My head aches, shivers come and go, my hands quiver from exhaustion, and I constantly feel short of breath and the difficulty my heart has with each pump it musters. My ailments have left my head swimming, and my handwriting must be barely legible as I fight off the shaking to make this record. It seems to be all that I can do to keep myself calm. The last thing I need to do is panic, and if that means writing nonsense until I come back to my senses, then so be it.

I am currently resting on a sofa. This sofa is within a wooden cabin. That cabin appears to be in a forest. This forest is in a country that I do not know the name of. That country is on a world that I am currently uncertain whether or not I am familiar with. Hopefully, by taking this step-by-step, I can get across to both you and I exactly what my current situation is.

I just paused my writing for something notable that will probably cause you to bring my sanity into question. A yellow horse with a swoopy pink mane just approached me from a back room and tossed a blanket over me while I sat here. When the creature saw that I was awake, it squeaked and quickly retreated up a stairwell in the corner. I am now alone again. I need a moment to calm down before my handwriting loses all legibility.

Returning my focus, I need to recount the happenings that led to my current state of disorientation. My day began with another venture into the dense forestry surrounding the library to continue my search. To be honest, the morning was spent with hours of aimless wandering and continuously checking my internal pedometer to ensure that I was not meandering my way too far from my supplies left back in the library. It was somewhere near the turn of noon when my curiosity began to get the best of me. My eyes continued to draw me to the image of the white blooms amongst the purple buds adorning each tree trunk I passed. The itching to know if the coincidence of their direction had any purpose drove me to finally accept my madness, and with a single sigh, I allowed the vibrant roses to guide me through my trek. These coordinated flowers were not purposeless, however, as they led me to the greatest discovery of my journey yet.

The body of the reputable and infamous Agent Omega, prior cult leader of the Wildern Evangelists.

The stories we have heard of him from followers and eyewitness accounts attest to how he had become more machine than man in his lifetime. A man by the name of Thomas Parcey suffered a terrible incident that had taken place in his young adulthood, and to survive, he was pieced back together with advanced cybernetics and prosthetics to make him ambulatory and functional once again. Some called him a miracle of medical science, while many others could only see him as an abomination brought back from the dead via technomancy, yet all of the files recorded by the researchers and investors alike simply called him Agent Alpha. I believe the news stories following his future death recounted the tale of what happened to him after his “resurrection”. He had been left with a staggering and impossible debt after the procedures and it forced him to submit to indentured servitude for the governmental powers. They stationed him on the planet’s surface for this reclamation project to handle the harsh environments and speed the clearing of the land. During his duty, commanders reported him as AWOL, and it was not until years later that the name Agent Omega began to circulate around Terriel. The tale behind the name change is that they called him Agent Alpha with the intent of him being their first creation, but he dubbed himself Agent Omega, for he would be their last. Like many who returned from the reclamation project, he too had slipped into a manic state. The few attempts to have him committed to a mental health institution were thwarted by his dangerous implants and law enforcement was left at a loss. Soon the downtrodden and crazies alike started to flock to his underground meetings to listen to sermons that have been said to be full of propaganda announcing the evils of technology and its enforcers. The Wildern Evangelists were born, and their wave of terrorism became a constant concern to anyone among Terriel’s soils who could see the irrationality of his stance.

I was left staring down at the shell that was once called Agent Omega at my feet. This monster that had been trapped in limbo between mortal and machine was nothing more than a corpse and scrap metal. Most of the flesh on the body had decomposed over the years that had passed since his encounter with Markus Prodder, and the cybernetics that had kept him alive for so long were cracked and compromised by invading plant growth that bore into the chassis. The only reason I was able to identify him at all was by the iconic weapon that lay nearby: A belt-fed chain gun. It too was in irreparable condition, having been warped and sundered by what must have been a tremendous force until it was nothing more than a lump of metal that barely resembled a massive firearm. From the half-emptied belt still left anchored within, I was able to retrieve an unused cartridge. I plan to keep it as a memento. Why? Because I could feel my chest swell a bit with a sense of pride when I looked upon the rubble and the remains. It posed the question to me that perhaps I was of the same stock and blood that could do this. That I might inherit such a legacy of heroism.

My father was nowhere to be seen amongst the remnants of their battle that lie on the forest floor.

I had thought that must mean that he is still alive, and I immediately began to journey back to the library to collect my belongings. There was a chance that he was still somewhere nearby and I had just been walking past him this whole time. If he could survive not only his combat with such a monster, but also the plummet from Terriel that finished off his foe, then nothing in this forest could have the mettle to end him. I would have started calling his name to see if he would respond, yet the fear of what unwanted attention that might draw to me kept me silent until I had my supplies handy to better prepare for such a confrontation.

When I made it back to the library, I was shocked to find something missing from the room I had slept in the night before. The padlock that held the trunk securely closed just hours ago had vanished! That I should look inside of it was only a passing thought I had when I noticed this fact, but I forced the impulse down. Instead I threw open my backpack on the floor and started to stuff some books into it for later perusal. What would I find in my backpack when I went to open it ? A rat. Yes, a rat had snuck into my belongings! It was sleeping in the darkness of my bag before I rudely awakened it with a shocked gasp and tossed the bag away in a startle.

