The Gothic Journals

Fiction about Ravenloft or Gothic Earth
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High Priest Mikhal
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Des Moines, IA, Jan. 28, 2006)
Police searching Miss Nash's place found her body stuffed in an old chest in the cellar. Going by the ME she's been there four days, before the dismemberment took place. Neighbors in the area claim she had a visitor before then but never saw her leave, and then she began to act "weird" right around the time she apparently died. She'd been active in the local church, participated in bingo nightly, and was otherwise an active person. Then during the past four days she never left her house, skipped a church brunch, and invited a young man over. From their descriptions I made a sketch of a teenage boy, brown hair and eyes, some acne but not exactly a "pizza face," and an unmistakable pox scar set dead center in between his eyes.

Before I could even get this to the others I was intercepted by the Chief of Police. The sketch was of his son! It even matched a photo on his desk. He didn't want me bringing his son into the investigation, even going so far as to clean the young man's footprint. If word of this got out he would be facing charges of violating police procedure, evidence tampering, and hindering a federal investigation. His son only told him of his involvement after he'd asked us to come in. Too late to back out, he tried to protect the boy even if it meant his career. I could understand that. No parent wants to subject their children to that kind of stress. But if his son was there he was a material witness and had to be questioned.

Reluctantly he brought the boy in, who was himself scared to death. Not of us, but of what he called "the black hag." His description was of a wizened, ugly woman with greasy black hair and skin the color of a blue so dark it could be called black. She had found him after getting beaten up at school again and offered to show him a way to get back at his tormentors. All he had to do was bring her a young woman. So he found some random prostitute, paid her, and drove her back to the scene. It was there that the hag dropped her disguise and proceeded to butcher the young woman with a practiced grace. The young man was terrified of her and didn't think to run, but when she demanded he come over and cut her heart out he backed out at the last second even as she ran after him in a blind rage. As luck would have it he came across a patrol car and, since he's well known to the police, they gave him a ride home. But not before catching a glimpse of the hag themselves. She ran away in the darkness. His father was alerted to the murder by the cops, only to find out later his son was there as well.

Profiling a hag. That would be tricky, even with all the psychological insights van Richten made before his disappearance. But with the young man's testimony and the crime scene we were able to make a preliminary profile. Since hags can use disguise self at will it was going to be less her appearance that allowed us to find her and more about her behavior. Since she had a corrupting aura she was at least a few centuries old, which would mean she had some additional magic at her disposal and a hell of a lot more experience than the cops. But it would also mean she would have a hard time with the modern world. Likely she'd still have trouble with technology that seniors fully understood, like internal combustion engines, telephones, and electricity. As an annis she would no doubt be violent, confrontational, larger and taller than most women, and superhuman in strength. Given that she was willing to show her true form to a young man she was also arrogant enough not to be as cautious as she should.

That she was unable to complete whatever it was she planned with the prostitute meant she'd be on the hunt for a new victim if she hadn't already found one. That meant I was hitting the pavement, talking to streetwalkers about any overly large women they'd encountered. Most had nothing to offer in way of information, but enough had encountered a woman like that to point me in the direction of an old slaughterhouse in the middle of the old part of the city. Something about her had spooked them enough to know to avoid her. And, unlike with the police, they did talk to each other. Several of their number had disappeared over the past few months, picked up by either a man or woman on foot who was taller and bigger than average. That arrogance in not hiding her size was coming back to haunt her.

With some SWAT backup the whole team went to the old slaughterhouse. We were being quiet on this and found her busy hacking up some frozen corpse in a makeshift kitchen. An old gas oven and stovetop with shoddy connections, some salvaged lamps, and old game tables. It was a fire hazard waiting to happen. One stray shot that hit that old stove and the thing would go up in a pillar of flame. A good way of taking out a monster, but then, "monsters don't exist." If she survived and was captured, it would be hard to ignore the truth. If she escaped...well, I was going to make sure that didn't happen. One way or another.

We managed to get a perimeter on her before we sprang. Not surprisingly she didn't comply with orders to put her hands on her head. Instead she shrieked madly and rushed one of the officers. One of the sharpshooters managed to tag her in the head. It didn't kill her, which even I find amazing, but it did knock her for a loop. She staggered back to her little kitchen before regaining her senses. Then, for barely a split second, I swear I saw what looked like an imp appear to cut the gas line. The open flame on the stovetop caught and and fire I'd feared began. She went up like kindling, howling and screaming in agony. The fire was hot enough that no one could get too close. Even the concrete floor was turning spongy. In the end she was incinerated to ash before we got the gas cut off. The remains of her victims were destroyed as well.

Or most of them, at least. Once the fire was out and the area contained we investigated an old industrial freezer. Inside were the whole, frozen bodies of two missing prostitutes and the head, feet, and left hand of the young woman we'd discovered. Her right hand was found in another area with an inverted pentagram on the floor, black candles at the points, and an assortment of odd chemicals. The middle and ring fingers were straight up while the others had been bitten off. A pair of wicks were coming out of the remaining fingers and hung it from a hook. It looked to be preserved in wax. But I had a feeling it wasn't exactly wax that was used. Human bones with the patterns of human teeth were also found in an old Dumpster nearby. They'd been stripped clean and had the marrow removed by cracking them open.

But it was the journals that disturbed all of us the most. Quite a few were dated back to the Sixteenth Century during the height of the witch hunts in Europe and done in Middle English. All of them detailed sordid accounts of the hag--Belle Hunter--and her activities. No one else took what was written at face value, or at least believed this woman was the author. Even though the latest journals were done in the same handwriting. They chalked it up to someone who had bought into the delusion of being a centuries old witch and had continued the worst stereotypes of them. The one thing that did hint this was the truth was the latest victim's preserved hand. A dead man's hand of some kind. I'm not that familiar with the lore of hag magic, but I did have an idea of what this one did from past experience. Whoever lit the wicks would be able to mass charm others into doing whatever they wanted for carnal reasons. The price was that it also inflicted a venereal disease on its user once it was snuffed or burnt out. The Hydra Club...

I just couldn't let it get out, so when one of the detectives grabbed it I disintegrated it and hid my doing so. They came to the conclusion it was far more brittle than it appeared and left it at that. But with one good hand we were able to use VICAP to ID the latest victim. Cheryl Waters, a runaway from Minnesota who had been listed as missing for three years. That was the name her remains gave me, and I felt sorrow for her family. This wasn't the thing parents wanted to hear when they finally got news of their child.

We stuck around to help gather the evidence there. It was an emotionally exhausting case and none of us had the energy to catch a flight back to Quantico tonight. Two cases down. If this is the norm I don't think I'll make it to case three.
(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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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 3, 2006)
I think the Division Chief in DC chose this case as a way of killing two birds with one stone. And both of those birds are me. I get to return home and she ensures I don't have to come back and darken her office again. The politics involved in the upper echelons are a game I refuse to play and that's not a trait many bureaucrats find endearing. Two cases involving the actions of the supernatural and "unnamed officials" are putting pressure on her to start letting them get involved in "her territory." Bunch of territorial wolves...

This last case is weird, to be sure, but nothing about it screams "supernatural beings involved." Several men and women of various ages, ethnicities, and socioeconomic status have been found dead, their throats cut after being tied to a chair. The one thing each of them has in common is they recently suffered the loss of a loved one: a friend, parent, spouse, even children. Each was executed with a left-hand cut across the throat, severing the carotid and causing near-instant death. An Angel of Death, lovely. These people honestly believe they're helping others by killing them when they're in extreme grief and won't stop until they're caught. Another interesting bit of evidence is that several victims had bread crumbs on their foreheads and one had a stain on their pants that turned out to be beer. This person didn't see themelves just as an Angel of Death, they thought they were also a sin-eater.

Sin-eating dates back centuries where the dying would have a piece of bread or bread crust put on their foreheads to symbollically absorb their sins and someone--usually a beggar--would then eat the bread and imbibe it with ale, lager, or some other fermented beverage. The sin-eater "ate" their sins, taking them into their own souls, and supposedly sped them to Heaven. A harmless enough belief on its own. But some sin-eaters would scourge their own flesh to cleanse the accumulated sins of others. Other, equally painful penance was common. This added a whole new element to the psychological profile.

Finally there was the weapon used. The MEs in each case found tiny flecks of obsidian in the wounds. Each subsequent murder left a slightly less clean cut. That figures, obsidian is sharper then steel if knapped right. But it also dulls faster on a molecular scale. If this person was using obsidian it was likely just for the cleaner, quicker cut. A truly sharp cut was painless and leaving the victims in as little physical pain as possible was apparently what they were going for. And the geographical profile fit with states that had obsidian deposits. Namely every state in the Southwest, Texas, Oregon, and Washington. This round of killings was in southern Wyoming, but the closest field office is in Salt Lake City.

