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Journal Entry - The Lemon Grove
Sun, 19 Oct 2025 08:24:03 +0000

The sourness burned my tongue. I didn't care. I ate it down to the bitter pith, eyes watering. It tasted like life refusing to give in.

I don't know how long these groves will last. Raiders will burn them, or the soil will finally surrender. But for now, they stand. I stood among them with juice dripping from my chin, J.W. Cheetah 1911 pistol heavy at my side, and felt something I hadn't in a long time.

Hope.

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Journal Entry - Day 41 Burning City
Sat, 04 Oct 2025 07:53:26 +0000

The air is thick tonight, heavy with the smell of wet ash and something acrid–like melted plastic mixed with old blood. Everything out here is burning or has already been consumed. I can feel the weight of it all, the endless, grinding despair of this wasteland, pressing down on my chest. It makes the meager warmth I found today feel like a miracle.

I watched the distant lights of the city. Another building was going up in flames, a slow, agonizing spectacle. I keep thinking about how fast things can turn, how everything we built–our lives, our cities, our civilization–can be reduced to a heap of burning rubble.

But then I feel the red paint on my arm and leg, and I remember why I keep fighting. It's not just about survival; it's about defiance. It's about refusing to let the flame inside me go out. Let the world burn. I'll still be here, fighting for my little patch of ground, and warming my hands by a fire that tastes like tomorrow.

I'm tired. But I'm not done. Not yet.

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Journal Entry - October 31 Halloween
Sun, 28 Sep 2025 02:36:37 +0000

The old world's calendar means little now. Days bleed into one another, marked not by dates but by the scarcity of food and the presence of the infected. Still, today felt different. There was a chill in the air I haven't felt in a long time, the kind that used to make me reach for a scarf instead of my shotgun. I passed a ruined suburban street, the skeletons of houses standing against the gray sky. A few of them still had old decorations clinging to their frames–faded plastic skeletons and ripped spiderwebs.

I remember this night. Dressing up, trick-or-treating. It was one of the few nights the world felt magical, where the scary things were fake, and the biggest danger was a stomachache from too much candy. Now, every night is Halloween. The monsters are real, and they don't go away with the sunrise.

I came across a child's backpack on the side of the road. It had a cartoon ghost on it. For a moment, I just stood there, staring at it, my mind replaying a thousand memories I've tried so hard to bury. A child's laugh, the rustle of a candy wrapper. This world has no room for innocence, and that's the cruelest part.

I kept walking. The red marks on my arms feel more like war paint tonight, a grim reflection of the holiday's colors. I am the thing that survived the horror movie. And I'm still looking for the final scene where the credits roll and the lights come up. But out here, there's no ending. Just more walking, more fighting, and more ghosts of the past.

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[MOVED] Ghost in the Wires
Sun, 28 Sep 2025 02:00:59 +0000

Changed the "Ghost in the Wires" story name to "Memory in the Wires", due to the over-popularity of the former.

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Ramen Noodle Express
Sun, 21 Sep 2025 09:46:30 +0000

This Digital Ghosts story continues from Work for Hire.

The small ramen shop was a steamy refuge from the Undergrid's perpetual drizzle. Maya found a seat at a table, the scent of dashi and char siu a welcome change from the city's exhaust. She ordered a bowl of spicy miso ramen, and as the cook ladled the rich broth into a bowl, a notification pinged on her neural implant.

It wasn't ARIA. The signal was a low-frequency burst, a local data packet meant for a specific receiver. She located the source instantly: a man hunched over a bowl of his own, three seats away. His face was a roadmap of scars, and his calloused hands were stained with what looked like rust and machine grease. This was Kosaka, the Tendin Janitor.

"The old servers are a mess," a synthesized voice crackled directly into her mind, bypassing her ears entirely. "Security's a joke, if you know where to look."

Maya's hand slid under the counter, her fingers brushing the worn metal. She replied with a thought, the signal a silent ripple between them. "Give me the specifics. Access points, guard schedules, anything on the lockdown protocols."

"The money first," Kosaka's voice came back, devoid of emotion. "You can't buy my trust with a promise."

"The credits are in escrow," Maya thought back, a hint of steel in her tone. "You know the protocol."

A moment of silence hung between them, broken only by the slurp of noodles from another customer. Then, a new data packet arrived in her implant. It was a dense, encrypted file. Access codes, a schematic of the Tendin sublevel 7 lockdown grid, and a list of patrol routes. The "janitor" wasn't just cleaning up old servers; he was a ghost in the machine himself.

"It's a one-time use," Kosaka's voice advised. "The codes change every six hours."

"How's the lockdown?" she asked.

"Air-gapped," he responded. "No comms in or out. But... you'll find what you're looking for, if you can navigate the data decay. Most of them don't last long down there."

Maya knew he was talking about the ghosts. She sent a final, concise thought. "Thanks for the intel."

"Don't thank me yet," he replied, already rising from his seat. "The ghosts aren't the only ones who remember."

With that, he walked out into the rain, leaving Maya alone with her steaming bowl of ramen and a terrifying new map of the underworld.

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Work for Hire
Sun, 21 Sep 2025 09:48:24 +0000

This Digital Ghosts story continues in Ramen Noodle Express.

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Syndicate Run
Sun, 21 Sep 2025 09:19:16 +0000

"Sora?" he breathed.

The digital mask flickered, revealing her face for a fleeting moment. It was her, the same woman he'd thought he'd lost to a corporate raid years ago. Her lips formed a single word, a warning.

"Run."

The container door slid shut behind her. Ryker didn't need a second warning. The Black Lotus Syndicate was closing in, and the true game had just begun. He finally pulled the Psycho Pistol from the inside of his jacket as he ran into the shadows.

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