Yo Sha Mo's Journal

April 7th: Greetings, friends. I have been forced to begin my journal anew, after a hard battle against a nameless horror with acid for blood that disintegrated my former records. We are, near as I can determine, somewhere within was once was the state of Iowa. I am sitting in the back of a rusty station wagon, attempting to write with a neat hand despite the best efforts of our reckless driver, potholes larger than tractor-trailers, and the fidgeting of a heavily armed seven-year-old child in the seat next me. I shall begin by recounting the events of the past few days…

I was a few days travel out of the scorched Badlands, and glad to leave those twisted cliffs and their resident devil bats behind. Traveling with me was one of the more curious individuals I have encountered. A young girl named Rat and I happened to take shelter from a passing Rattler in the same burnt-out wreckage, and have since been traveling together. I have grown somewhat accustomed to the hardened youth the years since the Apocalypse have produced, but finding a child bearing not only a sharpened hockey stick but several potent high-explosive devices was a bit disconcerting even for me. The girl seemed to possess preternaturally keen instincts about the world around, somehow sensing a pack of the living dead dwelling in some abandoned ruins even before the smell of decayed flesh reached us on the wind. I find that I have assumed somewhat of a protective and mentor’s role, teaching her what I know of the world that was- though how much protection a youth with several pounds of high-explosive strapped to her being needs is another question.

After traveling together a few days, we took shelter in a gas station for the night. My meditations the next morning were disturbed by the sound of a car pulling up outside. Keeping low and telling Rat to keep hidden, I investigated from the shadows. The driver, a hard case with deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and a shotgun within easy reach, stayed in the car. Another man, who I quickly surmised to be a junker by the array of blinking devices and techno-talismans adorning his being, began poking through the station. Stepping out of the shadows, and despite a misunderstanding involving a very large and ominous weapon aimed at my person, we quickly introduced ourselves and agreed to travel together. Safety in numbers, after all.

The junker’s named turned out to be Leonard, who spent the majority of the trip tinkering with the internals of some contraptions or another. The driver was a quiet sort, and gave no name as he wordlessly tore down the broken highway. After perhaps half a day’s travel through the flattened, brown grasses of the plains, a fierce storm began to brew on the horizon. Worse yet, it was gaining on us and I could hear the unearthly howls on the wind warning that this was no ordinary thunderstorm. We sped on, looking for shelter.

The storm was nearly upon us when an old grain silo loomed out of the growing darkness ahead. In the lightening flashes, I could read a sign proclaiming “Alan’s Last Resort”. We quickly pulled up and ran inside just as rain began to pour down in torrents. Inside, it was immediately obvious this was no ordinary farm structure. Aside from the lack of even the ruins of a farm around the silo, the gaping open shaft in the middle of the floor of the empty building belied the place’s true purpose. It appeared to have been a covert ballistic missile silo for the Northern Alliance. The shaft was empty, apparently having delivered its fearful payload on Judgment Day.
Approaching closer, we discovered a stairwell leading down the missile shaft. The sounds of activity and human voices echoed from below. After exchanging wary glances with my new companions, we descended. The stairs led to what seemed to have been a maintenance bay for the missile, but had been converted by its new occupants into a bar. A wooden bar and a few tables lay scattered around a room lined with computer screens and controls, most dark and still. The barkeep looked up as we entered and greeted us with a smile, though he eyed our weapons with some apprehension. Another fellow with a dull look in his eyes regarded us briefly, then returned to mournfully inspecting the bottom of his stained beer mug. Shouts and whoops drew my attention to the corner, where a dark-complexioned man was furiously pounding away at the controls of a video game displayed on one of the control monitor’s.

My companions dispersed to engage the room’s occupants in conversation. I contented myself with ordering a glass of water and taking a firm grip on Rat’s collar as she tried to slip out of sight. Overhearing their conversations, I gathered a bit about our new acquaintances. The solemn owner of the empty beer, Billy by name, seemed limited to monosyllabic grunts of affirmation or negation. The video game player, Tommy, was a loud Italian type full of bravado and remarks so colorful I was tempted to cover Rat’s ears. His celebration was due to his setting the high score on the game he was playing. Odd that the bartender seemed to go a bit pale when he saw the previous winner had been displaced.
After a bit, we negotiated beds for the night- I opted to stay in the car and not pay the rather extravagant fee. Before we could retire, a woman burst into the room and announced she had a job for any interested. In short order, we were all seated around a table and talking over various beverages. The woman introduced herself as a Librarian traveling through the area. There were rumors of a mostly intact educational theme park of sorts in the area, and she wanted to sort through the rubble for whatever books and knowledge might remain there. We were to be an escort for her protection from whatever lurked in the ruins- she took whatever knowledge was recovered, we kept the salvage. I was prepared for mutants, rival scavenger bands, or the walking dead. Little did I know what was really in store for us…

Despite a restless night spent alternately curled up in the car and attempting to coax Rat out of the silo’s ventilation system, we left early the next morning. As we roared down the broken pavement, following the Librarian on her motorcycle, Rat tugged at my sleeve. She whispered, “…the ugly man… he has something… following… dark. bad.” I reassured her as best I could about Tommy, and privately resolved to keep an eye on him.

