The following collection of letters were said to be discovered in a little used basement of a barracks in the Champion's quarter of the Citadel. Whether these letters were, in fact, written in the time before the Night of Fire, remains to be proven. In fact, it remains to be proven if the tales told within - the desperate efforts of an anguished father to find his daughter - are true at all.
The speculation that these letters are a fabrication are not without merit. The Chronicles of Jared tell us that Marta's father died a year after her birth from Camp Cough, a common ailment of our ancestors as they languished in those dark prisons. If the Chronicles are to be taken as factual, and how could they not, then we must assume that the author is not Marta's father, which calls into question the entire collection of documents.
However, the stories told within - the father's quest to find his lost daughter, Marta - are of value to the Tribes, regardless. The question of whether or not the purported author - one Michael Mendoza - was truly the father of Marta is irrelevant, for in penning this tale he has reminded us of the struggles our peoples faced and the important bond of kinship that allow the Tribes to thrive to this very day. Though we do not know his provenance, there can be no doubt that the author walks the Path before us and in doing so, shows us the Way.
- Shaman Adán Del Mendoza, Scholar & Historian
- Apparent descendant of Michael Mendoza, father of Marta
These letters are not part of any official Auto Assault cannon. Normally, I wouldn't even bother mentioning it, but I did work on the game - and on the mutant faction specifically - so I didn't want anyone to get the idea that these were "official" in any way.
Rather, they are a story that I wanted to tell in Auto Assault, but was literally incapable of doing so because the subject matter takes place in a time that *had* to be shrouded in confusion in order for the world's history to progress the way it did. Simply put, no mission in the game could give you this story and remain an effective mission. So, with no books in the game to use instead, I scrapped the idea. Now, many, many months later, I find myself with the time - and the freedom - to write these stories as fan fiction. This is perfect; they were never meant to be taken as historical fact and now as fan fiction they cannot be taken that way.
So, my hope is that, if you're a fan of Auto Assault, you'll enjoy these stories. Perhaps you will include the spirit of these tales as some part of the make up of your characters. Or perhaps, you'll simply smile at the tales told and enjoy them solely as a work of fiction.
Whether you enjoy them or not, take them as the scribblings of a fan of the game and nothing more, for that's all they are offered as.
- Snipehunter
My dearest Daughter,
Though you are already a day old, I do not know your name. I pray that when this letter finally finds you, you will understand this and not take it as a sign of neglect: They would not let me see you, they still will not!
Still, I can hear you, when the camp is still. You are the only infant in the camp, so your cries are unmistakable. They are loud, throaty cries - full of life! Your cries are full of anger, wholly unlike the cries of your Mother as she brought you into this world. Hers were cries of sorrow, diminished and muffled by her lack of life.
I would tell you of your mother, for I know that They will not and she is no longer here to tell you herself. That she died while giving birth to you is not a lie, but do not feel sorrow or guilt at this! It was the camp that killed her, girl, not your efforts to be born! Like most of us, the camp sapped her will to live, much as the conditions here destroyed her lungs and frailed her bones. It is sad that you will not know her, but I fear that even had she lived, you would never come to know the woman I loved, for in truth she died long before then.
The woman I loved, she was a vibrant sort; the type of woman who, by her mere presence, could bring life back into a dying flower. It seemed as if a light shone through her into the world and no man who saw her could keep a frown upon his face. When she spoke, it was as if a symphony were played directly to your soul, bright and uplifting. Any man would die for her, and a few even tried, crying out her name, "Alicia!" as they attempted to escape the camps and "bring help." None succeeded of course, for this camp does not exist.
We are few in number, those of us "afflicted" with the disease. We have heard rumors that our numbers are increasing. A newcomer, a kindly sort named Jared, he tells me that he came from another camp somewhere in Oregon that had to be broken down and relocated the dead of night, last week. From this I gather that the outside world knows nothing of these camps, and so we do not exist. I wonder if the world even knows of the scope of the disease, yet.
