Journal:Wilder Van Wilde
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Pre-Outbreak
The question is: who isn't he? Wilde's life before the outbreak was going in many different directions: he was a brilliant songwriter with 3 Demo CDs in the works, the front-man of an up-and-coming Funk group, "Avidase", and the bastard son of the great writer Osmond Van Wilde. He performed regular gigs all over Malton, occasionally heading over the town border to Morehamwood to play at nightclubs for extra cash. He got more lays than a mattress, and on a good day consumed several ounces of flavored vodka.
When the outbreak happened, Wilde was recording his latest hit in the studio. The power suddenly went out, rendering his electric guitar useless. After twenty minutes of trying to figure out what the heck was wrong, Van Wilde left the room in search of the fuse box. Almost immediately, police officers from the DEM herded Wilde out of the building, separating him from his band members. He was placed with many other civilians outside of Buckley Mall, where it was believed that a military search-and-rescue helicopter would come and pick them up. Several hours later, Wilde continued to wait. Despite the tragedy unfolding around him, Wilde kept his attitude positive. Several years of hard alcohol and meditation had rendered him practically useless with a weapon, so he grabbed a tennis racket to protect himself and began playing acoustic guitar inside of the mall. He was expecting large crowds of people coming to see his awesome funk music. Nobody recognized him.
Then, the mall's PA system crackled to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. The military has determined that the landing area near the mall is unsafe. As such, they have asked us to keep you here until further notice. That is all".
It was the worst moment of Van Wilde's life: authority had won.
And it wasn't over yet.
Van Wilde's Journal Entries
18/8/09
I can't take this anymore. I just can't. I...I killed someone. I killed a lot of people. I went to the mall, and I just...slaughtered them all. Took my knife and slit their throats. The bounty hunters are after me. The DEM is after me. I can't live like this anymore. Goodbye, world.
15/8/09
I'm hanging out in a school now, and it reminds me...I could have had kids. I could have had a wife and a house and everything. I could have had a dog...maybe then I wouldn't be so lonely. Those people outside? They haven't lost anything. They still have their government and their emergency services...if they look in a bank, they might even find their precious "money". What is money now, huh? A piece of paper with a picture on it. I would kill to have a knife. To kill just one of those idiots. They don't know what life is...STILL, after all of this...they don't know what life is. And they don't know who I am. But I know them...and I know where they are. Buckley Mall. That's my next stop. -Wilder
13/8/09
I've been sitting around for days. Food is running low, the generator is running out of fuel, and the radio transmitter is starting to transmit gibberish. People are getting really pissed off.
I left the hospital days ago, and headed to a police department. Remember that shotgun I wanted? Well, merry f*cking Christmas, 'cause I found two of 'em. While I was there, a pair of scary-looking guys pulled me into their van and blindfolded me. I was terrified as hell! I thought I was a goner. Well, ten minutes later, they take off the blindfold and I'm in this room with the guys. I asked 'em if they were going to kill me, and they laughed. They said they were part of this DEM vigilante group...apparently, the DEM kill people who don't agree with them and put them on this list. I was on the list of deserters. They assigned me someone who would be my "guardian angel" and take care of me while I learned how to fight. Can it be done? Can you really fight the DEM?
10/8/09
Most of this entry is too obscured to read. The ink has smudged in places, and a large splatter of liquor has covered the length of the paper. Scrawled in tiny writing at the bottom of the pages is; "They think they know me But nobody knows me Only I know who I am AND I KNOW WHO THEY ARE, BUT THEY CAN'T SEE ME. They think they know me..." It looks like the words have been repeated over and over again.
8/8/09
Dude, this is bullshit. First they want us to stay in the mall, so I left anyways, and then they tell us we can't come in because we might "break the barricades"? Fuck the DEM, man! Fuck em all!
So now I'm holed up in some hospital or whatever with 50 or so other people. You will not BELIEVE who I saw; Wes Mantooth from Channel 11 news! Dude, isn't that badass? I grabbed as many first aid kits as I could, you know, in case I got hurt. I looked around a bit...there's some messed up stuff goin' on outside. Lots of people who are really injured, and there's some kind of...what do you call 'em...they're like voodoo zombies outside the mall. One of 'em bit me, but I smacked him with my guitar. They're right: Gibson customs are fuckin' durable!
I swear I saw Paul the other day. He just looked at me and didn't even touch me. I smacked him over the head; I think that hurt him, so I fixed him up with a bandage. It's like these zombies have a mind of their own...it's like they remember where they've been when they were alive. Speaking of which, I wonder where the other Avidase guys are. I've been looking all over outside Buckley for 'em, but they're a no-show. I wish I had a shotgun or something...
-Wilder