One of the things about Angels of Death is that they just have to tell their own story of losing a loved one. The same story, over and over again, wherever they hunted. This particular signature had been reported throughout the states that had obsidian deposits: left handed, obsidian knife, bread and beer, bound and gagged victims with their throats cut who had recently lost a loved one. Cases as far back as twenty years ago were turning up--all dry ice-cold. Despite what all the crime dramas say, fibers and prints--even DNA--is useless if there's nothing to match it to in criminal databases or if the victim didn't know their murderer. "Getting away with murder" is a lot easier than most people think. And that's why we were being called in.

Other than a dry preliminary profile, there was nothing more we can do just yet. Aside from the obsidian there's nothing terribly unique about this particular unsub.

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 4, 2006)
I can't believe I missed the obvious. Obsidian is unique to wherever it came from as the trace elements lend it certain characteristics. Mineralogical tests revealed that each killing was done with a knife made from the nearest obsidian deposits. The unsub never once used obsidian from one part of the country when s/he killed in another. That was a critical part of this freak's ritual.

We also got lucky in that the cops interrupted the unsub when neighbors reported strange lights in a supposedly abandoned warehouse. The knife being used was dropped while one cop nailed the perp in the leg with a shot. DNA testing show it's a match for our guy. Or rather, gal. From the DNA and from the near-victim we learned this was being done by a woman, easily in her late-fifties. Running the sketch through ViCAP--facial recognition software is the least reliable there is but it was worth a try--we got a hit on a former professor of prehistoric technology. One day in 1984 she called in sick and then disappeared, after her brother committed suicide with a knife of knapped obsidian. One Elizah Schmartz, diehard Catholic obsessed with going to Hell if one wasn't given last rites or had a chance to pray. It seems she suffered a psychotic break after her brother's suicide. She became a crusading angel of death, symbolically eating the sins of those she killed. Those who had suffered a similar loss.

This is one of those cases that things just clicked. We had a name, a picture, and since we had interrupted her ritual she would undoubtedly head to the nearest deposit to make a new knife as soon as possible. That was deep in Yellowstone Park, in areas the tourists are not allowed. As if the boiling mud pots and toxic gas would deter someone who had no connection to reality. Since she would most likely be on foot once close to the spot we could go via chopper and catch her as she tried to get to a deposit.

But there was that bullet in her leg to think about. She was too smart to go to a hospital and if she was doing this for so long it meant she had contacts or knew enough medicine to treat it herself. Given that this murder spree was her life it was safe to conclude she was in an RV, since that would give her the mobility she needed. That was going to be a nightmare if she was based in Yellowstone. Even at this time of year. Still it was worth a try, and by posting her picture on wanted posters we might get a tip or at least trip her up enough that she'd do something stupid.

Unbeknownst to the others I took a bit of the blood recovered from the shooting to use with my crystal ball. I could see her inside an RV, her right leg bloody as she used clamps to extract the bullet without anesthetic. Other than a tight gauze wrapping on top of some rubbing alcohol she wasn't treating it any more than that. Yet I could see that the bone had shattered; not to be unexpected given both the gunshot and the fact that she was likely suffering osteoperosis. If we didn't catch her then she'd die of gangrene within a couple of weeks.

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 5, 2006)
Park authorities told us where to find Schmartz. They recognized her face and led us to where her RV was parked. She wasn't there, but it was easy to track her in the fresh snow she'd walked through. Especially when stains of red began marking her trail. That leg was slowing her down a lot and we managed to catch her on a hiker's trail leading to some caves lousy with the same obsidian she'd used to make her knife. Catching her was a bit anticlimactic, but looking at her wild-eyed face and the look of pure shock that we were trying to stop her snapped me back to reality. She honestly thought she was helping those people she murdered. This was the face of a serial killer, driven by tragedy and zealous, unthinking belief.

Doctors worked on her leg for two hours to remove all the bullet fragments and put the bone fragments back into place. I was right; she did have osteoperosis. Her RV had all the evidence we would need to convict her of literally hundreds of cases of first-degree murder. There was no chance she would ever be free again. It was also a sobering reminder that the worst monsters are entirely human. Real creatures of the night have nothing on the being that lurks inside each of us.

With this case closed my time with the BAU was done and I could return to the BSAA. And not too soon. There have been several mentions of something called "Uroboros." I thought they meant Ouroboros, but several papers intercepted from TriCell clearly said Uroboros. Considering the mythology of Ouroboros, that scares me on a level I haven't felt in years. It's a serpent eating its own tail, an ancient and universal symbol of infinity and endless cycles. A fitting name for a project as unholy as viral research if it was anything like the G-Virus. What would William have continued to mutate into had he not been destroyed?

There's also been a request from several of the micro-states in the Balkans. Weird things have been seen: animals that look like they rose from the grave, deformed humanoids, and a tall, blond American man asking questions. Wesker! It has to be.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Feb. 17, 2006)
Agents in Eastern Europe confirmed the presence of some BOWs, but finally traced them back to an old Umbrella facility that someone was using until recently. "Sterilization" protocols had been enacted, but a few of the creatures managed to escape into the wild. Given how long things were roaming Raccoon Forest before anyone noticed the authorities didn't risk any attacks. They sent in teams to search and destroy anything unnatural. All the time I was praying this was when we'd find Sir Spencer.

No such luck. The tip about his whereabouts turned out to be out of date. Considering just how big Europe is, hopes of finding him have plunged. Plus there is still this Uroboros thing. Hard data on it is proving hard to come by. With every sponsor of the BSAA spying on the others, it would seem likely someone would leak something. But industrial espionage is just as professional as the international kind. Based on the rumors, however, and what little is known we've speculated on its possible nature. That it's based on the Progenitor Virus is pretty much accepted as fact. The pure, unadulterated one. Given the advances in genetic engineering since its rediscovery nearly fifty years ago, and the name, we can conclude that it's likely an adaptive organism much like the G-Virus: It doesn't stop at a single mutation and continues to change its host if said host is damaged. The best analogy is to call it a cancer; uncontrolled growth, virtually any possible tissue formation, and highly malignant to the host.

What doesn't make sense is why TriCell would reinvent the wheel. The G-Virus does all those things already. So why spend billions on R&D and testing? I had to refer back to the original books but that's what explained it. The Ndipaya who ingested the flower would either die or mutate into something superhuman. It's genetically selective; those with compatible genes will be transformed while those with incompatible genes will either die or mutate. It fits with what both Excella and Wesker espouse about genetic superiority and fits with what I've learned about psychological profiling. Elitist, convinced of their own superiority over others, and willing to prove it if given the chance. They're just amoral enough to try something, especially Excella who feels she has something to prove. Being put in charge of a relative backwater stung her pride badly.

But there's a wrinkle. Those same rumors state that research into genetically engineering Las Plagas is taking place. What do they need with both? My theory is they're using the Viruses to genetically reengineer Las Plagas to remove its weakness to bright light. That way they could build an army of superhuman minions that were easily controlled that wouldn't die when they were exposed to a flashbang. But all this is so much speculation. There's no evidence to prove or disprove any of it.

As if this wasn't enough we have to deal with the dissolution of the Federal Bioterrorism Commission and its merger with the BSAA. An awful lot of the new agents are not happy about it and are proving to be a handful. I can understand why; they were serving the United States, but now serve the United Nations. National pride has motivated the best and worst in history. A company of three-hundred Spartans held back tens of thousands of Persians and saved Greece in the end. Chairman Mao, Hitler, and Pol Pot killed millions who dared speak out against their nationalistic ideals.

Then there's the Veltro Conspiracy. I don't know the exact details, but apparently the head of the FBC, Morgan Landsdale, created a conspiracy to create fear of the BSAA and bioterrorism and thus justify absolute control being given to the FBC and Landsdale personally. Chris and Jill were involved, but they don't like to talk about it. A BSAA director created a counter-conspiracy that stopped Landsdale's plans and destroyed something called the T-Abyss. In retaliation he had the FBC raid a BSAA base. Evidence of his actions was broadcast and he was arrested, with the FBC dissolved and rolled into the BSAA. Even though most of us don't know what happened in detail, there's a lot of mistrust between both our groups.

And who gets the raw deal of whipping our branch's share and our current troops into line so they can work together?

Note to self: Next time, don't mention experience as a military officer and leader.
(End Transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, March 20, 2006)
I've lost my temper with both former-FBC agents and BSAA trainees alike more times than I care to think about. Half of them have been on KP at least once, and some have been peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots so many times they might as well be apprentice chefs. The friction between the two is beginning to wear off as they realize they have more in common than they thought, but there are a couple I've flagged as potentially unsuitable. It all comes down to the Hell Weeks. This time we're leading up to it with a week of horrific revelations and some real experiences with the aftermath of biological disasters. The former Soviet Union's hybridization of Ebola and smallpox--Ebola pox--caught more than few offguard when they learned that this epidemic was not only still around, but had been combined with a disease that's almost a hundred percent fatal to become airborne. I shudder at the thought of someone making Umbrella's Viruses airborne.