Not even your mother knew that the camps were kept secret from the rest of the country. I could not bear to tell her. Too many tears had already stained her fair face. I could not mar that beauty with yet more bad news. Still, I take comfort in knowing that you made her happy.
Yes, you, our child who had not yet been born. Alicia said often that you and she shared a special bond. "It's like I can hear her joy!" she would say, smiling as she looked down at you in her womb. She knew you would be a healthy girl before the scientists who run the camp came and did their tests. She said you were precious, that you would save us all.
Though I have never lain eyes on you, girl, I know it to be true. As you cry right now, I think about soothing you, about holding you in my arms as I shush you back to sleep, or perhaps sing a lullaby. I feel a contentment spread through me as I think this, and I notice your cries have stopped.
Is it possible then that we also share a bond? Can you feel the love of a Father for his Daughter? Can you feel the joy that the simple fact of your existence brings me? I pray you can, my Daughter, for I send it to you, always. Sadly, I fear it is all I can send you.
They will not let me see you. They will not even let me give you a name! I am nothing to them, and I fear that you are the same in their eyes. Yet, I sense there is something about you that scares them. When I ask them about you they become agitated. They want me to forget about you, I think.
But I can't. I can feel you, always. I can't explain it, but I feel like I would know the moment something happened to you, no matter where you were. Perhaps all fathers feel this way, but none-the-less, the idea that I could forget you is ridiculous, unthinkable! It doesn't change that They won't let me see you, or know your name.
And so, I write this letter. One day, I will find a way to give it to you. No child should grow up not knowing her parents, alone in the clutches of a government cruel enough to imprison its innocent citizens and strip their children away from them. I will continue to write to you until the day we are finally together and become the family we are meant to be.
I love you child, always.
Your Father,
Michael Mendoza
My dearest Daughter,
It has been two weeks since I last wrote. I write this as a confession, but I suspect you know already. My heart aches at the thought of you. The scientists have now forbidden me to even speak of you. Their guards now bar me from the clinic structure. I am inconsolable.
At night, I try to imagine you in my arms as I sing to you, but only broken sobs escape my lips. It is too hollow an image, I cannot sustain it. What little sleep I get is filled with fevered dreams of what they must be doing to you. They feel so real, but I have no shape or form in these dreams and so I am powerless to aid you. Still, I have in my mind an image of you, now. I see cobalt blue eyes, almost gemlike in your glowing infant face. In my mind you are untouched by the disease, I wonder if that is true. Know that I love you no matter the color of your skin or the cast of your eyes. I think that you are untouched in my mind's eye because it is easier for me to imagine that you could some day get free of the scientists and slip into a normal life, perhaps in some small town.
If I smile, it is with regret, for I doubt you can escape their grasp. The scientists have taken an interest in you; that the guards would treat me worse than they already treat the others is a sign that I have been singled out and why would I be singled out except for my desire to see you?
The kindly one I mentioned in my last letter, Jared, has taken to spending time in my presence. I can't say that we are friends, for I seldom speak, instead quietly weeping like the statues of the Madonna in my home town. None-the-less, he has stayed by my side for most of the day, every day. Of late he has been asking questions about Alicia and about you.
I think I might answer him tomorrow, if he returns. For some reason, I trust this man. He has said several times that he has friends he believes I should meet. I wonder if he means to help me reunite with you, my Daughter. I could use the help, for I fear I will fail in my quest to find you, if I go alone. The forces that stand in my way are far too powerful, their influence too far reaching, for me to believe otherwise. After all, your father is naught but a prisoner trapped in a cage. I have not been the famed engineer that I was for some time, now.
I miss you, my child.
Love always,
Michael Mendoza, your Father.
My dearest Daughter,
Again many days have passed since my last letter. I pray you do not fault me for being inattentive, for nothing could be further from truth!
