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Morgan Lee's Journal

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[Author's Note: Let me first preface this by saying that this was a cheat game, so it's a bit more about the story than the game.  Although I have used and will continue to use events and situations that unfold naturally in the game, as opportunities to explore a new ideas and character development.  So she started in Muldraugh and moved to "her apartment" in West Point, where her and her sister had collected a lot of guns and ammo.  That's where I cheated, and also gave her free skills to match her backstory (mostly in aiming and reloading)  Enjoy!]

Name: Morgan Lee
Sex: F

Age: 27
Profession: Veteran

[EDIT: A thumbnail showing Morgan's appearance is at the bottom of the post.  You might wanna scroll down and take a peek before reading.  I will add to the journal as the game continues :) ]


April 1st, 2012
We all made it back home safely!  Turns out West Point isn't infected like we thought, and there are researchers well on their way to a cure.  Things are really looking up.
Best journal entry ever!
That was the most bitter, joyless joke I've ever written.  No, the box with all my old journals just happened to be one of the boxes we left behind in Ohio.  And now that I'm alone in the house of my sister's dead friend, and the food is running out, and I have no idea where my fucking sister actually IS, I thought I'm going to start another journal.
I got sick on the drive from Ohio.  None of the hospitals were open.  I got a fever, and it just got worse and worse until I didn't know up from down.  I called Emily by our mother's name a few times.  That's something I remember.  She took care of me.  I don't know how long we've been in this house.
I guess she left to get more supplies.  But it's been a few days now since I started feeling better and I can't wait anymore.  I have to get to our apartment in West Point.  We got our pistols we took back from the military and our rifles, shotguns and ammo we collected.  Didn't really think I'd be shooting people again.  Well, they're not really people, I suppose.
You know I should've died from the fever, Em.  You would want me to just wait right here for you.  Yeah, it's fucking dangerous out there, you're right.  I'll probably die before I get to the apartment.  If you're alive, then soon you won't have to look after me anymore.  I always held you back, even in basic.
So there's no good reason for me to stay in here and it's a win-win if I leave.  But I know you can survive out there, and I can't.
I hope you're alive.
A few hours later...
Made it to the north farm in Muldraugh.  I guess I'll stay here for the night and move into West Point tomorrow.  Not a lot of walkers once you're out in the woods.
I watched them on the way over.  They're easy to trick.  I just moved slowly, didn't jerk around, and didn't get close.  Most of them didn't notice me, and the ones that did saw the business end of my hunting knife.  Emily told me once that you have to destroy the brain to kill them, and I didn't feel like testing to see if that wasn't true.  I'm lucky I learned how to really stab.  It's not easy to get through a skull.
But their mindlessness works against you too.  They will do nothing to stop you from hurting them 'cause all they seem to care about is getting a bite.  But that means you can't threaten them, you can't deter them, and they'll never stop coming.  If I get trapped by them, that's it.  If I'm surrounded and they know where I am, I'm done.
Even out here in the woods I'll be shutting off all the lights, covering the windows and staying dead quiet until morning.  After I get drunk off this whiskey I found.
April 2nd, 2012
My head hurts.  For some reason the very first thought I had when I woke up was "Hey, I forgot to write about the scratch I got."
Yeah, a zombie scratch.  I had already picked Cortman Medical through though, so it wasn't a big deal.  Disinfected it, slapped a sterilized bandage on it, and I'm good to go.  No biggie.
Oh hey, I also peeked through that warehouse on the highway and found a fucking sledgehammer.  Could be useful if I'm trapped somewhere and the only way out is through a wall.  Found some bags to haul all my shit too.  It's a fairly heavy load, but I'll manage.
I'm going to make it home today.  I hope you're there, Em.
14 fucking hours later...
And I'm home.  No Emily, but the weapons are still here.  Rifles... shotgun... and both of our handguns.  So she's dead.  My sister is dead.  Probably lying down somewhere with one gunshot wound to the head, if she managed to find a gun.  I just hope she isn't one of those things.
I need her.  I still need her.  I'm the little sister and she protected me.  I didn't protect her.  Even in Fallujah she was saving my ass.  She was better.  Better training scores, more medals... more recognition.  What the fuck am I doing here?  Some fucking fluke that I'm around and she's not.
I'm going to kill myself.  I'm taking all our guns and ammo and I'm going out there to take out as many of those motherfuckers as I possibly can before they get me.
I'll make you proud, Em.  See you soon.
April 4th, 2012
It's almost midnight and I'm still alive after two straight days of shooting things that used to be people.  I'm still alive for some fucking reason.  In fact, I'm not even injured.  At all.  Not one scratch.  Got grabbed a few times, but I don't even have a bruise.  Honestly, what the fuck happened?