Add to this aggravation a meeting with US officials, including National Security Director Derek Simmons. "Hate at first sight" is too mild a term. More like odium of the strongest kind would be how I felt. He's the one responsible for Raccoon's sterilization and has ties to an organization I've heard too often about to dismiss as crank: The Family. Supposedly this is a secret organization like Skull and Bones or the Freemasons whose membership is made up of the richest and most powerful men--and just men, since this is the definition of "Old Boys Club"--in the world. They control the corporations, governments, and anything else that's a source of power from behind the scenes. There are some flies in the ointment: the Society of the White Rose, the OSA, MI-7, Der Wachters, and most prominently, the BSAA. In the bureaucratic shuffle that saw us go from a corporate toy to the UN's official arm handling bio-terrorism, we slipped free of their grasp. Getting us back in their pockets has proven nigh impossible thanks to public scrutiny that even Graham never had to deal with and the fact that too many nations are involved for them to hook their claws into even a minority of those in charge.

It wasn't just his role in Raccoon that informed my opinion. There was something else about him, a mania that he hid quite well. His orderly mannerisms and constant nationalist comments when he and others discussed greater cooperation with the BSAA following both Graham's and Landsdale's little stunts made it clear he was uncomfortable with us at best. We didn't answer to any single government anymore and had been given clearance to begin operations within any country--regardless of UN membership--if there was sufficient cause to do so after the Veltro Conspiracy. We were not going to be held up by red tape anymore and that had many countries scared. A bio-terror attack on them, however, had them scared more, so we were the lesser of two evils. This also meant all current and future agents had to undergo ethics testing and supervision at random intervals to make sure only the very best, most trustworthy, and selfless were allowed in.

After meeting him I called in a favor to the BAU team I studied with and asked for a full psych profile and background check on Simmons. They agreed on the condition that I repay the favor at some point. That's fine with me and, if things are half as bad as I suspect, I won't hear back from them for several months.

For now I'm preparing to introduce the newbs to the full horrors of the Hell Weeks. May the gods have mercy on their souls.

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, April 17, 2006)
The troops have reacted to this most horrific stage of training much as I thought, only without a single washout. They've displayed a level of fortitude I didn't expect from people so young and green. More importantly, the BSAA-FBC divide seems to have dissolved as they teamed up to deal with situations that would make many veteran homicide detectives throw up. I'm actually quite proud of them. They passed and have an idea of what they can expect in the field. Not the worst cases, but pretty close. Some, such as Enrico Mador, have shown leadership qualities worthy of consideration for officer training. Not unexpectedly, he was one of those I had flagged earlier as potentially unfit. Sometimes it takes a crisis to bring out people's true character.

Today marks the last month of training, weapons and live combat. First off is getting used to the standard issue nine-oh-nine nine-mil sidearm and the beginning of close quarters combat. Since so many of the BOWs we've faced like to get up close and personal it was decided that a heavier emphasis on CQC was necessary, as was the inclusion of a combat knife. Personally I'm not sure a mundane stainless steel knife is going to be all that useful. Some of the veterans use heavy-gauge steel combat tomahawks for both combat and more utilitarian purposes. The brass is taking the idea under consideration, but for now it's just the basic knife.

From there it really depends on the role they'll be playing in their assigned team. Basic training in a variety of assault rifles, combat shotguns, and even sniper rifles is mandatory now. Once they graduate to full agent status my part will be done. And none too soon. Chris and Jill received a tip that Spencer is hiding in his estate on the coast of western Spain. Sightings of a man fitting Wesker's description in the area make this more plausible. However, since there's been no sign of BOW activity this falls under Interpol's purview since Spencer is on the top of their Most Wanted list and there's nothing that normal Interpol agents can't handle.

My gut is telling me otherwise. This is a man who killed millions in the name of eugenics research, who unleashed some of the worst plagues since the Black Death, and whose sociopathy is second only to Wesker's. If he's not protected by some of the most potent BOWs ever seen to date I'll eat a Humvee. If this does turn into a BSAA matter, though, I'm not allowing myself to be involved. Maybe I'm just getting old, but my better senses tell me to sit this one out. If faced with Spencer...I don't know what I'd do. Something truly heinous, most likely. I have never felt this kind of crippling hatred towards anyone or anything before. Maybe Simmons, but that's a fair second in comparison.

For now I have to see this bunch through to the finish. There's also been talk of pairing us up in the field and making more veteran agents like Chris, Jill, and myself team leaders. I'm not sure if I like that idea. I tend to operate better alone or with people who aren't shocked by the fact I have supernatural powers. Since even the BSAA is still ignorant of the truth of reality, that's a tall order. Worse is if folks upstairs, or even an agent for the Red Death, finds out.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, June 20, 2006)
Things have been relatively quiet lately. We've been hearing rumors of something going on in the ranks of Interpol, but nothing solid. Even the terrorists seem to be taking some time off as there has been a remarkably low level of activity regarding them. It's these lulls that drive me crazy; out of boredom and out of sheer dread of what's coming to break it up. In the meantime I've had nothing to stop me from tackling several piles of paperwork waiting in my office. It's funny. When I was faced with those four- and five-foot tall stacks I thought I'd never get through them all. Now I wish I had them again for something to do.

If only to break up the tedium I've been training in parkour--really working the rust out of the system in all honesty. My muscles remember the moves but were slow to react at first. Now I outpace other traceurs even in the most complex obstacle courses. Not bad for an "old man." If they only knew...but that's something they don't need to know. Likewise I've been training with the troops in the BSAA's unarmed combat courses. The style being taught is the same taught in the US military. Effective but crude, wasteful in terms of force and stamina, and not really able to match someone who has studied more complex martial arts. I can't match the sheer skills of a monk or swordsage, but that time as a slave in the Abyss did teach me a few things. Like how to turn an opponent's own momentum against them. Or to flip them with just one hand.

Then there's the tip about Sir Spencer. Chris and Jill have been arguing that they ought to be sent in to investigate and I can't say I don't agree with them. We have as much right, if not more, to find him and bring him to justice. The Trevor and Spencer Estates, Raccoon City, those are memories you just can't forgive or forget. As I wait for the BAU to get back to me with Simmons's psych profile, I've been working on one I wrote for Wesker. Everything points to him wanting Spencer as badly as we do. If he's after Spencer, too, then things could go south quite fast. His mind was scalpel-sharp already, but the physical changes he underwent in just the few months since the Spencer Estate and the Antarctic Facility...it terrifies me to consider what else he may have gained in his maniacal quest for power. And I don't just mean the changes wrought by soul corruption. Biological augmentations, especially viral ones, aren't science fiction. They're all too real. And I have no doubt Wesker would make full use of them.

The way the higher-ups deny their requests so vehemently suggests something's going on regarding Sir Spencer and possibly Wesker as well. My initial decision not to pursue either man has been well and truly rescinded by now. I can't let them face this alone, especially if what I suspect is true.

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Aug. 2, 2006)
Word has finally come down that initial Interpol attempts to apprehend Sir Spencer met with disaster. From all accounts they've met with heavy resistance from Hunters, zombies, Lickers, and Tyrants. Forty dead in two attempted raids, with thirty of the dead from the last one just a week ago. Interpol itself is taking a lot of heat from nation states for trying to handle things a second time when it was clear the BSAA had authority, experience, and expertise. Instead of a fifty-man team, it's just going to be the three of us. Loaded for bear, of course. RPGs, heavy-caliber sniper rifles, assault rifles with incendiary rounds, and twenty pounds of C4 each. I'm the only one who's even studied demolitions and thanks to the blueprints of the mansion I've plotted a course that won't even require a fifth of my share to break through the "hidden" defenses.

I'd call it "overkill," but where the Viruses are concerned there's no such thing. As I was going through my magic backpack today I found the old wooden box that held the buffalo hide and quartz rattle the old shaman Buffalo Walker had given me so long ago. I couldn't be sure if it was going to be of any use, but I made a mental note of it all the same. Call it intuition. We've got the firepower, we've got maps of the interior and exterior of the mansion, and we've got about all the intelligence we'll get. Tomorrow we fly via private jet to Spain and finally take down that madman who started everything.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Spencer Manor, Spain, Aug. 4(?), 2006)
As I write this my right tibia and fibula are broken in several places, while my entire left leg has been shattered. I keep passing out from pain, having exhausted my psionic power and what few cure potions I had left in my pack to try and speed the healing. My amulet will be able to regenerate the deeper damage over a few days, but for now it's working on knitting the bits of bone back together. I knew something like this would happen and yet I still chose to come. It's something I'd do again, though. I'm alive and stopped some sort of Tyrant variant from killing the others even if it did throw me against a concrete wall.