I have finally spoken back to Jared. He is a fellow engineer and scientist! He claims to have been working on a project for a Dr. Nachtman that he says is related to the "disease." In fact, he claims this disease is something else entirely. He went on at length about a new form of energy called the "K-Wave" which he says seems to work in tandem with some form of contaminant to modify our bodies. It's not a virus at all, he says, but a process - one he believes is totally natural. He thinks we are an environmentally induced mutation of the human species, an adaptation suited to survive in the polluted and destroyed world that our industry has created.
I am sorry, I realize you might find science boring, or disreputable. I could not fault such an opinion from you, my dearest. The scientists who took you from me, the same scientists that keep me and the other "afflicted" in these camps, they are a disgrace to the spirit of science. Like most engineers and scientists, Jared and I feel it is our duty to use our skills and our knowledge to make humanity better, but these scientists who have you have no regard for anything but their vainglorious research.
No cures are being studied at this camp, instead we are being exploited as test subjects in these scientists' quests to find new and interesting medicines they can sell for profit and fame. These are not quarantine camps where those who suffer can find treatment and be made comfortable; these are death camps, of the like not seen in a century.
Let us put aside this dwelling on the evils that surround us for I have amazing news! Do you recall that Jared wanted me to meet his allies, his friends? I finally have and to my surprise your Uncle was among them! His name is Andrew and he is your mother's brother, a Miller as she was. Jared was able to smuggle your cousins, Andrew's children, out of Oregon before the soldiers came to take Andrew to the camps. That means that somewhere, out there in the real world, you have family that is still free! Their names are Eli and Aaron, but I know nothing else of them. If all goes well, I will meet them soon, however.
That's right, my daughter, I hope to be free soon. Jared, Andrew and I have begun work on a Plan. Jared has quite the following here, it seems. Most of those who came from the Oregon camp are loyal to him and none of them have any desire to stay here. They plot an uprising, but Jared counsels against it.
He's right, of course. The soldiers will tear us apart. Many of us are weakened from starvation and still others have difficulty breathing due to a lung infection that is making it's way across the camp. We've begun calling it "camp cough." So far, it seems harmless enough, but some are too weak from it to get out of their cots and we have begun to worry for their lives.
The situation is dire. The plan for uprising comes from desperation. They've stopped feeding us, recently. Perhaps supplies are simply delayed, but the guards and scientists have told us nothing. Even Jared, who has asked us all to be patient and to maintain the peace, has come to realize that we cannot stay. Hence, the Plan.
It will take months, this Plan, and I do not know if I will have to time write to you in the meantime. I don't even know if it matters, cherished one, for I have been told that you have been moved out of the camp, and indeed I do not feel your presence as strongly as I once did. If I - or even these letters - are ever to find you, I must be free of this place. Jared's plan is complicated and it depends on too many factors outside of our control, but it is the best chance I have to find you, so I am a willing conspirator.
With any luck, the next time you hear from me, I will once again be a free man.
I love you, Daughter.
- Michael Mendoza, your Father.
My Daughter,
It has been a month since I last sat to write to you. My sense of you in this world grows ever more faint; I fear that you are being taken too far from this place for us to track you. When the despair hits me hardest, I fear that this feeling I have of you is a fiction that fades with hope, but Jared will hear none of it.
He has come to believe that the changes we have experienced have given some of us remarkable new abilities. Myself, I have darker suspicions. Only those of us who have survived the camp cough seem to exhibit any obvious abilities and while Jared refuses to consider it, I have come to believe that we were deliberately infected as part of some experiment in genetic engineering. Perhaps they seek to make a new breed of soldier, or perhaps they are simply testing biological weapons. Either way, I suspect that we are nothing but guinea pigs in their sick experiments.
Oh, how I hope you are living in a world where that thought is ludicrous! Yet, I have come to believe that no such world exists. With each day more newcomers are introduced to the camp. They all tell tales of growing chaos and unrest across the country due to the flood of refugees from the Canadian Disaster. We have seen none of these Canadians for ourselves, but even we have heard the tale of the nuclear accident along our mutual borders that has left most of Canada uninhabitable. As an engineer, I can feel nothing but contempt for a government that would let their nuclear reactors degrade to the point where an accident was even possible. As a father, I can only weep for the families devastated by the tragedy.