I shouldn't fucking be here.
And yes, I put my gun to my head.  I couldn't pull the fucking trigger.  I just wasn't strong enough.  Never fucking strong enough.  Not strong enough to leave the bottles of booze I keep finding, not strong enough to punch my own ticket when I've lived out my usefulness.
When that man - a kid, really - came out of that alley and grabbed me, you pulled him right off.  I wouldn't have been able to pull him off you, Em.
But I'm here and you're not.  I'm here and you're not and I just don't fucking get it.
So what am I supposed to do then?  Survive?  What for?  Nobody's relying on me anymore.  Mom's dead.  Dad's dead.  Em's dead.  No hope of finding any of my friends, either in town or from the goddamn army.
It's just me and I don't even have the strength to blow my own brains out.
Do you want me to live, Em?  Are you trying to tell me something?  Is that what this is?
Well fuck you.  You were always demanding.
April 7th, 2012
You know what I've been doing the last few days?  I'll tell you: sorting and drinking.  Organizing and chugging.  Compartmentalizing and gulping.
Since my survival instinct seems to want to control everything I do now, I decided I might as well set up a home with supplies, weapons, etc.  A base.  At first it was going to be our apartment but it's not big enough.  And it's too fucking sad.  Instead, it's gonna be the Giga-Mart just across the street.  I got a lot of windows to cover, since the walkers seem to know to look for light and people through them.  But I shouldn't find too many of those fuckers, at least for a while.  You know why?
I counted my kills.  Care to take a guess?
The answer is:
Four-hundred .308 rounds and three-hundred-thirty-eight .223 rounds later, that is my kill count.
Not even shitting you.  And the best part is, I don't even feel bad.  It's not like combat because they ain't people, you know?  I mean hell, I wouldn't wanna be up and walking around like those guys, so I figure I'm doing them a favour.  Plus they're way easier to kill with a decent rifle than a human being is, 'cause they don't know tactics.  Once they see you, they just move toward you.  No self-preservation.  Line them up in the crosshairs, pull the trigger, and retreat to a better position when they get too close.  It's almost Zen.
About the only actual tactic they seem to know is to sometimes move ahead of you.  Like if you're running in a direction, some zeds might try to move to where you're going to be rather than where you are at the moment.  I dunno, it's like the only half-ways smart thing they seem to do.
Damn, I didn't know I was gonna rant about that.  I felt all pissy when I started writing, 'cause I don't really wanna live.  Writing down all that stuff about the fighting I did... I feel a hell of a lot better now.
Anyway, I set up pretty good at the Giga-Mart, organized all the different categories of stuff that I found in here, and from home.  There's enough food in here to last for months.  A lot of it is gonna spoil since I'm not a big eater.
It's not bad though.  I got weapons, food, water.  Next project is looting all the walkers outside, and then dragging them into a big fucking pile to burn 'em.  That'll probably take a few days.  I'll probably be all pissy again by the time I write another entry.
April 14th, 2012
Looting all the dead walkers took almost a week of me doing nothing but looting for eight hours or more.  I haven't even burnt them yet.
I raided the nearby pharmacy, so I'm stacked to the friggin gills with medical supplies, and non-perishable food.  I'm actually a little impressed with myself.  I decided I'm gonna poke around all the buildings around here before I go burning the zombies, in case the fire gets out-of-hand.  It's all concrete between them and the Giga-Mart so it shouldn't spread to my actual base.  I'm still keeping a fire extinguisher around just in case.
I found a few more walkers roaming around... and one small group.  They're wandering back in.  That means I gotta find sheets to cover all the windows.  So the corpse-burnin' is gonna have to wait.
Priorities, Morgan!  ha ha ha
I think I had a bit too much to drink already.  But I can still write coherently, so it couldn't have been THAT much right?
April 15th, 2012
I'm sick.  I dunno why.  Maybe from hanging around all those corpses while I was looting.  So I grabbed a bunch of food, water, booze and pills and I'm gonna stay in bed until I'm better.
I'm nauseous, and I feel anxious, shaky and sweaty.  I was sick not even two weeks ago.  Emily isn't here to take care of me this time.  I can do it.
I hope I don't get delirious again.
I'm gonna die          I can see it
I'm not gonna make it out of here anyway
I can hear opfor around the base
I hear screaming                    they're killing her
I love you
April 16th, 2012
I can't believe I wrote that in pen.  I thought it was fucking crucial when I wrote it down.  I had a fever.  I'm sure you noticed.  It just lasted the night though.  I thought the walkers were Iraqi insurgents.
I'm so fucking scared right now.  I'm shaking, sweating.  I'm lucid but I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me.
Christ I want a smoke.
I smoked a cigarette.  ha ha I'm fucking stupid
I haven't had one since high school.  I smoked four in a row.  Oh my god it was awful so I drank a bottle of chardonnay to go with it and now I'm destressed and relaxed and happy as hell oh yeah
Gonna go back to bed for a while

