and after that trip to Antarctica I have to consider heating for cold situations. Especially if the intelligence we've received is true.

Reports of an Umbrella facility in Nome, Alaska have been trickling in for a while. We knew they had offices up there, but lately communications between the office and the Umbrella HQ in France have ceased. The latter has tried to get in contact with the former, but no one is answering. Then, yesterday, we got reports of an animal attack in Nome. That in itself isn't news, but the fact this was a grizzly bear with rotting fur and patches of exposed muscle is.

Given the disarray that Umbrella is in it will take them two or three days to get out there. This is a chance for us to gather data and expose some of our more skeptical recruits to the reality of what we'll be facing in the future. I guess we need to break out the shoulder-mounted cameras for this one. Footage of what they encounter will be useful as well. Unless we run into Hunters or other potent BOWs, this shouldn't be too hard for the recruits I'm taking up there. That is, if they keep their cool.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, La Sal, UT, May 2, 2000)
That is the last time I agree to a smuggler's plane to sneak into some place! Everyone was grumbling, complaining, and cramped inside a space barely big enough for two people, let alone six. By the end of our journey even I was ready to throttle anyone who so much as looked at me. But it does bypass international airport security and offers anonymous travel. If I do this again then it's going to be alone. Franklin, a merc and hotshot with firearms, was particularly grating just with his personal hygiene. Take a shower, man! And for the love of your teeth, at least use mouthwash!

We were dropped off in the middle of nowhere about six miles outside of Nome itself. Even in mid-spring the weather was C-O-L-D! We only had an hour or so before the others' body armors' laminates froze and shattered, becoming useless. Thankfully the smuggler dropped us off not far from our target. We were greeted by an ugly, windowless tower of concrete on a large steel frame to keep it off the ground. The only entrance was a door of tempered steel made to withstand the cold. Unfortunately it's also vulnerable to super-high temperatures. Namely thermite. The burning bar melted almost the entire door from the center out before it became inert.

Inside we found desks upturned, items strewn across the floor, even some framed pictures with the glass smashed glass. Obviously someone--or something--had attacked. Blood was smeared across the wall as if some dying person had grasped at them, only to slide down as the life drained out of them. But that was the strange thing: where were the bodies? Were they walking around as zombies? Or was there another explanation?

As I was examining some of the blood I heard a strange growling screech come from a vent above. As I looked up I saw a creature with pebbly green skin and gangly arms ending in vicious claws jumping right on top of me. I barely had time to grapple its arms and keep those razors from cutting me into pieces. Its breath stank of rotten meat and something else I couldn't put my finger on at the time. Franklin, the same merc who really needs to wash, was the one to save my bacon. He put a Desert Eagle up to the things temple and fired. The creature's brains splattered against the wall and it fell dead on top of me.

As I pushed it off the others were looking at it in stunned silence. What in God's green Earth was that thing? The bizarre reptile-human hybrid made them reassess their beliefs in reality. Things had been hard to swallow just on words alone. Seeing it suddenly drove home the dark reality of what we were fighting against. And to think that Hunters are not the worst that Umbrella has to throw at us. I shuddered at the thought of a Tyrant being there. But given how small the place was I doubted we'd run into one. The place was more like a secret storage facility hidden behind an office.

Another member of the team, Sarah, was able to get one of the smashed computers to work and easily hacked into the security logs. In the basement we saw row upon row of Hunters held in glass tubes, each one seemingly in stasis. Then a klaxon began to flash and a siren rang out. In the security room two men were frantically cutting off life support to all the tubes; it seems a few had managed to revive and were trying to break free of their imprisonment. Out of nearly fifty, six had escaped before the kill code could be entered. The rest were dead from an injection of poison into their IV feeds. Killed without ever waking up.

With the one that attacked me dead we only had five left before we could get out of there. The thought of one of those things escaping made me sick. Plus it was a good chance to gather information from the computers. Franklin, Sarah, and I formed one team that would search for the central controls. The others were to seek and destroy the remaining Hunters. The creatures were likely starving by then and were weak from hunger. If so it wouldn't be as hard to take them down. Unfortunately for us, I've never heard of Hunters turning cannibalistic. If they thinned their own numbers it would have been a miracle. Somehow I doubted the gods had any of those for us.

Plunging deeper into the facility we found the remains of the employees that worked there, now mostly bloody and chewed bones. They'd all been stashed in a particular closet. Like an animal throwing its waste somewhere out of the way of its lair. Another one of those things tried to sneak up on us. This time I managed to fire off a volley of mind arrows at it. Even after it slumped to the ground I put two more in its body just to be safe. Two down, four to go.

Twenty minutes later, as Sarah was trying to rig a supply of energy to the central controls, the others radioed in and said they'd killed one and found two others brutally slashed to death and seemingly devoured. So they were cannibalistic in a pinch. Chalk one up to experience. That just left one of them, though where it was I couldn't say. Luckily by then Sarah got the controls working. The data stored was more than enough to indict the corporation for well over a dozen violations of international law, just the sort of thing we wanted. A leak to the major news networks and we'd bury the company even deeper. This was definitely a successful trip.

One other thing Sarah found was a self-destruct. By now it didn't surprise me that Umbrella would put such a thing in such a place. Better that all the evidence burn, even if it did cost the lives of the employees working there. I was still a little concerned about the last Hunter, but if it was inside of the building once the place went up then it didn't matter. I radioed the others and told them to get back outside ASAP. Sarah got us a grace period of five minutes to get out and away in time to avoid the explosion, the upper maximum the system would allow.

We ran through the overturned, bloodstained halls and rooms of this now dead facility and dove for the daylight once we saw it. The others were there waiting for us and we barely had time to grab them and duck behind a rise in the land before the entire building exploded. At first there was no sound, then it hit and I felt my ears beginning to bleed even as I covered them. It was an agonizing experience, but thankfully short. When we looked up over the rise we saw the building was burning. The heat was so great it evaporated the snow around it. All any of us could do was watch in silence as the fire crackled and popped, the last remnants of this cursed place going up in smoke.

Then came a reptilian screech. The last Hunter jumped from the flames and rushed toward us even as it burned. Patches of charred flesh fell off of the creatures body as it charged, revealing bloody muscle and bone under its skin. We opened up with everything we had, but it still managed to get to one of the members, a young man named Adam. The creature jumped at him and tore open his throat with a single slash before finally expiring from its own wounds.

Adam bled out in seconds. I couldn't heal him in time and he died in my arms. I'll never forget those blue eyes staring lifelessly up at me. This was supposed to be a simple, low-risk mission compared to the things the RBCU would be confronting in the future. No one was supposed to die. But Fate deemed otherwise. Without even thinking I used the Words of Creation to teleport the others back to our base before picking up Adam's body and doing the same thing to myself.

John Red Stone, our shaman, performed funerary rites for Adam even as we loaded him into a cooler of dry ice. His body will be transported back to his family for a proper burial, a task I'll see through personally. I was the leader. I shouldn't have let my guard down like that. Now a good man lost his life because of me.

It never gets easier.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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