But, we cannot ignore the opportunity. If the tales are even remotely true, then the Plan might have a chance. With the governments focused on the problem of these refugees, our chances to remain undetected out in the world increase greatly. Our exodus is to begin soon. Perhaps because so many are dying, or perhaps because there is a spark of compassion in them still, the guards have allowed us to take limited excursions into the nearby desert to dispose of our dead. These trips are always supervised, so there is no chance of insurrection, but that doesn't matter to the Plan.
No one has told the guards that I have survived the camp cough, and indeed, I continue to show signs of worsening to anyone who comes to visit me. I'll be 'dead' before this day is done. Then, my good friend Jared and my brother in law Andrew will wrap the corpse in linen and throw it on the growing pile of corpses to be buried tomorrow. I don't relish the idea of a night spent amidst the moldering dead, but it will get me free!
I will have to find my own way out of the desert, but my friends have told me where to meet your cousins, Eli and Aaron. Together the three of us will put the Plan into motion. Hopefully it will one day free us all.
Farewell, for now.
I love you, daughter.
- Michael Mendoza, Your Father
Daughter,
I am free! I am weak with hunger and I have no water as I walk this drought ridden land, but I do not care. The air I breathe does not carry with it the stink of death and no fences block my view. For this alone I would bear the thirst and hunger that wracks me, stoic - but knowing that I will soon begin my search for you makes me forget that I suffer at all. How I wish that sense of you that I felt was here, but you must be far from here, for I cannot feel you at all. Do you feel me? I wonder. Do you feel my joy at being free? I would like to think that you do.
I admit, all is not well. I am lost. I do not know which desert this is, and even if I did, I do not know where I am in it. I have no supplies save this one piece of paper and this nub of a pencil that I kept with me when I 'died.' I am dressed only in crude rags I have fashioned from the linen of my death shroud. It for the best, covered head to toe as I am, no one can see my green skin. I will scavenge the supplies I need as I go. That is always the way of the desperate.
It's strange, though I know this land is harsh, I do not feel at all threatened by it. I can't bring myself to believe that any part of it would harm me. I can't say how I know it, but I know I will find water when I need it and food when my hunger is at its worst. They say freedom is intoxicating to a prisoner, perhaps they're right.
I have spent much of the day sheltered from the sun in a small gully. There I have considered the beginnings of the Plan that Jared and I have created. Our hope is that one of us can expose the camps to the citizens of this nation. a century ago, this nation rose up and smote those nations of the world that perpetrated similar crimes; surely they will not tolerate the same from their own government. At least, this is Jared's assertion. I want to believe, but we are not the same people we were a century ago. We have turned a blind eye to the evil around us, and far too often we did so willingly. It doesn't matter, I have begun to consider a Plan of my own. Those of us who have the disease are not the only people in this nation to be down-trodden. If the people refuse to see our plight then I will ally us with those citizen who suffer the same inequities. Together we will be a force to be reckoned with and, as the saying goes, "Many hands make light work."
Ah, the light of the setting sun is fading, my child. I must find my way to Los Angeles and I have no idea how far that is. But fret not, your father is a clever man. I can tell north from south, east from west, and so I will head west to the coast. When they took your mother and I, we were blinded so as not to see the route, but we did not drive for more than an hour or two. We cannot be far from the coast. I suspect we are near San Diego, but that is just a feeling I have. With any luck I will know for sure in a few days.
If this is my last letter, know that my love for you grows stronger every day, my Daughter.
Your Father,
- Michael Mendoza
Dearest Daughter,
I fear I will not be able to write again for some time. My survival is not at all assured in this place and lately I have come to realize that the changes caused by this disease -- no, this process -- are not yet done.
My eyes have begun to pale. They are a shocking sight to those that see them and it becomes harder and harder to hide what I am. I've taken to wearing smoked glasses, but I fear that will only work for so long.
