La Ville Dechire
I have been here months, among the brave men and women who have clung to their homes. The rotting men must have already been walking by the time I arrived in Malton. I did not see them for a few days though, they had not yet come to hold as much territory as they do now.
I was a freedom fighter in my own land, but our revolution faltered. I came here in exile, wishing to return, one day, to my own city. I had seen war, and I was one of the first to take up arms against the zombies. I protected the city's innocent and fearful, as I had done back home. For five months, I waged war against the rotting men. Malton's rooftops became my bedroom and its malls my armories. I was again a guerrilla, once again in my element.
One day I met a man hunkered behind the barricades of an armory packed with wavering survivors. He spoke of another revolution, a moral crusade. His thoughts ran parallel to mine, and I readily entered into the then-small ranks of this man's crusade. Our goal was to rid Malton of its ignorant and apathetic. As an idealist, I wish to bring this quest to the entire world, but I am not one to turn my back on a city in need. I turned then, against those cowering behind me in that dark military base, and for this city that is now my home, began my task.
January 17th, 2006
Paper, marred as you are with the dust and grime of this torn city, I have longed to return to you. I am now behind the desk of a long-dead receptionist in a crowded police department. I came across this notebook hiding from the hard-faced survivors in the building. Word may have passed that I am a murderer, damned by killing brother humans in this dark time. They are right to hunt me. I will fulfill my dream, and then leave this world behind to those better than I. Should we fail though, I would want our banner to be taken up anew. That is why this journal is of utmost importance to me, why my face is a satisfied smile as I find this blessed paper. So rare is this commodity: Much of the city's paper has been used as fire-starters for freezing survivors. It is a cold winter, but I am warmed by my quest. I have killed today even.
Earlier today, I appeared at the top of a set of hospital stairs to look down on a crowd of survivors warding off the morning frost with sheets of cardboard. I had leapt through a third story window into an empty maternity ward from a building across the alley. I looked down on them. They were all ignorants. All asleep. There was a stirring below me on the floor. A child peeked out from beneath a damp sheet of cardboard and peered up at me. I said nothing, but she was paralized with fear. Tears ran down her face slowly, cleaning her of the grime built up on her cheek bones. I pulled the first of the day's shotguns from beneath my cloak and began the days killing. I got four of them before the element of suprise wore off. They wore flak jackets, fallen asleep at the barricades, guns at their sides. I fled to this police station by jumping back across the alley. As I climbed the stairs to the roof, I heard the little girl below begin to cry.
I left her alive. Perhaps she may one day learn to see the sad ignorance that infests our world. Perhaps she may one day seek revenge against me and my kind. That day, I will be forced to kill her, for I will let nobody stand between me and my goal.
January 20th, 2006
In the past two days, I have been executing ignorants in a Necrotech building visible from the empty third floor office that I have made my bedroom. Today, I found that some of the Necrotech equipment had been rebuilt. I managed to access the computer systems while most of the refugees were sleeping in their stinking lab coats and cardboard blankets.
I had theorized in the past that Necrotech was responsible for this zombie infestation. Holed up in a convenience store in September I spoke with a rambling member of the Neon Knights about that very theory. If still alive, That man will be sad to hear that breakthroughs with the Necrotech computers are yet to yeild any proof of their responsibility.
This whole supernatural epidemic is rather unsettling. I recognized an ignorant I executed just yesterday, alive and well, during today's trip to the Necrotech building. Though my bullets broke his ribs and skull, punctured his organs, he was standing today. I had gunned down three other scientists before I first saw him, two of them wore flak jackets under once-white lab coats. He turned and looked at me, recognizing my simple white mask. So unnatural was the gaze of a man I had killed, now alive and well, that I escaped to an eerie cinema next door to write this.
Many survivors in this area are now looking out for me, so under the cover of darkness tonight, I plan on moving to another collection of barely inhabited buildings or another suburb entirely.
January 23rd, 2006
For quite some time, I have heard tales of the great victory at Caiger Mall last year. It has become a symbol of the resistance against the zombie hordes. Recently I have passed through the mall, and have been nearby it to do my work.
While I have made my mission clear: the extermination of all of Malton's ignorant, uneducated, and apathetic, I have by no means turned my back to the zombie menace. Great hordes now descend on Caiger, and the symbol of humanity's resistance is called into question. This is a time to hesitate in regard to my noble mission, and instead turn my attention to the rotting men.
I kill my fellow men. I make no move to conceal it in the pages of this journal. Those I have harmed, and those who wish to bring me down, I can understand. I will gladly pit my skills against theirs, but not in these dark days to come. When the walking dead put Caiger behind them, I will again take up my banner of cleansing, but until that day, I will again stand with my fellow man.
February 7th, 2006
It is now clear to me that Caiger does not matter. The mall is packed. Well over two thousand stinking survivors are holed up within its impressive barricades. Stores are stripped bare, everyone hordes the goods they manage to find. There are zombies outside, attacking with a great deal of coordination. It is clear that something is guiding them, though I am unsure as to the nature of it.
Both forces are massed here, but I cannot bear to be in such a place. The smells of urine and garbage infest my every waking moment. People are packed into every store, leaving little room to move or to be alone. I can barely hear myself think.