We reached our destination around midday. A concrete octagonal building with a faded blue and yellow sign reading “The Amazing Seaworld” sat in the middle of the barren landscape. A huge red figure of a bipedal lobster stood atop the roof, one claw sitting at its feet halfway through the roof. Something about the place sent chills down my spine. The statue’s features, obviously once meant to appeal to kids, seemed somehow distorted. It’s wide smile and cheery eyes seemed to somehow hold a malicious hint of terrible things to come.

Shaking off my ruminations, I followed the rest of the group and the impatient Librarian inside. Stepping carefully through a shattered glass turnstile, we emerged into a long-abandoned reception area. A skeleton of a long-dead security guard lay slumped in a chair behind a crumbling desk. Hurriedly searching the area for salvage, we ventured through a darkened passage into the aquarium proper. The dimly lit tunnel was adorned with fanciful drawings and pictures of sea life and plastic plaques inscribed with fact about each. The Librarian paused by each one to run some sort of scanner over it, presumably recording the information.

The tunnel ended in a room dominated by a circular glass tank that ran from floor to ceiling. The glass was broken in several places, and no water remained within. The floor was covered with the remains of fish. The smell of decay hung heavy in the air. As the Librarian went about scanning informational plaques along the walls, and our group picked through the refuse with a watchful eye out, ice began to form in my stomach. The Last War ended thirteen years ago, and these fish corpses should have been long rotted away to skeletons. A glance at the wall only confirmed my deepening suspicions about the place. Murals that once depicted bright and happy scenes to delight young children were now subtly, but terribly warped. A fell power had taken hold here.

The Librarian finished with the room and hurried down the next darkened corridor before we so much as had a chance to ask her to wait. After hastily following, we found ourselves in a room similar to the last. A tank still filled with murky water stood in the center of the room and skeletons of giant sea turtles floated therein. To one side lay a ransacked gift shop, to the other an empty tank with “Oscar The Giant Octopus” written in large, garish letters above it. After a polite request to the Librarian that she wait for us to secure a new area nearly had my nose snapped off, I joined my companions in searching the room.

There was little of interest in the gift shop aside from a few trinkets I tucked away for future trading. The octopus’s area was decorated with fake rocks and the walls were painted as an idyllic underwater paradise. A quick search of the enclosure revealed a door set into the wall, painted to look to look like a part of the scenery. It took a combined effort of Tommy and myself to wrest the rusted thing open. Inside, we could see a multitude of rotting cardboard boxes illuminated by light spilling in from outside. Nothing but rotted organic matter I could only assumed was once fish food remained. Another door was stuck fast at the other end of the room. I smashed it open with a powerful kick, only to find pure blackness inside. Tommy, peering through the nightscope on his rifle, stalked into the blackness with Billy silently following on his heels. His whistle faded as he moved further into the dark room. The rest of the party, unable to follow in complete blackness, waited outside.
A tap on my shoulder turned me around. Leonard handed me a clipboard with a sheaf of papers attached. The papers were records of Oscar the Giant Octopus- nutritional data, daytime activity rates, and the like. Most disturbing were consistent notations that when overfed, Oscar became “violent and nearly impossible to control.” Leonard and I exchanged worried looks.

Gunfire booming from the darkened doorway cut off further discussion. A few moments later, Billy and Tommy hastily exited the room. Mutters about “never again... goddamn fishheads…” were all Tommy would speak on what happened inside. The Librarian shouted from outside for us to hurry up, so we hurriedly exit the room.

We strode down the next dark tunnel to another tank-filled room. The room was dimmer than the others; instead of broken skylights, the ceiling was made of fake stone made to look like the ceiling of a cave on the sea floor. The pipes and air ducts that ran across it spoiled the effect somewhat. We found little salvage among the refuse on the floor as the Librarian rushed from plaque to plaque scanning.