You might wonder how I have managed to survive this long and if I made it to Los Angeles. The answer to the first is one I don't understand myself, so I will begin with the question of LA. I did indeed make it to the city. I was closer to the shore than I expected and some came upon the highway that runs up the and down the coastline. I was came across a beach, a favorite spot for surfers and green-earthers. It was interesting, the rags I wore (that I still wear, but I will explain that more later) drew very little attention among them.
The few that ask supplied their own answers. "whoah," they would say, "Are you some kind of priest? Like a monk? A Shaman?" I said nothing and merely nodded. I think they thought I was mute, or perhaps they believed I had taken a vow of silence. It was convenient for me in any event, but not everyone was fooled. A small group of green-earthers took me aside the first night I was there on the beach and they confronted me.
They knew I had the disease and they were not afraid. They told me that they had already smuggled many refugees from Ecuador and places south to freedom further north. Apparently news of the disease's scope has leaked out already, but only from those locations in the third world that lacked the resources to keep it contained. I didn't have the heart to tell them I was an American, or that our own camps were spread up and down the coast already. What would it help for them to know they had likely delivered these refugees right into new camps? I hope that was the right choice.
None the less, they offered to help me if they could. I told them I needed to be in Los Angeles and they agreed to take me there that very night. On the way they explained their movement. The Green Earth movement had changed in the time I had been interred in the camp. The disaster in Canada was a catalyst for them, forging the soft ineffectual organization they had been into the hard unyielding movement they are today. I suspect they have as much desire to remain invisible as I. They claim the Patriot act has been reinstated and that Gitmo is once again a shadow prison. I wonder how many of us are kept there.
I wonder when I started to think of those us with the disease as "us" and everyone else as "them." Perhaps I have spent too much time in this shadow world of movements and hidden camps. I must maintain perspective.
When I arrived in Los Angeles, I was shocked at the site of it. Parts of the city were burning! The radio called it a forest fire that spread out of control and down into the city, but the Green Earthers claim otherwise. They say a missile struck the city. I can't imagine that's true, but they were adamant; something fell from the sky and struck the city, green and luminous. They say the fires spread from the point of impact out. I have to admit, the hills so very little evidence of a massive forest fire, but why would the government hide a terrorist attack of such magnitude?
Eli and Aaron have no idea, either. They arrived in the city from San Francisco days after the fire started. Ah, I apologize I have gotten ahead of myself, haven't I? Yes, child, I have met your cousins. I am proud to call them family, they are men of conviction.
Eli is passionate and resolute, perhaps even a little stubborn and rash, but a man of strong convictions in any event. His brother Aaron is the ice to his fire, cool, calculating and rational - but he is just as strong in his desire to see justice restored to our world. They were surprised to find out who I was when we met, let me tell you!
When Jared smuggled them out of Oregon he said only to go to Los Angeles and that someone would meet them there at the observatory on a Wednesday night and speak the code phrase. It was pure luck that they were there the first day I attempted the rendezvous; they had their own troubles getting from northern California to LA. Even though they themselves show no signs of the disease, they are on a terrorist watch list because of the way they disappeared when the soldiers came to take their father.
I don't know what history will say of this time, but you should know that our own government hunts these two like animals. They are not alone in this if the government knew I was free I am sure I would be similarly hunted. Only the fact that I am already dead saves me from their fate. None the less, I am in danger simply being near your cousins, but I cannot execute the Plan without them.
They want to free their father, but we do not know where the camp is and it is too dangerous to go search that desert ourselves; it would draw the wrong kind of attention. Instead we have focused our efforts on contacting those Green Earthers that have been helping the afflicted. We have explained our desire to crusade for humane treatment of those with this disease and they seem to be like-minded. I believe we are becoming our own movement, separate from the GE, but only time will tell. If this alliance plays out the way I hope, we will not just be a movement, we will be an army.
But what to do with an army? I have not told your cousins, but I have discarded Jared's Plan for my own. Simply exposing the camp will not be enough. The camps in south America have drawn no protest from the people or our government. I don't believe these people care about us. I think they would rather we simply disappear. It is a cruel irony that so many of us already have.