[Author's note: Thanks for reading!  More to come!  Why not tell me what you think? ^_^]


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It's a good read, I like it. I'd post something below it but I really have no useful feedback, It's enjoyable, I get a kick out of reading various stories that PZ spawns, one of the reasons I like the game as much as I do.

Will look forward for more.

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April 24th, 2010



I really didn't expect that to take SO fucking long but I guess it makes sense.  I don't wanna catch any other nasty illness that almost kills me, thank you very much, so I've been dragging bodies around town.  Sounds kinda stupid when you write it out that way.  I was dragging them into piles for burning.  And I decided to clean up the blood around my new home too.  Finally there are just little ash piles in the streets, and not even too many of those.  Clean.  Pretty.


The fires were pretty too.  I made three of them... huge bonfires of rotting corpses.  Christ, I thought the stench when they were alive was bad; I didn't have a fucking clue how they'd stink while they were burning.  On the plus side, it's down and the block smells better than it has since I got here.  Even though I kill a few more every couple of days, it's never even close to as bad as how it was.  That is a hard sentence to parse.  Jesus I'm tired.


That's what I work towards now, I guess.  Trying to make each day a little less shitty.  Find joy in the little less shitty things, like fewer burning, rotting corpses to smell with my morning instant coffee.  I didn't want to stop write this to be honest.


'Cause I get to thinking and asking myself what the fuck I'm working towards.  So a goal, right?  A goal.  I want to build this place up.  Chop wood, build rooms, maybe get up to the roof.  It'd be a safer place to work, up there.  Looting can't last forever and I'll need dirt, soil... maybe I can grow something up there, I don't know.  I'm no farmer, but the food won't last forever.


Anyway, it's not a major priority.  Maybe I'll set up a little campsite up there, with a tent and a fire, roast marshmallows if I find some.  I need to build a proper bathroom too.  So that's what I'll focus on.  No more thinking, no more deliberating.  Maybe other people will wander by.  I could help them.


I want to help them.  I need to get to work.

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Not that everyone who reads it needs to make a huge comment, but I would like some feedback, what I did well and what I did poorly.  I'm trying to improve my work :)

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April 29th, 2012



I'm fucking cold tonight.  Decided to get shit-faced before cleaning up a bunch of fresh walker blood.  I went out with the rest of my rifle ammo and fired off some more shots and then gunned down a lot more of them.  There weren't nearly as many this time around, so I guess they haven't really wandered back to this neighbourhood yet.  With all the construction and renovation I'm doing, I really didn't wanna be disturbed by a posse of groaning undead.