Our heads all jerked to the ceiling as a something skittered through a vent above us. Silence fell but for the sound of our breathing. Another skittering came, and the air ducts began visibly shaking. All but grabbing the Librarian by the scruff of her neck, we dove down the tunnel leading to the next room, wrenching the naval-style door shut behind us and jamming it shut in our haste. Steadying our nerves, we continued onwards.

This tunnel was nearly black, with only light coming in through the foggy porthole in the door. We warily crept down the hall into the next chamber. Only the dim outlines of shattered fish tanks could be seen, and glass and refuse crunched under our boots. A red exit sign sputtered across the way, then went out. We careful began to comb the room, weapons at the ready.

My only warning was Leonard’s “Oh, shiny- hey!” turning into a terrific bellow. His weapon crackled with energy and in the flash of light, I perceived horrible fish-shapes with gaping maws tall as a man filled with razor teeth and dangling lights hanging over their monstrous features. The room erupted in shouts and gunfire. The muzzle flashes were hardly enough light to fight by, and we stumbled around surrounded by vicious snarls, dodging teeth by instinct alone. I gathered my ch’i and slammed my fist into a wall in an effort to let in some light, but though concrete showered everywhere, the barrier proved too thick.

Decided discretion was the better part of valor, I ran to the tunnel and the other quickly followed suit, slamming the door shut behind us and trapping the monstrosities inside. Thankfully, the next room was well-lit as we hurried down the tunnel, grim murals of the sea leering at us as we went. But barely had we entered when the air duct above us began to shake violently. Before any other could react, Billy draw both his pistols and emptied both clips down the length of the duct. Dead silence fell but for the tinkling of shell casings on the ground.

The air duct burst apart and an enormous serpent fell towards us, slime flying off its skin and jaws that could swallow a man whole agape. I leapt to meet it in midair, and sent it flying into the wall with a powerful spin kick. Landing lightly on my toes, I jumped after it and send a strike literally ripping through it’s midsection. It was then that all hell truly broke loose.

The creature burst apart like an overripe melon, and thousands of black vipers spewed all around. I leapt, tucking myself into a ball and reaching the far doorway before the rain of snakes touched ground, but my companions were not so lucky. Horrified, I saw Billy jerk as the vipers bit into him and poison began to take ahold, and Leonard stagger under the same. Tommy had nearly reached the doorway when he turned back to drag the other two out, stomping snakes the whole while. Suddenly, a sharp crack from one of Rat’s tear-gas grenades sounded and green noxious fumes filled the room. All the snakes fell limp, and we retreated down the hall away from the fumes.

As we paused to catch our breath, Leonard seemed to shake off the effects of the snakebites, but Billy was not so lucky, falling into a deep coma. We realized that our mad flight had nearly brought us all the way around the park, and we were a tunnel’s length away from the entrance. We could see sunlight from the outside streaming down the hall.Blinking, Leonard looked about and exclaimed “Hey! Where’s the Librarian?”

Our question was answered when the bottom half of her flew past our faces to land with a splat against the far wall. A massive shape suddenly cut off the sunlight, and a terrible smell of salt and decay filled the air. Tommy began yelling, “It’s come for me, boys! Finally! Revenge!”

Four huge tentacles covered in slime exploded down the hallway, and chaos erupted. It was all I could do to dodge the thing’s flailing blows, and we could not even see the main body of the beast. I saw Rat and Leonard struggling, each wrapped in a tentacle. Tommy blasted away with his rifle to little perceivable effect. I began to despair as I barely slid under a concrete shattering blow. It was then that I looked up, seeing a broken out skylight and an idea dawned.

“Rat! Toss me a grenade!” I yelled. The little girl struggled mightily with the tentacle, and my breath caught in my throat for a moment until she pulled an arm free and heaved the explosives at me. Gathering my ch’i, I took a tremendous leap upwards, just ahead of a powerful swipe of a tentacle. Time seemed to slow. I drifted upwards towards the skylight, tentacles failing and my companions struggling below.

I landed on the rooftop with light feet and wasted no time running to the edge. The massive thing was stuffed into the entrance, it’s body filling the lobby and spilling outside besides. I pulled the pin on the grenade, tossed it at the thing and leapt back down into the fray. As I rolled to a smooth landing, Leonard pulled his weapon free and fired a crackling blast at the body of the beast.

A white flast and a tremendous shockwave announced his blast had torn through the thing and hit the explosives, igniting them. We were all knocked sprawling, and covered in slime. Tommy began muttering in prayer. With shaky glances all around, we gathered ourselves and left the building eagerly.

Ah, perfect timing. We have just arrived back at Alan’s Last Restort. Until next time.