The zombies are also vastly outnumbered. I do not know whether more are on the way. Many claim that the hordes are coming down on us here, but they seem little more than doomsday prophets. Their cries echo off the mall's corridors and escalators, but are drowned out by gunfire from outside and the talk of men and wailing of children within. This fortress that Caiger has become seems held, and the zombie effort here is at the expense of other areas of Malton.
Now that members of the Philosophe Knights can make contact with one another with cell phones and a hacked necronet site, I am invigorated to work on our goal. Look out Malton, Shock Arish plagues you once again.
February 24th, 2006
I write this by candlelight in the stacks of a library. We are at war. I have exhausted myself today searching for precious Necrotech syringes in the ruins of a lab. Philosophe Knights are being killed on a regular basis, and though it defies my notion of warfare, it is important to bring those killed back to life.
I do not mean to indicate that the Philosophe Knights are losing the war. Quite the contrary I believe. The suburb of Molebank has become my home these past few weeks. The gothic style cathedral of St. Jude dominates the suburb. It is well fortified and there are Knights of St. Jude at shot out stained glass windows, standing ready with shotguns and pistols. The urban jungle around the cathedral is packed with alleys and buildings crusted with brightly colored graffiti.
Most zombies from Molebank are besieging Caiger Mall, so the suburb has become a haven for survivors. Many are injured or recovering from time spent among the rotting hordes. Many are weak and thus easy prey. I pass them up though. We have made it a goal to cleanse the Knights of St. Jude. I hunt only them.
I have spent so long as a predator. Once again I am in the thick of a city, waging a war from building to building. This is my element. I am breathing the same air that I did in the revolution. Malton reminds me of my home in this way. I am at home in this war.
May 11th, 2006
So long. Oh, it has been so long since I have written in this legacy of mine. Much of the past month or two was spent as one of the rotting men. I do not know how many I killed during that time. It is a hazy memory: Days of bashing through walls of furniture to get to doors. Killing and brutalizing those within. Destroying everything.
This period as a walking dead was initiated by my unceremonious murder. I have made many enemies I realize, and often I go to sleep fearing to awake as a zombie. The day of my murder I was killed in a raid that also cost us two other Knights. The Old Arkham Republic and the Malton Fire Department jointly attacked the library that we were holed up inside. I hold little ill will for the act of murder against me. I am a criminal and may deserve death once my task is finished, however when I am impeded in my goal, I will not hesitate to indulge in revenge.
I have spent the day searching for one of those who has harrassed me these past months. When I find him, I will kill him. I go now to sleep in a dreamworld of my dead hands around the neck of a screaming survivor or of Vezenia being perforated with bullets.
February 12, 2007
What luck! This notebook was once again returned to me. A librarian from the south of Malton approached me today, drawn by my white mask, and asked if I were the knight who goes by S. I was startled. Recently I have spent much time conversing with survivors who are not hostile to me, but the sheer number of enemies that the Philosophe Knights have drawn in the past year or so keeps me wary of anyone who recognizes me.
This man informed me that this notebook spent the last year being moved from library to library with other books to avoid ransacking zombies and survivors. It entered the hands of my librarian benefactor who sought me out. I am glad to once again touch its pages with ink.
My condition has changed such since I last wrote that it would be a crime to not record it. I am now part of a unit of Knights charged with improving our image and with it our noteriety. I encourage strangers to learn and shed the shackles of ignorance, and I paint masks over grafiti streaked walls to show our presence.
I have also taken on a page. A child, orphaned during the opening days of the crisis, overheard a speech I made over the body of an ignorant I had slain. She followed me from the warehouse, filled with survivors whispering about the Philosophe Knights, and approached me in a tall office building next door. She barely knew how to read or write. She had only attended one year of schooling before the rotting men came. She came to me tearful, for she had no way to make herself less ignorant.
This struck me. I have always considered our group to increase the knowledge of the flocks of survivors around us. We are not teachers though, merely philosophers, carrying out our mutual goal. I realized that our duty should include directly educating those we interact with. I have taken on this girl as an apprentice, to teach her sciences, humanities, and how to learn from the world. I am now S the teacher, in addition to executioner and propaganda artist.
February 13, 2007
I have cleaned my weapons uncountable times this day. After writing this, I hope to be distracted by finding poetry for tomorrow's massacre in my collection. It has been quite some time since I killed an ignorant. I am eager to again add names to the list of cleansed. Eagerness before combat has always worried me: The predatory feeling seems barely human. Despite this, if the following days go well, I am considering a tour of Malton's mall strongholds, killing one in each, as a symbol of our power and the breadth of our influence.
I will return to this entry tonight, after I have killed.
My page stood by and watched stoically as I killed two survivors and addressed the mob with the post-execution speech I have given so many times. To be on the prowl is exhilerating. After tomorrow, when I will return to the mall to read poetry to the uneducated masses, I will begin the mall tour I mentioned. It is time to clean my weapons once more.
This page is based on Flogging Molly's user page. His in turn is based on the Philosophe Knights wiki design, created by Masque and greatly influenced by the designs of Sirens.