<The journal, though ill-kept, is surprisingly meticulous in its writing. The script shorthand, though rushed, is mostly legible, save for the signs of water damage that plague its surface.>

Been walking for ages, now. Everything feels…well, off.

Look at that – cheap, isn’t it? Especially now. It’s basically the end of the world, at this point. I’d sooner believe all that rambling about Rapture and whatnot than what I’m still seeing with my own two eyes. It feels like only yesterday I was shouting about religious canvasing around my neighborhood and only like five minutes since I sat there, in the back of a squad car.

Stupid, though. Not the first time I’ve lost track of time in the outdoors, except this isn’t just one of my normal camping trips; the kind I’d take to get away from the job…or the wife. That one, that became more frequent–

More than enough days have gone by – I know this. All this change, it’s a combination of the short- and long-term. I walked away from one hell hole only to trip into another, even bigger shithole – then to find myself back at ground zero.

I don’t see the military base from here, though. Strange, just tags of these “Arklay Rebels.” I’m fresh out of bolts and think my sneakers have seen better days. I’m also fairly convinced I’ve been long dead now and stuck in Limbo – maybe, but that leaves only one way to find out.