The creature crawled out after being tossed across the room, shaking off a dazed stagger in its gait. It was a white rat with a soft pink nose and tail, and dark red eyes that began to watch me closely once it had regained its bearings. The head bobbed up and down a few times, scrutinizing every last detail of me while its nose twitched to catch my scent. Minutes of tension passed as I feared the vermin would rush forward and try to bite me, as it was certain to be carrying any number of diseases. It never did, however, it simply watched and waited for me to take action. When I summoned the courage to step forward and retrieve my bag, its tail lashed out like a tiny whip to snap at my hand and force me to draw back. This action was repeated several times, until my frustration from being rebuked by a rodent brought me to speak. “Just what do you want from me?”

As though it knew what I had asked, the beast scurried through my legs and to the end of the bed, brushing its side across the closed and unlocked trunk. All I could gather was that it wanted me to open the foot locker, and with a hesitant shrug, I complied. Better than getting bitten, I assumed.

I am glad I heeded the request, for the most part. There were many objects crammed into the chest that might have held sentiment to the owner who had once cherished it, but one item within it also stuck out and hushed me in awe: A ballistic shield. A board forged from thick plating with a clear, bulletproof viewport in it made for the singular purpose of protecting its wielder from gunfire. The shield lay there in a ruined heap amongst the meaningless objects, riddled with countless holes where repeated deflections had worked their way through and chunks of it torn clear away from where the piercings had become too many. The metal was warped so that the handle and arm straps within were unable to be used, and the clear viewport had been cracked and partially removed. In red paint across the front, there were only a few letters left that had not been marred by holes or scratched away by shrapnel, but it was clear what they had once intended to read: Mongrel’s Stand

I was looking at a relic that must have once belonged to Markus Prodder.

The only thing I could think to do was drag my bag over and try to cram the shield in to keep it with me when I headed out to begin calling his name. There was an interruption, however, as I found the shield obscured from my view by a wide parchment rolled out atop of it by the white rat that still gazed up at me. What did it want exactly? As much as I tried to ignore the creature and swipe the paper away, the rat stood upon it and insisted that I look by giving a quiet hiss and nipping towards my hand when I would try to remove the barrier. Its tail tapped the parchment repeatedly in a single place, highlighting a group of words for me over and over again.

I did not have time for this. My father could have been walking away right then, only perhaps a hundred yards or so from my location, and I was held up by a stupid rodent with a meaningless scrap of paper it insisted I peer at. There was nothing intelligible on it, just cryptic images of diagrams that I could not begin to understand and archaic, foreign phrases I could not even guess what their meaning was. To finally appease the beast and return on my way, I pointed to the words along with its tail, and shouted them out loud at the little monster just to get across that I saw them already.

With a sigh of relief as it finally hopped down out of my sight, I swiped the paper away with one hand and reached with the other to grab the destroyed shield. A terror came over me immediately when I soon saw that this was impossible; my hand was gone. My whole arm! There was nothing there! The hand that held the silver band had just disappeared, leaving me with but a shoulder to stare at in horror. My other hand clutched for my backpack instinctively, but it was only seconds later that the dim lights of the candles left lit in the room dissipated, and darkness consumed my vision.

In what I can only describe as complete darkness, I felt my extremities begin to burn before the sensation smoldered into a prickly feeling of thousands of needles jabbing into them. The feeling crawled over my skin, creeping up my knees and elbows towards my torso. It traveled to my shoulders, my hips, my stomach, and finally to my chest. At the time that it reached my heart I struggled to gasp for a breath, but it felt that there was no air at all for me to draw in. As I panicked from the sensation of suffocation overtaking me, the prickling of disconnection reached up my neck and to my face. Once my head began throbbing from the feeling, the darkness split like a double door, and unspeakably bright colors of green, brown, and white flashed before my eyes. That is when I could finally feel my feet once more as they touched firm ground, followed by my knees, then my chest and finally my face as I collapsed right on the spot.

Pausing once again here as I have lost my focus. I caught a glimpse of the yellow horse and tried to ask it a question (like a damned fool – it's a horse, Benjamen! – it can't talk!), but it silently retreated up the stairwell again. I am a bit worried now since a frightened animal can be a very dangerous thing. I wonder if that horse's owner is going to be home soon. I find it impressive that they were able to teach the pony to do some servile tasks such as fetching blankets though. Perhaps the owner is the one that found me? Maybe they will know where I am?

Returning to my recount, I heaved and panted, barely hearing sirens in my head as my CCMI blared warnings and hissed with a strange static sound I have never known it to make before. No matter how quickly or how deeply I tried to draw in breaths, I just could not feel my chest stop its persistent burning as though I were drowning. I can only guess that whatever had happened to me had reset my CCMI’s respiratory assistance, and the atmosphere was just too light for me to draw any oxygen in from. As I suffocated, I looked up and saw what I thought to be a white rat bounding away from me with skittering hops. I tried to squeak out desperately for help. That is all I remember before I awoke with a startle and found myself lying on this sofa with my backpack resting at my feet and my journal folded neatly over my chest.

That is what my day has consisted of. At least I am led to believe it has been a day. Right now I can see through the windows that it is nighttime, and my chest still hurts a bit from the inadequate oxygen in the thin atmosphere here. Much more time could have passed while I was blacked out. I may have been unconscious for days. I will need to ask the owner of the cottage when I see them.

My hand is going numb from lack of circulation while I have been stressing it to write this, so I need to stop and rest. When I regain a bit more strength, sanity, or direction, I will attempt writing again.