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A scruffy, half scorched Leather Journal atop a clean pastel blue office folder filled with documents and photos laying strewn across a clinical, high-tech desk of Sub-Lab #037.

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Bnei Yehuda, Ramat haGolan, Israel
Day 4134, 15.30 eRT

I've fled the nest. Seems almost ironic to be writing this in a Jeep, on the the way to Balheary Airstrip. At least I left them a note, they'll probably get off my back if they knew what it all actually meant. Thank God they're still away with the fairies for now, thanks to Doctor F. O'Ceallaigh, that poor bastard. And poor Captain Pin-cushion Petrov. Sure he had it coming but I couldn't stick him myself personally. What would be the point? There's no sport in it. Petrov probably has the Devil's eyes in him now. Another mortal enemy to add to the list I suppose.

I told a certain trash collector, or assassin to laymen, I'd dump it all out. His glasses where steaming with the idea of what they call "Alternate History". He had a slight frame. We got to my room and he presented me a gasser drink. He's enjoying a night of casual torment as we spea I write. If I'm not interrupted it may become formal. Once he's finished living through the nightmare he had planned for me, I'll retire to look over my papers. I know the karmic wheel will crush me, like it crushes all but for now I'm a well dressed man, sipping a sharp, peaty American Scotch. The burnt in, aged taste comes from the casks they bury or so I'm told.

Here's my layout of Operation R.S and some of Field Test E.F. The jackals are laughing their way towards me so as a man of science I'm honour bound to report my results, though I claim no ownership over Dr F. O'Ceallaigh's intellectual property, which he has signed waiver after waiver to protect, in perpetuity no less, admitting his guilt. I helped make his work viable for the field, all within the rights of the law.

It was worse than what we assumed. We knew about amnesia, the irritability and a couple of other odd symptoms that may occur, again all legally. But with this new "Death Squad" mentality that's sprung up I'm keen to simply stay low, let 'em hash it out without me. It still makes no sense to me. After reading the Journal's I sensed we may have been experiencing "interruption" from either one of our allies branches or perhaps something a bit further afield. We called the men you call but they all vanished soon after. Seemed like we hit a nerve.

Even after capturing a Type-Two that seemed set up to kill my wife and I, we went to a false flag Dinner Party robbery. We set him loose and he chose a complete stranger to escape with. It was just some actor that had showed an unusual predilection towards oddities. We should've run it in New York but he was hard to guide along and even harder entertain. What a shit show.

I've been standing still so long, watching corruption swim through the norm and I've walked about paranoid, like there's some monster in my reflection ready to burst out. I think it's time to sit down and write. My rebellious sons and daughters will try and find me. I'll let them speak for me. I have to say, I hope it's not Murph first. Here's a haiku Dr. F. O'Ceallaigh had on his desk before, "Going Limp" and "Dying of Apnoea". Rockstar epithet, he must have thought so, surely?

Child at the millstone
Man at the root of panic
Ground to rust and bone

No, but seriously, who leaves a haiku behind? He didn't save a Shoguns life or anything. What a fool. He could see all the fine details but could never recognize the big obvious picture in front of him. A fools death warrants a fools epitaph I suppose. I'll just grunt my last breath into some fine young thing when I'm 110 I guess. If Murph gets hit by a truck. So Dr. Fogarthy, M.D and his assessment of Operation Rasa Blank, the brain child of the late Dr F. O'Ceallaigh.

Journal #001
Mac Allistar was a man born for war. He never needed conditioning in hindsight. That's why it's probably coming back to bite me so viciously.

Journal #002
Oh Roger, what'd I'd do to simply talk with him about his process. I'd like to think he's still alive. It'd be horrible if he was still alive but we've so much to learn.

Journal #003
Waste of a decent chip. He was too soft. For my purposes, this is irrelevant data.

Journal #004
Perfect specimen before all the gunfire and bureaucracy got to him. He may be retrievable. It'd be a deep catch though so we'd need real bait.

Journal #005
What can I honestly say as a Scientist? I have to include him in my assessment. We know how he ended up and I wouldn't like to cross paths with him? Fair and simple?

Journal #006
Dr. Feidhlim O'Ceallaigh's assessments. The good Doctor. Take his words with a pinch of salt dear readers, he hit the "arcade" quite a lot. It made him a bit shifty.

Journal #007
Dr. Philip Andrews, you идиот. You were the smartest physiologist alive, did you not think you'd be stolen for your knowledge? Thank's for the Vorpal Wave though. I'm sure that's what you'd want to be remembered by so I've made arrangements in my will for a statue to be made. Don't worry, It'll be subtle, hidden in Sandymount Park.

Journal #008
Nice shot Private Winters. But what goes around, comes around.

Journal #009
Dr Steven Macalistair, Doctor in Surgery. A fine companion. What can I say but return to me if you see this in some rebel shitbox. I'm waiting for you.

Journal #010
Captain Petar Atanasov Petrov, if you see this than; Delta Sixxer Four. I'm sorry Comrade. Remember, it's what we all signed up for. It's not what we didn't sign up to. Carry that to Sofia if you find yourself loose. The family says hello two.

Journal #11
Finally some concrete evidence of our work. Fight/Flight engaged, effective combatant, questioning enough to know they don't know anything. But there remains fantasies about paranormal or "Ghost" activity. Light paranoia still evident.

Journal #012
Mac Allister never needed treatment. He was already a born soldier.
Now he's coming to kill me. Noted Neuro-Biomech Surgeon Dr. Assoulay removed his sensory equipment and he came back to the field within the week. What can a man say? He'll kill me? I'm dead because he wants me dead? No. He'll have to try harder than trying hard to get near me and if he does he'll have his hands full while I escape, in comfort.

Journal #013
Winters again. Was he even apart of Rasa Blank? He knows there is no Ellie right?

Journal #014 [1]
If you're reading this Murph, I never hurt you directly.

Journal #014 [2]
There's a special place in hell for identity thieves. I know there's a special place for me too but it's not with you freaks.

Journal #014 [3]
Of course I fled the nest! You came in like you wanted to paint Liberty Hall completely red. Don't worry, I'm safe. The men you killed to get to me however are dead. Forever. I know Murph won't care. But are any of you still sane enough to comprehend that? I suppose it needs a bit of explaining. Rasa Blank was like a stinger with no on site anesthesia. Eagles Freedom took the sad and glad out of the equation. Kill and your body would reward you, simple as a click of a big red Fight! button. Just keep pressing ceaselessly, until you need more damage. A market for the soulless with impossible prices laid out like easy options. You can try catch me, figure out what I mean but you'd be missing the point. You'd in fact be proving the point.

Journal #014 [4]
Wow.. and I'm the bad guy in your story? All those Journals. I wonder how much has been left out. I'm not presumptuous enough to assume I'll avoid Rasa Blank forever but I'm confident enough that I'll be ready. You've only tasted what I'm capable of. I ask you to call your grudge off and have one of your's fight one of mine, if that means anything to you savages. I'll fight personally if needs be. Let us end this so we can continue our lives in peace.

Dr. Edward Theobold Fogarthy
Director, Operation Goshawk

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