Journal Entry: Day 132

The sun hung low in the sky today, casting long shadows across the cracked earth of the central Florida wasteland. I spent the morning tinkering with my cart, trying to fix the broken wheel that’s been giving me trouble since I left Dogtown. The roads are rough, and I could feel the weight of the world pressing down on me with every jolt.

As I traveled toward Gatortown, I spotted a flag fluttering in the wind—a tattered pirate banner. My heart sank. Raiders! A band of them, dressed like swashbucklers, came barreling down the path. They yelled and laughed, their voices rough and wild. I could see the glint of weapons as they approached. I didn’t think twice; I grabbed what I could—my wares, some rations, and the precious map of the settlements—and fled.

In my haste, I left behind a crate of power cores, valuable enough to buy a meal for a month. But I couldn’t risk a confrontation; their eyes were wild, and I had no intention of becoming their next trophy. I stumbled through the underbrush, heart racing, until I lost them in the thick foliage.

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Journal Entry: Day 134

By the time I reached the outskirts of Soggy Bottom, night had fallen. I was exhausted, but the thrill of survival kept me moving. That’s when I encountered a group of the New Florida Rangers, clad in worn leather armor, discussing their mission with fierce determination. They were headed to Soggy Bottom, investigating reports of a “monster.” We shared a fire for the night, and they regaled me with tales of their past encounters—scary stories that could chill the spine. I found comfort in their camaraderie, and they took a few of my wares in exchange for some much-needed food.

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Journal Entry: Day 137

Fate is a cruel mistress. Days later, as I made my way from Crystal Springs back to Soggy Bottom, the air grew thick with unease. Something felt wrong. I followed the Rangers’ tracks, hoping to find them, but instead, I stumbled upon a grisly scene.

The remnants of their camp lay scattered among the trees. Tattered tents, torn banners, and, worst of all, their bodies—lifeless, surrounded by the eerie silence of the wasteland. The sight twisted my gut. They had fought bravely, I could tell, but it was a losing battle against whatever monstrosity they had sought to confront. I recognized several of their badges, glinting from the tangle of torn clothing, shredded flesh, and flayed bones glinting in the sun.

I gathered what I could from the remains—an old rifle, some ammunition, and a few personal items that felt too sacred to leave behind. It’s a harsh world out here, where the line between hunter and hunted blurs. I find myself mourning strangers I barely knew, while my own survival instinct claws at me, reminding me that I must keep moving.

Tonight, I’ll find a place to rest, though sleep will likely elude me. The memory of their laughter and strength will haunt me, a reminder of the thin veil that separates life from death in this unforgiving wasteland.

May tomorrow bring better fortunes.

—Jonas