Chris, Jill, and I started for the cliffside manor around dusk. The place was quiet, eerily quiet. No guards, no BOWs, not even security lighting. It was almost like Sir Spencer was expecting us. It certainly didn't make any of us feel much better. After what happened to two Interpol teams I'd been expecting the man to go down fighting. Instead the front door was unlocked--literally. We were able to simply walk in. But wouldn't it figure that was a trap. No sooner had we entered then a two-inch thick plate of steel slammed down and blocked the exit. Then the zombies came at us. Swarms of them coming in waves that seem to be inexhaustible. Despite head shots we each went through three magazines taking them all down.

Apparently Spencer was going down with a fight. Using the last weapons he had left. This was last-ditch attempt on his part. If we survived long enough to reach him then it was over. He would spend what little time he had left in a UN prison. That thought kept us going as we took a route through several rooms, and more swarms of zombies and several Hunters, before reaching the first hidden path. Not surprisingly it was locked down, and the frame charges I'd brought proved their usefulness in blowing the steel shutters right off the frame. A few mutant plants in the tunnel met us, but Chris had brought some incendiary grenades that killed them easily.

Our path through the manor brought us to a hidden room that would open directly past some of Spencer's more sophisticated defenses once we blew a hole in the wall. Only he seemed to have anticipated that. A secret panel on the wall turned and a Tyrant appeared, held tight by a circle of titanium around its chest that withdrew and let it loose. Like so many others we saw that the thing had an exposed heart. I'd recently upgraded from a .500 caliber revolver to a more powerful Desert Eagle .50 made from blue ice; the better to prevent barrel warping from heat. It took six shots--an entire mag--through the thing's heart to kill it. I only had three more before I ran out and I knew that wasn't the last Tyrant we'd face. Had the room been bigger I would have used my RPG, but the shockwave would have reflected off the walls in there and killed the others. At least when we blew the wall we could turn some bookshelves and tables over to act as a shield.

Proceeding onward we had to wade through more zombies and now Slashers, the variant Hunters that produced lethal toxins on their claws. Ammo was becoming scarce and I was my psionic powers to clear the small fry away. By the time we reached the third floor I was nearly drained and Spencer was still a floor above us. There was just one last room, a killing jar, containing two Tyrants. Only these things seemed more potent than the one we'd faced earlier. Their skin was a corpse-white color and what appeared to be chitin was covering their hearts. Fortunately we got the drop on them and managed to blast one with an RPG. Only that didn't kill it; it only broke the covering on its heart. Jill frantically fired off her RPG and that finally did take the injured one out. The other one I barely had time to fire on before the doors began to close. Without even thinking I picked up both Chris and Jill in either hand and threw them through the shrinking opening that led up to Spencer's room. Bringing him to justice was more important and I even had time to throw the last two mags for my assault rifle through before the solid gate closed completely.

As I was doing that the Tyrant was able to grab me by the shoulders from behind and swing me like a baseball bat into one of the walls. The wall itself broke in sheets of concrete even as I felt my legs break. Fire shot up my body and I couldn't help but scream in agony. Yet I did have the presence of mind to halt the thing in an web of ectoplasm, halting it long enough as I swung my pack around in search of anything I could use to fight it with. If it took a rocket-propelled grenade and still kept coming, my Desert Eagle wouldn't do squat. The box holding the rattle Buffalo Walker had given me gave me the idea to use it. I can't be sure how, but as long as I rattled the thing stopped moving completely. Did it have true power? Was a rattle this thing's zeitgeber? I didn't care, it was working! That's when I got another crazy idea and used my armor's ability to fly to hold me upright, the rattle held in my mouth with my lips curled over my teeth so I didn't damage it as I shook my head up and down, while I packed all the plastique I had over its heart and used the last of my power to encase it in a wall of ectoplasm. This had the double-effect of containing the blast and reflecting it over and over. What some theoreticians call the "chunky salsa effect." For obvious reasons as I found out.

This nigh-unstoppable thing was reduced to so much gore until I willed an opening towards the door. The shockwave shattered the plate metal and I had a way out. Or I would have if I could have walked. Even calling on the power of my cognizance crystal wasn't enough to repair all the damage in my legs. At best it only helped turn the bones in my left leg back into some semblance of a normal bone. My supplies exhausted, I passed out.

When I came to I checked my watch and found it completely broken. The only thing I could do was watch the others over my crystal ball. They hadn't had an easy time of it, either. They were down to their sidearms as they entered Spencer's room. The old man was already dead by then, his neck snapped by Wesker! The megalomaniac had to make a villain's monologue with a lot of it punctuated by his blame of Chris for everything that had gone wrong since Antarctica. Then Wesker lunged at Chris, who had wound up in front of the windows overlooking a sheer drop into the ocean. Jill then lunged and pushed Chris out of the way but was taken by Wesker through that same window. I followed them as best I could before they just seemed to disappear into nothingness. One moment they were there, the next they were gone!

Sir Spencer lay dead by the hand of the child he helped create through the Wesker Program, once a corporate titan turned into a simpering, helpless old man before his death. Jill and Wesker are gone, fate unknown. Chris sat there in shock for several minutes, giving me time to write all this down. Now he's coming back to check on me in a state of emotional shutdown. This is the definition of a Pyrrhic victory.

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Aug. 6, 2006)
Search efforts to find Jill's body have not met with success, but somehow I don't expect them to. Knowing Wesker he's still alive and with Jill his prisoner. It may have been better if she died. My own injuries are completely healed, helped along by Kyra, but it will still take effort to build my bones back up completely. Chris is still in a state of shock, blaming himself for Jill's fate. She made a decision and I have no doubt she'd do it again. I would have done the same thing.

I took Buffalo Walker's rattle back to the reservation--goddess, what price has "progress" asked for when an entire culture is herded into small plots of land?--he lives on. The Ute people are not known for taking their situation sitting down or for their love of "Anglos." Yet when I got there a young woman, Velma White Sun, told me to drop the silly disguise. They knew full well I wasn't a human being or even mortal. They accepted that completely. Miss White Sun was Buffalo Walker's granddaughter and explained he had died of cancer two nights earlier, saying that the spirit he helped would be returning what he'd given down to the minute I arrived. That he knew I was metaphysically a spirit, let alone when I would return, speaks volumes to how well native people's have preserved their culture and magical knowledge compared to those of European descent. The old pogroms against magic in centuries past make so much sense.

I was allowed to stay and witness his funeral. Miss White Sun, as his former apprentice, was the one who now inherited the rattle I was returning. The holiest of holies to her people. All I could say was he was right; it did stop an evil spirit and saved my life as he said it would. May his soul know eternal rest.

Back in the "civilized" world the BSAA has refocused itself on finding Wesker. More specifically, it has begun to take a long, hard look at TriCell and Excella Gionne in particular. She's known to be connected to Wesker and is head of one of the worst offenders of environmental accords, legal restrictions on corporate practices, and the Geneva Convention regarding basic human rights. If they hadn't lined the Nigerian government's officials' pockets they would be torn apart just like Umbrella. The Golden Rule, "He who has the gold makes the rules," applies fully here. As much as the UN helps relief efforts, its hands are tied legally to do much more. Plus it's already tangled up in America's war on Iraq and Al-Qaeda. The terrorists have begun attacking European nations now and really stirring the hornet's nest. It's become such a fiasco I've stopped trying to follow what's going on.

For now Chris and I are on "indefinite leave" to deal with the emotional toll of losing Jill. I know I need some time, but I can't say much for Chris. He's completely cut himself off. It wouldn't be a huge surprise if he returns with a death wish. If he returns at all. After everything we've been through I'm surprised any of us who were involved with the STARS and Raccoon City haven't taken leave of our senses. Curtis Miller lost his soul to his hatred of pharmaceutical corporations and became a literal monster in the end. While Claire has pursued a career in the FDA to stop the incident from happening. Her path, I feel, took greater strength than her brother's or mine did. It's easy to follow a path of violence to stop the madness. But it takes extraordinary character to take a non-violent road.

That reminds me. I've written to Sherry Birkin several times in the past few years and my latest letter never got a response. That was almost six months ago. I know Claire has contact with her so I'll have to call her and ask what's going on. Hopefully nothing's wrong.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Aug. 13, 2006)
Even as I write this my hands are shaking in fury. When I called Claire about Sherry I got the distinct feeling she wasn't telling me everything. It took a physical visit for her to come clean: in the wake of their escape from the Umbrella Facility, Leon and Sherry were "rescued" by US officials. He was more or less pressed into the Secret Service, and she became property of the government due to her infection by, and subsequent vaccination against, the G-Virus. The man in charge of this travesty? Derek Simmons! I nearly lost it. If I had reason to hate him prior to this revelation, now I have every reason to kill him. But I can't. Not while he's in charge of Sherry's life.