So, I find myself at a crossroads. If I can, indeed, raise an army, what will I do with them? Will we literally fight? Or will we be an underground to help the afflicted find freedom? Part of me wonders if there is any freedom to be found, for anyone. the atrocities I have seen are great, but I suspect they are only just the beginning. My only hope is that you yourself are protected from this madness. I have made inquiries, when I can, but so far I have found no clue of your whereabouts. I simply don't have the information I need to find you, yet. I first need to know more about those that took you, and so far I have nothing.
I will never stop looking, but you know that. One day I will find you and we will be together. Heaven help anyone that stands in my way.
I love you my child.
Your father,
- Michael Mendoza
My Daughter,
In the months since I last wrote, much has occured. I fear that little of it is good, but some of it... is wonderous! How can I explain?
I last wrote of the terrorist attack on Los Angeles, do you recall? The city burned and the stories say something green and luminous fell from the sky. I now know that these are not stories! I have seen it for myself!
The city was evacuated mere days after my last writing, but your cousins and I could not leave. No, my child, we were not trapped; we had obligations. Our army has grown considerably and managing our efforts often requires that we meet in secret. Staying within this city, which is now mostly abandoned, makes that easy. We travel through the storm drains to remain invisible to the UAVs that patrol the city's skies, but otherwise this city is ours and its resources are at our disposal.
There is no radiation here, as the government claims. We survive fine. In truth, I feel better here than I have felt in many decades. Nor am I alone in this; all of us who have been changed by the so-called disease have recovered our full health and vigor. The blind have regained thier sight and the crippled now walk sure and strong. It is nothing short of miraculous! I believe that thing that fell from the sky, that device, has reason to affect us so, but it did not tell me so when we spoke.
Ah, how I must sound to you. Have no fear my dear, your father has not gone mad. At least not yet. The device, as we call it - even though it appears biological in nature - is possessed of some sort of intelligence. We came across it in the storm drains. It sat at the bottom of a massive sink hole - or what we thought was a sink hole, in truth it turned out to be a crater. It is about the size of a city bus, perhaps 30 feet tall and 9 feet wide. It is shaped roughly like an egg, though its shape has changed every time I have visited it since.
At first, when I approached the device, it showed no evidence of... I was about to say life, but perhaps activity is the proper word. Yes, it showed no evidence of activity. Eli stepped boldly forward and impulsively touched the device. Immediately the crater was filled with a bright green light that quickly dimmed into a dull glow coming from the sides of the device. In the back of mind I heard a "voice." It did not "speak" with words, but rather fully formed thoughts entered my mind - thoughts that were not my own.
The device indicated that we were in no danger, but at the same time it could not explain our presence and demanded answers. It wanted to know why we had not adhered to the "protocols," but in moments it had its answer, even though none of us spoke. It.. apologized! for entering our minds. It had thought us to be something other than we were. In our minds it explains that we should not be here. On this planet! That we were trespassing on our own world! We grew angry and it read this in our minds, exclaiming - to itself! - that procedures had been violated. Again the blinding green light filled the crater and we had to avert our eyes, but then the light... changed. It did not dim but somehow our eyes could bear the sight of it and we returned our gaze to the device. My family had drastically changed in the scant few seconds of blindness. Now, like me, they possessed the green skin of the disease, but unlike me - or so I thought - their eyes blazed with an inner light! A bright green light like that cast by the device! From the looks on their faces I could see that I must also possess these glowing eyes. As our panic blossomed a soothing thought cascaded through our minds - the device at work - and we felt as if it all happened for a reason.
I could offer a cliche about this being our destiny, but I will not. Instead I will simply say that this device had reason to change us, somehow. I cannot explain why it did what it did, for it refuses to communicate so directly now, but ever since that day we have found ourselves in perfect health. I feel as is the process started by the disease so many months ago has reached its culmination in me, thanks to this machine. I have somehow... adapted, to something. I cannot explain it any more than I have. none the less, it is wonderous!