The booze made me feel warm, even though it was chilly and raining outside.  I just had my blouse on.  Now the booze wore off and I'm shivering and chattering and I feel like shit.  I've been drinking too much.  I'm almost out.  Shit.


But I got a lot done too.  I built stairs up to the roof, I built two completely new rooms and got started on a balcony.  I wanna build out over the first floor, maybe put my bathroom in there.  That'll be a huge job.


Chopping wood, building shit, chopping wood, building shit.  Thank God for that hardware store across the street.  Tell me "good job," Em.

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Thanks!  I'll post pictures when the Giga-Mart construction is finished.  Otherwise it's not much of a visual story.  Although I guess I could where her old apartment was and stuff.


[Author's note: I'm sure you've figured this out by now, but I just wanted to point out that when she's under the influence of drugs, alcohol or delirium, any typos are probably intentional ^_^]


May 8th, 2012
Raided Twiggy's across the street, restocked my booze.  Fuck I needed it too.  I've been working non-stop on this place, right from when I get up to when I go to bed.  I finished putting a fence around the roof so I don't fall off, built a little shack up there so the stairs weren't exposed; that'll keep the rain out, and snow if I'm still here in the winter.
The whiskey is hitting me pretty hard now.  I felt fine when I started writing.  But I started working on adding more to the second floor of the Giga-Mart, inside.  I want to build a little medical room to keep all my pills and medical supplies and shit, and maybe a proper bedroom if I don't burn out before it's done.  So I got started on that after finalizing the two rooms I added and fencing the roof.
I don't want to write about this.  But I don't want to write about what I want to write about because it's weird.  Fuck, that didn't make any sense reading it back.  God damn it.  I just
Why haven't I grieved?
I keep thinking about it.  I saw Mom die in Ohio and Em and I cried a lot for a few days, but then I got sick.  Barely thought about her since then.  And now Em's gone and I'm working as if she's gonna see
She's not gonna see it
I didn't want to stop working.  I fell while I was building and cut my leg open.  I sewed up my own goddamn leg and I'd be dead if I hadn't and it hurt like a bitch.  Whiskey and painkillers make it better.  I stopped working but there's more to do
I don't feel good
I sound like a crazy person.  But I took on those walkers.  Hundreds and hundreds.  By myself.  Me.  ME ME ME!!!
And now I'm realizing that I mixed too many painkillers with too much whiskey.  I wasn't even thinking about it cause hurt so goddamn much
It wasn't the first time I've jammed a needle into an open wound after pouring disinfectant on it.  But it keeps my mind occupied or it did whatever
I'm laying in bed with a shitload of booze, some energy drinks and meal replacement bars, and a lot of water and a bucket to shit in
Until I can walk again without splitting my leg open
I keep thinking about shooting all those zeds.  I almost threw up the first time I shot a person and he died.  The walkers are easy though
But I did it, on my own and I was trying to die.
I just wish you could see what I did and I really dont feel good          I need to go to BED

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May 9th, 2012



I can't think about all this crap.  It's not productive.  I just get sad and why the hell would I want that?  What does it accomplish?  So I worked, even with my leg the way it is.  I could focus, and when I couldn't, the pain made sure my mind wouldn't wander.  I got some more of the interior done, enough so that I can't fall and practically kill myself again.


I want to get another bed in here, in case I meet anybody and they need help.  I got one in the little medical room I made but who would wanna sleep in there?  And I need better reading material for when I'm trying to get to sleep after working for fourteen hours.  So that's the new list.  Already got more wood than know what to do with.


Haha, getting wood.  Jesus, I actually giggled.  I'm fucking childish sometimes.  I haven't gotten laid in forever, haven't even touched myself.  Just haven't thought of it until now.  I wish I had my toys.

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