Instead I found out where she was being held and made my way to a secret facility in Virginia. It wasn't too hard to bypass security thanks to my rod of stealth. What can't be seen is hard to stop. Even the thermal cameras were fooled. Getting to the cell where she was being held was not so easy. A foot-thick steel door with biometric locks was in my way. The Near Ethereal was also lit up like a Christmas tree, making it impossible for me to get in that way. Without the handprints and retinal patterns of Simmons or the researchers there was no way to get by quietly. So I disintegrated a hole in the door. I expected the alarms to go off and was ready for the first guards, knocking them senseless and taking their stun batons to incapacitate the others that followed until I was sure there weren't more coming in the next few minutes.

Inside was a giant white clean-room with Sherry, now a beautiful young woman, held behind a thick wall of Lexan. Since I could see inside it was easy to teleport in. As much as she was grateful to see me when I dropped my invisibility, she was also terrified for me. She had no real illusions about what the government really wanted or would do to anyone who dared mess with its toy. I was relieved to see she was okay and at the same time enraged that I'd been lied to for so long! Claire and Leon knew I would do this when I found out, putting Sherry's and my life at risk. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow. My only real chance to vent came when a set of guards in full military tack and carrying assault weapons rushed in, followed by Simmons.

His arrogance was amazing even in light of everything else I'd done. That should have been a clue he was dealing with something far more dangerous than it looked. Instead he mocked me a bit then ordered his men to kill me. In that instant I moved with supernatural speed and knocked each of the dozen guards out with a single hit. Then I drew Repose and pressed it hard against his jugular, not enough to cause harm but enough to draw a trickle of blood. At that point he seemed to understand I am not human, nor do I play by the normal rules. The Family would be powerless to help him if he touched so much as a hair on Sherry's head, just as they would prove powerless to retaliate later. I made it clear that, if he crossed me, I would cut his gut open and strangle him with his own small intestine. A bluff, I admit, since if I killed him it would be quick and clean. But it seemed to work. He was almost chalk-white in terror and agreed not to hurt her, to forget I was ever there, and to stay the hell out of my way if we had the misfortune to clash again.

With that I turned invisible again and left, still burning angry to this day. As I expected he did report this to the Family, who tried to ruin me financially and socially. Except they weren't the first conspiracy I'd dealt with; technology aside, their methods are often the same. Turning their own efforts against them, resulting in the bankruptcy and social and political ruin of two of their highest-ranking members who even now are on trial for very real charges ranging from fraud to vote-rigging to other things too sick to mention. One has already been killed in prison by inmates for one of the last charges--I hear the guards didn't even try to protect him. The other is under twenty-four hour suicide watch. For men who had everything to lose it all is almost like Hell. But I've seen the Hells; their payment for their sins so far will seem like paradise after they die.

My moves may seem brash, but in truth I've planned everything carefully. I learned a lot about how to turn even the most corrupt system in on itself and forge something beneficient during my three decades in Celestia. The fortunes those two men lost have been given over to charities who actually do charitable work, to public schools and civil services--police, fire departments, even public hospitals--in desperate need of funding, and to deserving families driven poor by the machinations of others like the members of the Family. Punishment is long overdue.

Yet it's not their abuse of the masses, their horrid vices, or even their corrupt power that truly sets my teeth grinding. Rather it's bits and pieces of research I snagged during my efforts. Why they really snatched up Sherry. It's hard to tell just yet, but it points to efforts to combine the G-Virus variant she still carries with the T-Veronica Virus into something new. They've been at it for five years now if the notes are dated correctly, headed by someone called C. Radames, and a version has already been synthesized. Brief mentions of Chrysalids, always capitalized, and of rapid mutations in living hosts who retain most of their intellects. I'm guessing they call this new bio-weapon the C-Virus. I won't know for sure until I fully hack their files and grab what I can. It sickens me to think someone else besides Wesker would be actively pursuing a newer, more potent Virus. As if he and his partnership with TriCell wasn't bad enough; now there's a cabal of rich scumbags doing similar things?

The BSAA won't, legally, be able to do a thing with any information I dig up by hacking computer systems and shaking down people. But it would give us a leg up when--not if--it hits the fan. I'm too jaded to believe there won't be more bio-terror incidents. Especially something that goes worldwide.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Nov. 6, 2006)
It's been a quiet couple of months, save for the anxiety of the search for Jill and my own work on digging up anything and everything I can on the Family, Simmons, and Radames. But today is a day of mourning first and last. The search for Jill has been called off and she's been declared officially dead. What sickens me is that I know she's not dead; she's in the hands of Wesker and TriCell and there's not a damn thing I can do to prove it. Brief glimpses and flashes in my crystal ball when they let their guard down showed that they've found an interesting side effect of T-Virus antibodies meeting with Uroboros: the creation of a chemical that heightens the speed and strength of the human body to superhuman levels. Only it doesn't work for long; about ten seconds at most. Computer files indicate they've solved this by creating an enclosed colony of antibodies and Uroboros, as well as the inclusion of a lesser Plaga to allow for total mental control. If Jill is still conscious then she must be in sheer hell.

Chris is taking this whole affair especially hard. He's returned to duty, but refuses to work with any partner. It's classic guilt mixed with self-destructive tendencies. We've seen things that no one should, faced things that should not exist, and somehow managed to retain our sanity. But it looks like he's giving up. He hates bio-organic weapons more than ever and is dedicated to the BSAA's cause like few others. But he has this thousand-yard stare that screams, "Kill me." He's not the kind to kill himself, but if he dies in the line of duty so be it. Despite my urging to put him on leave pending a full psychological exam, the talking heads have refused. I really should know better than to try and get anything from bureaucrats.

As for myself, I've picked up parkour again to pass the time as I wait for whatever assignments are sent my way. For being on active duty I'm not exactly "active." Aside from illegal intelligence gathering. And hiring someone for their track record of getting the job done and done cleanly. In some of Simmons' files I found records of his dealings with Ada Wong, including an obsession with her that exceeds the maniacal. He is well and truly over the edge and into the depths. I find this more than a little scary as he's even attempting to clone her using the C-Virus and other women as "seeds." So far over three-thousand have been tried and each was a disaster. He won't stop until he succeeds or dies. If Ms. Wong is aware of her ex-employer's sick fixation it could work in negotiating her fees. Or it could drive the price up.

Both Kyra and Sarah are glade I'm home afternoons and weekends on a regular basis. Though I'd sooner be doing something more proactive in the war on BOWs. Which is unlikely for the forseeable future. Things have kind of hit a lull as we all wait for the next disaster to hit. Many of the vets in the BSAA describe this like being in active duty on the front. Periods of sheer and utter boredom punctuated by times of absolute terror and adrenaline highs. Now I know why so many modern soldiers can't cut it in civilian life; one gets so used to the constant action it's very hard to adjust to the quiet life. Only this isn't the quiet life; I'm just waiting for the next disaster to hit. And preparing for it with the best weapon possible: foreknowledge.

Si vis pacem para bellum.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Jan. 4, 2007)
Things have been quiet in the BSAA. Too quiet. Even the most green recruits feel like something is going on but no one knows what. That's what worries me. If the pattern of biohazards and bio-terror incidents holds true then we're overdue for another. The longer something doesn't go bad, the worse it is when it finally does. I'd sooner deal with many small fires than a huge one that much harder to contain.

Kyra thinks I'm being paranoid. Maybe I am. But just in case I've been calling on favors in the BAU to build a working profile of Excella Gionne and Derek Simmons, reinforcing key defenses of the old RBCU base, and even contacting one of the world's most renowned industrial spies: Ada Wong. Normally I'm loathe to leave such delicate work to others, but I'm too visible and my skills aren't on par with hers when it comes to maneuvering the corporate world. Naturally her skills do not come cheap; five-figure numbers are just the start with six-digits not uncommon. To impress how deeply I need her to go, and how exacting I need her work to be, I paid her five-million dollars; half up front, half when she finishes, all of it untraceable in a Cayman Islands account. In working with mercenaries in the past I've found money speaks louder than words. Certainly it impressed her as to the gravity of what I was searching for, especially since I took every precaution I could think of to disguise myself, my voice, and where I was contacting her from if she traced me. She must have tried; she got a look on her face that said she knew I was not an amateur at this cloak-and-dagger bull.

Given the liberal timeline I don't expect her to contact me again with the goods for months or even a year or more. In the meantime I've started to train with the troops in CQC, polishing up unarmed skills I've not used for a while. Plus I've been logging in time at the range with the Sun Gun, even commissioning a high-powered scope utilizing low-light and thermographics. It was a nightmare back during the Las Plagas outbreak trying to use my binoculars; this time I'm not going to be caught unprepared.

Chris...well, there's no easy way to say it but to say it. The man firmly believes Jill is still alive and throws himself into every mission on the slim hope of finding some clue about her. I would be remiss if I didn't confess my part in his zeal. When I told him that he was right, that Jill was alive but concealed even from my powers, he grasped that idea as if his life depended on it and is still riding me to find out more. Three metafaculty attempts and all I see is a darkness so dark it's like looking into a total, absolute void. What I believe is how my mind processes the Red Death in an understandable way. It's blocking every attempt to locate her and I'm terrified of getting so close to a force that is such pure evil even the powers of the Lower Planes exiled it in terror. The only other entity to suffer a similar fate is Tharizdun. If the Red Death is even a fraction as powerful as that mad god, I would sooner have my soul obliterated than dare risk drawing its attentions further.