We have begun to bring all of the afflicted to the device so that it changes them in turn. Though it never speaks to us as it did that first time, it changes them all without complaint. What it does when we are not there I can only guess at, but I suspect it moves with a purpose of its own. You might find it odd that I do not fear it, but you have not stood in its presence or felt its power coursing through you as I do, every day. This device means us no harm. In truth, I believe it completed these changes in me to ensure I survive, but survive what? I admit I *do* fear the answer to that question.
Our numbers swell here, in the city. Many of our new recruits are more like followers. They have taken to wearing the same tattered rags and robes I do, as a sign of respect. Their devotion moves the rest of our army as well. I suppose I should stop it - I am not a holy man or a healer, but it feels right. At least now our army will have a uniform. We truly are a movement, now. If only we could stay here; I feel like we could do much for our brethren with this device watching over us. Alas, it can't be; I could not find you if I remained solitary and its a moot point; we have no choice but to move on.
A small band of ours, out scavenging supplies from the abandonments, were spotted by UAVs in the night. Our eyes are not always a boon you see, they stood out like tiny flashlights for the cursed machines to see. Already the streets above us echo with the footsteps of soldiers. Their numbers are yet small and some have suggested we attack them and be done with it. We do have an advantage in that scenario since we number enough to be called an army, but we have no training and such provocation would only bring more soldiers. We will have to move on, to survive.
We have heard rumors that Las Vegas was also evacuated. As I write this, our best and brightest are scavenging specific supplies from the city. Some have already returned bearing the respirators and goggles I have asked for. Tomorrow I will lead this army into the desert and in a few days, we shall see Las Vegas with our own eyes. With the supplies we gather today, we will be properly outfitted for whatever we may find.
If the rumors are right, I expect to find another of these devices. Perhaps it will tell us more, or perhaps it will change us further. I have not told the others, but I have another reason for traveling to Las Vegas. I have heard that the military base there might house another shadow camp where our kind are experimented on. It is my hope that this is true and that I will find you there. I will tear that base to the ground with my bare hands to find you, my daughter. You can count on that.
Your Father,
- Michael Mendoza
My Daughter,
My god, child, the horrors I have seen! As I write this now, fully half of our number lay dead on a field of battle not far from here, a dry lake bed in the Nevada desert. I had hoped to find you there, but what we found instead was terrifying beyond belief.
We arrived in Las Vegas to find it abandoned. Though the city showed no sign of any sort of catastrophe, the streets were lined with the corpses of its citizens. Someone - no something - had killed them all! At first, we thought we were looking at the results of some biological weapon, but upon closer investigation we found them all shot dead, riddled with bullet holes.
I cannot describe the horror we experienced. The realization that something would systematically hunt down and kill everyone in the city chilled me to the bone. I knew we could not stay and I ordered my army to find us enough operable vehicles to leave this accursed place, as quickly as possible.
My plan was to investigate the base where I had hoped I would find you. With my army now mobile, I had hoped we could scout the base quickly on our way out of this god forsaken hell. We set out that morning and approached the base cautiously. We took position on a nearby ridge that looks down upon the lake bed and began to observe the camp. At first we thought perhaps the camp was deserted; nothing moved. But as night fell we began to see lights moving inside the base. They were dim, red lights, and it was hard to make out what they were, but as we watched we realized we had become careless.
A UAV flew overhead, easily spotting the ragged horde that is my army on the other side of the ridge. Soon, the lights we saw in the base began to draw closer. As we debated whether we would stand and fight or flee we realized that the lights were coming from a platoon of small tanks. Painted a drab black, each tank was hard to spot in the darkness save for the red lights of their targeting systems - the lights we had seen inside the base.
We assumed the soldiers of this base were building new weapons of war, small and fast moving one man tanks. I knew immediately that I would not find you there and so we decided that we would flee. As we loaded the vehicles again, the first of these tanks reached the bottom of the ridge. Our scouts atop the ridge cried the alarm and turn to scramble down the ridge towards us, but soon the fell, one by one. As we cried out to them, we heard the buzz of a UAV in the darkness. We knew then that we would not escape without a fight.