His path is one of impatience and frustration. Just a decade ago I would have joined him. Yet in recent years I've felt myself...mellow, for lack of a better word. In recounting my years I realize I've hit what my race considers middle age. We don't deteriorate physically but our minds do grow with age. It was so subtle I didn't even realize the change. Instead of raging against Fate I chose to stack the deck in my favor every way possible. It's not as immediately satisfying but it also isn't as quick to fade when satisfaction finally is obtained. I liken things now to a game of Go as Chairman Mao envisioned it when he forced his officers to master it. It's a game even more cerebral than chess and is quite psychologically revealing. Everything I've done is a stone on the board with my current efforts being liberties given and the actions of those I call enemies being their own moves. By countering their moves and forcing them into the proverbial corner their own psychology will betray them when their final move was already anticipated long before.

Chris is right about one thing, though. This spate of inactivity is all wrong. It's illegally acquired and thus unable to be used, but the reports of inhumane treatment in the Kijuju Autonomous Zone are piling up in the TriCell computers' trash bins. Worse still are reports of experiments on the local Ndipya tribes that make up the majority of native workers in the Zone. None of it says much on the face of it, but reading between the lines I find it disturbing. What has an adherence rate of zero to women and young children? A new Virus? New, genetically engineered Plagas? And why has TriCell begun to import so many new foreign workers? For that matter, why has TriCell suddenly begun turning away UN relief aid? The Graham problem may be out of the way and the BSAA autonomous of the White House and Congress, but we still have to dance to the tunes of our major funders: the same corporations that lost control to the UN.

I think it's time I read the entire Natural History Conspectus again. I've no doubt TriCell is up to something with the Progenitor. Worse still, I fear that "Uroboros" was spawned by the Progenitor. A pure strain of the Virus that started everything...it's a Pandora's Box that should never be opened. The ancient Ndipya knew it and that's why they sealed it away. I hope Kyra's right about me just being paranoid. The alternative is too horrifying to consider.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, June 7, 2007)
So little has actually happened in the months since my last entry that it feels weird to start up again. The BAU came through on Excella Gionne, but not Simmons. Apparently Eurotrash--and I do mean that--aristocrats don't consider the FBI--nay, the United States as a whole--as any real threat to their secrets. Or maybe it was the fact she was so high up in TriCell. Regardless, a flash drive containing an encrypted file that took up half the space on it was delivered by an agent from the Salt Lake offices. That they would encrypt the file, much less deliver it by hand, says they're scared of what they found out. After reading the preliminary notes I could see why.

Born in 1983, Excella has good looks, a keen mind, wealth, and a haughty streak that would cover all of Europe and parts of the Middle East and northern Africa. She breezed through school and attended college at the age of 13. She graduated with a Ph.D. in genetic engineering in just five years and was made head of TriCell Africa. She perceives this as a slight and vents her own frustrations on the locals, considering them less than insects. Her amorality seems to be a part of her upbringing; some European nobles like to pretend it's still the Dark Ages and a person without blue blood is just a toy at best. Since she's always gotten what she wanted in life it was a shock, and a major attraction, when she met one man who seemed immune to her charms: Albert Wesker! The earliest records of any association between them are only a few months old.

Wesker has apparently been trying to prove the value of the Plagas by using the G-Virus to create a second strain that mutates its host in mere seconds instead of requiring days to hatch and mature. This "Type 2" Plaga is apparently also capable of withstanding sunlight but not the intense light of a flash grenade. Rumors of a "Type 3" are simply too numerous to discount. They apparently want even stronger soldiers and have been using the Ndipaya tribes near Kijuju as test subjects. Adherence in women and children is supposedly zero percent, resulting in a painful and messy death, so only older teen boys and men are viable subjects. The genocide of a people just for scientific experiments. If it didn't fit so well with the two's views of others I'd be shocked and horrified. Instead I'm just plain horrified and sickened.

There's also a report on Excella's subordinate, Ricardo Irving, and his making numerous trips to Kijuju as well; a section of the file is on him. By all accounts the man's an arrogant little coward but also a genius in genetic engineering. TriCell has definitely located the cave where the ancient Ndipaya worshipped the "Stairway to the Sun," what they called the flower of that holds the Progenitor Virus. After re-reading all of Natural History Conspectus I've learned that this flower was first used by the tribe as a way of choosing who was to lead them. But in time they stopped and sealed the ruins they'd built. Umbrella found those ruins according to records and all attempts to mass produce the Virus failed. It's possible there's something about the cave they grow in that gives rise to the Progenitor. But without access to the cave I can't be sure. So the only thing to do was to setup a lab in the cave itself. That's likely where Irving has been going.

Then there's an image of someone--a woman by the looks of it--in a mask with a pointed beak wearing a cloak. That could very well be Jill, but I'm unwilling to say so one way or the other at this point.

Excella's psych profile reads as a narcissistic sociopath not unlike Wesker but with one key difference: Her attraction to Wesker has led her to confide in him. He's using her and I pity her for whatever fate awaits when she's outlived her usefulness. Much of what I already profiled is just being confirmed. Ricardo Irving is new, though, as is the mystery woman in the mask. What I've read earlier from stolen files now makes a whole lot more sense, though. And that just frustrates me. Here is proof that TriCell is engaged in illegal research, genocide, and human experimentation. But it was obtained outside the law and is not admissible to the UN Security Council or to the BSAA. All it does is tell me where to direct the proper people to look. And wait. That's the hardest part. I know what's going on and I'm helpless to stop it. TriCell, like any major corporation, has a security force with military-grade training and equipment, but it's the spin control that would do the most damage. In this world, image is everything. If I act independent of the BSAA then TriCell could easily spin the situation to their favor by saying I'm just some anti-corporate vigilante harming a perfectly innocent company. Or worse, drag the BSAA into this and damage their reputation.

Somebody once told me, "You can't save the whole world. Just your corner of it." It's time I did something like that. Even if it does mean going above the bureaucracy called "law" in this country.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

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(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Aug. 19, 2007)
"Turn over a rock and expect to see vermin." I can't remember when I first heard that truism but I should have kept it in mind. In trying to improve my own corner of the world I found more than I had anticipated. Humans are flawed, imperfect beings. I'm not all that different; in some ways I'm worse. I took up the paths of the illumine soul and illithid slayer not just out of fear of both the undead and mind flayers but hate. Raw, unmitigated hate. And alongside that hate is rage. A white-hot fire that burns hot enough to turn solid steel in to plasma. Once I held it in check with the knowledge that there were lines I wouldn't cross. Now, after slaying an already-dead family headed by a zombie lord, I find myself haunted by it. Guilt is the companion of the righteous. The proper things are never easy to do and, while I know only a sociopath feels no remorse, it's still a miserable thing. Worse still is that the masques that hid the truth from others faded with true death. The authorities can't ignore the fact that this family was dead for weeks even when they were seen out and about the day before. It hurt to do it, but it had to be done.

Yet nothing came of it. Those who asked questions, those who dared investigate, all silenced by one means or another. It's not just humanity's unwillingness to acknowledge the hidden truth at work. It's hard not to see too much as technology outpaces the creatures of the night. Yet somehow the truth is covered up, buried, or discredited as tabloid stories. This is hardly news to me. I've known for years the world is unwilling to acknowledge the monsters--both mundane and otherwise--that exist. So why did I even hope that this would have an impact?

Sarah said I was going stir crazy. Exactly like prisoners do. The manic-depressive mood swings, the actions that could be called "antisocial" by those who can't--or won't--see the monsters we live alongside, she made too much sense. And it's not just me; others in the BSAA have begun to show similar symptoms. Even when they're active with inspections, investigations, or even the odd minor biohazard. Someone doesn't dispose of hospital waste properly or an outbreak of the measles or a flu variant. Nothing big. At least nothing that the Powers That Be want publicized. The incident on the Queen Zenobia in 2005 which Chris and Jill were part of, major busts of the sales of bio-weapons to radical elements in Eastern Europe, South America, and the Middle East, a near miss when some terrorist group in Israel botched deployment of the T-Virus and ended up using improvised incendiaries to try to cover it up (I hear Mossad took extra "care" with them). And even signatories of the UN like the United States covering up their own messes using internal agencies like the Federal Biohazard Commission.

Chris is right. We should be a lot busier than we are. I'm tired of playing by rules that someone who doesn't know the first thing about biochemistry, epidemiology, evolutionary biology, and genetic engineering, but knows politics--the game played by those too stupid to play anything else--makes. The UN is only as strong as the countries who are members allow it to be, and so is the BSAA as a result. Imbawe shares my feelings, as do millions of agents all over the world from Tokyo to LA, Iceland to South Africa. We're sick of being told what we can and can't do when we all took a solemn oath to fight biohazards and bio-terrorism.