I tell you now, my Daughter, none of us would have survived if it had not been for your cousins. They had spent the previous night scavenging arms and ammunition from every gun store in Las Vegas. We were lucky. As I turned to order my army to flee, Eli stood and rallied them all. He screamed at them to arm themselves and began to fire at the UAV roaring overhead.
That was the start of the battle. As we tried to flee the area, Eli and others fired at our pursuers. These tanks, and the UAVs we would later discovered were armed to attack, they were hard to destroy. A tour bus we had taken from the Las Vegas strip, carrying the young and the old, was the first of our fleet to be destroyed, the cannon of the lead tank making short work of it with a single shot. 50 of us died in that fireball; I realized our vehicles would be picked off one by one if we continued this single-minded flight and I saw that Eli agreed. Without a word to each other we moved ordered the army to break in two, each going a different direction.
I took my detachment around the ridge. My intent was to circle behind the tanks, putting the ridge between us. If I could get behind them, I reasoned, we might have a chance to disable them and flee unharmed. I was so wrong.
As our elements of the convoy came around the ridge I saw the full extent of the forces arrayed against us. A dozen of these small tanks and a small flight of 5 of the armed UAVs. The lead tank we had seen earlier and his 2 followers were a small element of the full force, but they had already done so much damage. We were doomed.
We had no choice but to fight; fleeing was out of the question. Those tanks were fast and the UAVs could follow us out of the range of our pitiful rifles and pistols. I directed my forces to charge the base. My hope that we could get inside and take it by force, forcing the pilots of the tanks to stand down lest we kill the forces still in the base.
Eli must have reached the same conclusion, for I soon saw his half of our army wheel around and move towards the base. We breached the fence from two separate directions and roughly the same time and met surprisingly light resistance. We found out why as soon as we got inside the base hangars, which had been left open when the tanks charged us at the ridge.
Everyone in the base was dead. Shot like those in the city or crushed beneath the treads of these tanks. The soldiers fared better than us, however for we saw several of these tanks destroyed within the hangar. As we dismounted our vehicles and sought defensible positions I got a good look at one.
When I saw it, I knew the pilots of these tanks would never stand down. Tank and pilot were one. Each tank is controlled by a human being, as I thought, but not in the way I expected. Instead of a cockpit there was a... receptacle for a heavily shielded canister about the size of a keg of beer. One of these canisters laid cracked open and exposed on the hangar floor and within I could see the shriveled wrinkled mass of a human brain, a thousand small filaments of wire sprouting from its various folds and leading into the depths of the canister.
What monsters would imprison someone so?! I had no time to consider it, I could only focus on mounting a defense. As the tanks caught up to our force, I found Eli scavenging what high explosives he could find quickly. The look on his face told me that he had seen the same thing I had. We both knew surrender was an unlikely option. How could anyone remain human stripped of their body like that I can tell you now with certainly, dear one, they cannot. These tanks must also have been the same force that killed everyone in the city. Our only hope lied in defeating them.
And we did, though it cost us dearly. Eli is... I shudder to think it... Eli is dying. Though his minor wounds heal at a remarkable rate, he has lost too much blood and his kidneys are destroyed beyond repair. The few doctors among us have done everything they can to make him comfortable but they tell me that even healing as fast as he is, he will not survive the day.
Aaron has suggested we remain at the base until we are healed, but I don't think we've seen the last of these monsters, these brains in cans. I have told Aaron that we will leave tonight, under cover of darkness. We will take whatever gear we can from this base, but we cannot stay. We have to flee.
My plans... Our hope... What do they matter in the face of such uncaring things? What has become of the nation I called my home? What has happened to the world that such beasts could exist unchecked?
I fear the end of the world has come, my Child. I must find you before it is too late! But... where are you?
My love, Daughter.
- Michael Mendoza