I write this as a declaration of shadow war. We will systematically undermine, expose, and bring down those who represent us and yet stymie our efforts. Bio-weapons don't care about political borders, diplomacy, or anything about their victims. To fight them, and those who use them, we must be free to follow both wherever they go. This isn't about just one city, one state, or even one country. We're talking about things that could destroy the world as surely as any nuclear weapon could. If the people won't acknowledge the harsh realities, so be it.

That's why they created us, after all.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Sept. 1, 2007)
Both the BAU and Ada Wong have delivered more packets, but I haven't had the time to read them. What's come to be called "Operation: Debridement" is turning up a lot of corporate spies, political deadweights, and scandals that many would prefer never see the light of day. A panel of the UN has been forced to try several of the BSAA's leaders for sponsoring terrorism, breaches of international business accords, and even crimes against humanity for hosting research into things like the T-Abyss, the Virus that Chris and Jill faced on the Queen Zenobia. In particular has been TriCell, particularly TriCell Africa, who has been working overtime to hide an array of violations.

Some of the leaders have actually fled, forcing us to track them down and bring them back to face justice. On political and corporate levels the BSAA is seen as dangerous and unpredictable. To the average person we're doing more to advance our stated purpose than we've ever done. Trust in national governments and international corporations has hit an all-time low, however. An independent boycott of major companies and impeachments in several countries has begun to hit the international economy. Thus we've been forced to "grease the wheels" to speed things along by appointing local, regional, and national leaders of our own choosing. More than once at the point of a gun. This has prevented many of the same issues that caused this and allowed us the breathing room to do our jobs. But I doubt it's going to do much to stop corruption from coming back. That will require constant vigilance.

Then there's the fact that we're sponsored by the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium and this has made them nervous. Since the events that prompted this have been national in origin they aren't seeing many of the same sweeping changes in jurisdictional authority regarding when the BSAA can intervene as nations are. I fear it will require something on par with another Raccoon City or Queen Zenobia for that to happen. Then there have been policy changes Chris, Jill, and I fought hard for that were never implemented. Moral questionnaires, psych evaluations, contracts far more stringent in regards to national and corporate funding so groups like the GPC can't just pull out without fear of retribution if we uncover misdeeds among its members. I drafted those myself using every legal trick I learned in Baator's courts acting as an advocate for wrongly damned souls.

So much change in such a short time has caused us on the ground to work overtime to make sure everything is done as smoothly and efficiently as possible. I can't speak for offices in the rest of the States, but the Southwest BSAA Offices have managed to finish everything in record time. Now the military can't deny us access to the Tooele Chemical Weapons Depot without severe repercussions. We've successfully seen everything from anthrax to the Zaire strain of Ebola incinerated into its constituent elements at last. The military is not happy, but word of their secret stockpiles getting out would lead to far worse consequences than what we've been given permission to do. The Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention would bring down the wrath of the world for violations. The US as a country would be boycotted by every signatory state, assets seized without recourse, defense treaties shredded, the States would be ruined both economically and militarily. Thus it's better to take a hit to their pride and paranoia rather than take down the country.

Meanwhile the rest of the world is in a lurch. The BSAA as a whole has been more active in the past few weeks than in the entire past few years. Rogue states, terrorist groups, black markets, all have been hit hard with precision strikes and countless BOWs seized and destroyed. For all that we've done, though, that hasn't made as big a dent as any of us would hope. There is still a lot out there, sometimes hidden by corporate aegis, that we haven't found. Then there are the secret deals being made by those same corporations with various countries to develop BOWs to compensate for the financial hit of the civilian boycott. If we uncover them the parties involved in brokering the deals are expendable assets. Infinitely deniable and unable to be traced back to those involved. Par for the course, really. In that sense nothing has changed.

Finishing what has snowballed into a serious restructuring will take time, work, and persistence. In a weird way the comparison of debridement to what is going on is apt; we're cutting out the rot and leaving the healthy parts behind to heal and grow stronger.

Once this is done and I can find the time I need to see what the FBI and Ada Wong have dug up on Simmons, TriCell, and everything else. Some part of me dreads what I'll find out.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Oct. 29, 2007)
The restructuring of the BSAA has taken on a life of its own and only now is a large part of why becoming apparent as formerly-classified files are now made accessible. I've been promoted from a position of lieutenant to captain but remain very much a field officer, as well, and thus have far greater access to files as well. The Terragrigia Panic in '04, the FBC, the Queen Zenobia in '05, Lansdale, everything that's been kept covered up even to the BSAA is now there for most senior officials to go over. Suddenly I have a much clearer picture of the conflict between the BSAA and the now-defunct FBC. America, trying once more to play "World Cop" when it can't even clean up its own backyard, caused the Terragrigia Panic by outfitting Il Veltro with the T-Abyss Virus, gear, deployment methods, and even three cruise ships to use as secret bases. Only the US--or rather, Lansdale--turned on Il Veltro and infected all three ships with the T-Abyss Virus so FBC scientists could develop a vaccine. Only Il Veltro had kept records of their negotiations that BSAA Director O'Brian found out about. So he staged a fake Veltro resurrection and lured Lansdale out, sending Chris, Jill, and their partners--including FBC mole Jessica Sherawat, who was killed in action--for good measure. In the end the FBC was exposed, Lansdale was arrested and then convicted of negotiating with terrorists, crimes against humanity, and illegal biological research. Ten consecutive life sentences without the chance of parole. The man deserved death! It's just a waste of resources to house criminals until they die of old age. But then people think it's more humane to let convicts live. Most of them have never experienced prison firsthand, obviously.

International outcry against the US, coupled with domestic outcry after Graham's refusal to let the BSAA investigate the Harvardville Incident, has done more to increase the aegis of the BSAA then Operation: Debridement has. It was the spark that set off reforms long being discussed. We merely did the hard part of ousting the garbage running things. The GPC, perhaps afraid of what they'll face if we turn our eyes on them, has been making "donations" of arms, equipment, and a good deal of professional staff. Naturally all three are being put through the wringer to determine we aren't surprised again. After it was revealed that the Genesis Scanners' "Synchrotron Radiation" was actually gamma radiation that caused cancer in anyone who used it more than a few months at most we've come to distrust anything a corporation gives us. Smaller, safer, and more effective scanners using alpha radiation from ionized helium are in development but may take years to see field use. The GPC is lucky they were only forced to compensate for damages and didn't have their assets nationalized.

Though the public remains unaware of most of this, America's name is still mud in the eyes of the international community. At the turn of the century people were just beginning to become frustrated with the States. Now, even after the World Trade Center attacks, we're hated even by those we call allies. Not that our "allies" have a much better reputation. The rift between the First and Third Worlds is growing exponentially. Aggravated by groups like TriCell, of course.

Things are also looking bad at home. Banks have begun to raise mortgage rates sporadically and a few homes here and there have been foreclosed when the families couldn't meet the new rates the banks imposed. As the economic bubble threatens to burst the worst in people come out and already there's been a spike in violent crime across the country. Gas prices are rising and show no signs of stopping, resulting in higher prices on everything else as a result of the trucking-based distribution system. Needless wars in the Middle East raising the deficit. The stage is set for a Second Great Depression unless something is done. People do really stupid things whenever they panic. Things that will keep the BSAA on high-alert as the truly bad elements take full advantage. It's too easy to buy the necessary equipment and even starter cultures for diseases thanks to the Internet and the black market. We've already busted dozens of tiny would-be anarchists brewing up epidemics in their basements. Most of them don't know the first thing about how to properly handle biohazards. Half of them have ended up infecting themselves when they made critical errors. As things get worse it's a statistical fact we'll see more of this as folks do desperate things.

I still haven't looked at any of the packets. And more are on their way. I just pray that what I read I can prepare for before anything big happens.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Dec. 23, 2007)
I've just finished reading and digesting everything that the BAU and Ada found on Simmons, Radames, and the Family. Apart they don't tell a very coherent story but together they fill in all sorts of gaps and paint a very dark picture. The reach of the Family is terrifying, with fingers in all manner of pies. Including the OSA. They know about the Office and the decidedly nonhuman beings working there. Worst of all is a partial profile on Kyra, before she began to adopt all of my own methods for staying under the radar. Granted it's nearly six years out of date but the fact they're aware of her makes my blood run ice cold. I've no doubts of her ability to take care of herself but I worry all the same. They can subject me to whatever they want and I could let it roll off my back. But threaten the woman I love and I'll acquiesce instantly. Had I known they were aware of us...

The Family also plays a far larger role in many national and international events than I'd thought or dared guess. The Kijuju Autonomous Zone, Umbrella's search for the Progenitor Virus, even the efforts of Wesker are all being manipulated on some level by the Family. It was also from them that the Swiss bank account I managed to siphon half the funds out of belongs. They are still confused by that and it hurt them more than anything else in over a century of existence. So much so they've taken to defending their funds by distributing them across several smaller if still ludicrously large accounts. That may prove to be a bigger mistake than pooling everything as before. I could write up smart bots that could attack dozens of accounts at once each, sucking the money out through signals bounced across thousands of servers, and distribute it to far more deserving groups before they could mount an effective defense. Where that money came from would no doubt be a question some would ask but it would put them in hot water with other groups. Criminal syndicates like the Vory v Zakone, Yakuza, Triads, La EME, and of course many of the larger corporations and even national states. When their method of control is gone it's not so easy to manipulate the puppets.

But that's far too ambitious a project for me to take on alone. Not to mention the instability that it would cause. No, far better to focus on Simmons alone for now. Him and his pet researcher, Carla Radames. His sick obsession with Ada Wong has blinded him to her own infatuation, which is why she has performed over six-thousand different experiments utilizing her new C-Virus to try to create a complete mutation that is a mirror for Wong. So far all her experiments have done is create a veritable menagerie of monsters. Based on the research files they need someone who is a close genetic match for Ada if this insanity is to succeed. But they lack a sample of her DNA to compare anything to, so it's still very much shooting in the dark.

The sheer scope of Simmons's narcissism would easily match Wesker's. Although he plays the loyal Family member, he's more akin to a rogue element and they seem to be aware that he's an extreme liability. Normally the Family seems to back each other up in everything to avoid justice. But Simmons is proving to be too unstable. Furthermore his own secret projects to recreate Ada somewhere in China have rubbed the Family the wrong way. Less because of his activities and more because he associates with communists as a result. Despite that he's a nationalist who will do anything--anything--to protect the United States from perceived threats. What exactly is a "threat" is debatable. Given his role in using nuclear missiles to wipe Raccoon off the face of the map it's a fair bet any public announcement of the government's involvement in Umbrella's research would be considered a major threat. How far he's willing to go in protecting the US is what I worry about. Even I can't guess as to the lengths he'd go.

Then we have Carla Radames and her own amoral research that has created the Chrysalis Virus by hybridizing the neutralized G-Virus from Sherry's blood with the T-Veronica Virus. If introduced into a subject via primary infection (direct injection) it increases their physical toughness to truly superhuman levels without destroying their intellects. Monsters that can use guns, perfect. But if the subject is sufficiently damaged the Virus causes mutations based on the part it has to fully regenerate: legs, arms, torso, or head. Further not all subjects mutate into the same creature. Some regenerate on the spot while others enter a chrysalis state and literally metamorphose into something entirely different. Just like a caterpillar. Apparently the chrysalis is extremely tough but not invulnerable; sufficient damage can kill the monster forming inside.

Exactly how to produce the C-Virus is something she hasn't let anyone else know. This seems to be to make herself indispensable to Simmons. Fortunately it also limits the chances of anyone ever recreating it. The few notes Ada Wong was able to procure about its creation are hardly an extensive blueprint mapping out what to do and when. Plus the fact it requires the neutralized G-Virus from Sherry Birkin's body only further limits its creation. But why her, specifically? I thought the vaccine Claire administered had killed off the G-Virus completely? Or did it merely stop her from mutating and instead create some sort of symbiotic bond? That's a thought I'd sooner not entertain.

From everything I've read there seems to be a serious clash of personalities with access to what is easily the most dangerous weapon created since the atomic bomb. How long it will take for all of this to come to a head is unknown. Days? Weeks? Years? This is all so much to take in I need time to put it all into perspective. Plus there is the more immediate threat of TriCell and Wesker to worry about. They're up to something. The problem is no one knows what. With the G-Virus and Las Plagas to play with, not to mention this Uroboros thing, they're the more active threat at the moment. It would be nice to simply storm the KAZ and find out but the area is technically a corporate zone, not part of Nigeria. The BSAA has no jurisdiction over such things. Yet I'm all too willing to bet something will happen to change that soon enough.

I think I've written enough for now. It's the holidays. A time to rejoice and celebrate the good things in life! Not worry about what may come.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Gothic Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpt from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Draper, UT, Jan. 18, 2008)
I put in for a temporary transfer from Special Operations to R&D, given that none of the missions currently available call for Special Ops agents and a desire to study what the BSAA has acquired and designed in terms of new gear. Other than fairly crude smartphones with GPS there isn't that much to help agents find their way or examine things in the field. At least not since the Genesis Scanner was shelved after the cancer cases. Nothing the corporations have introduced since has even been considered. The mistrust for them is growing daily and it's straining relations with our biggest contributor, the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium.

Every Virus we've encountered to date, as well as Las Plagas, have been mapped genetically and the files on any research by other agencies sorted with a fine-toothed comb. A few theories I'd come up with were close to the truth but missing critical parts. The insect-like Novistadors were once human, not insects, and had mutated into such without outside tampering. Most people are aware that humans and chimpanzees share ninety-nine percent of the same DNA, but few realize that they still share ninety-five percent of the same DNA as virtually all other natural life on the planet dating back to the primordial soup. Encoded in human DNA is everything needed to turn into something else if the genes are activated. But such transformations require the DNA literally be rewritten. That is what the Viruses and Plagas do.

Only the transformations are imperfect, prone to flaws that lead to cancer, and ultimately limited by the mutagen. The T-, T-Veronica, and T-Abyss can manage one transformation at best. The G-Virus is potentially unlimited but also uncontrollable. In each I found the same organelle in the cells I did years ago. A mitochondria-like thing that balances positive and negative energies. For a primary infection (direct injection) the organelle is undamaged and thus can change the RNA and DNA of the host. This organelle is also highly susceptible to oxygen--with the exception of the T-Abyss in water--and the positive energy half dies when exposed. Without that half all the Viruses can do is turn the host into a zombie. So far all forms can't be aerosolized and require a liquid medium to survive if not injected directly; this explains the lack of zombies on the Queen Zenobia as the victims were technically primary infections. Common pollutants in air, including carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, nitrogen dioxide, and other carcinogens will kill the Viruses with exposures measured in the parts per billionth. I find that ironic.

But Las Plagas are another matter. They aren't susceptible to oxygen or pollutants, but light--as brief and bright as a flash-bang--will kill the parasite instantly. Sunlight is likewise lethal. They're also unable to exist for more than a few minutes outside a host, something I didn't suspect. Two forms--much like castes in insects--exist: Control and Worker. Saddler had a Control Plaga, able to control those infected with Worker Plagas without speaking. Current theories are that it was a pheromone, but I distinctly remember a weak telepathic buzzing when Kyra and I investigated. If not for the limited ability this telepathy has I'd be worried that the Red Death had access to true psionics. That seems to be limited to the T-Veronica Virus, but takes over a decade to "mature" in a host body. Margin of error is thirteen to fifteen years for full maturation. Not that useful for creating psionic pawns.

As for field agent gear, much of our work is being done by the world's military-industrial complex. What we're focusing on is specialized gear for handling bio-weapons outbreaks. So far the oldest solution of "shoot it until it's dead" seems to be the most effective. Only most BOWs are stronger than humans and take substantially more ammo to kill unless hit in vulnerable areas or using what a creature is especially weak against. Even the Genesis Scanner didn't do that. Designs for new scanners that can do just that are being bandied about but none are feasible. The technology is just not available in handheld form. Using the Genesis Scanner's workings as a template it's not impossible to create something far less dangerous and more intensive, but my original idea for alpha radiation has to be scrapped; paper can block alpha particles. Instead we're going back to what the corporations claimed they'd used: synchrotron radiation. The problem is that true synchrotron radiation requires a particle accelerator or a device simply known as a wriggler that is still too large for field use. The Genesis Scanner itself created synchrotron radiation, but not such alone. It still emits the base gamma radiation in quantities equivalent to a dirty bomb.

Work on miniaturizing wrigglers to something small enough to be used in man-portable form is the only way to go. A stop-gap measure is to create kits that can analyze tissue samples taken from BOWs for a full genetic profile. It's not suitable for combat use but could be used to gather intel on the strengths and weaknesses of BOWs that could be relayed to the arrays that SO agents use. That may be the best solution until the technology catches up. Knowing what to use would save men and materiel, not to mention cut costs. Something the talking heads would love.

For now our biggest concern is TriCell and their expeditions into Ndipaya ruins. They clearly know about the Progenitor Virus but seem to be struggling to find the subterranean caverns where the flowers grow. That's something else I missed in comparing the notes Umbrella had. Their efforts to transplant the flowers were successful, but the resulting plants didn't have the Virus. Nothing they tried worked. I'm of a mind to agree with the researchers; it's something about the area the flowers grow in naturally that gives rise to the Progenitor. Going by the changes described in the legends I have my suspicions. But if true, it's a corruption that simply should not exist! Certainly there aren't any signs of "her" visitation in the fossil records. Or maybe there are and they're just not being released...

I'm praying I'm wrong, but my instincts are telling me otherwise.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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