Gersch Journals: Entries 1-3

[Skuld]

Entry 1

 

  Countless times I had dreamed of achieving my own enlightenment, meeting eyes with my own maker. So I toiled, constantly, without rest or woe as soon as I had graduated. Germany unfortunately had hit hard times; there were no calls for bright young minds, no room for creativity. Every man, woman, and child, felt the weight, the burden of, a war lost. Financial debt consumed our government, and soon led to my own, and many others, left with poverty.

 

  But I continued on, trying to exploit something, anything, that would let me see my maker, and yet avoid the cold kiss of Death. But alas, without funding, it was none more than a silly dream. And then, a light of hope spread 'round my town, nay my country. The favored Nazi Party brought with it the promise of jobs, and money, an end to the nation's troubles. And infatuated with their glittering promises, I selfishly ignored the devil speaking through them. Joining their party, along with rising through it's ranks, caught the eye of our Fuhrer. He was, not to say the least, unhinged, yet he undoubtedly wanted to fund my early exploits into the Afterlife. For what reason I could only ever guess: perhaps for the more unsavory ideals he omitted in those early campaigning speeches, or maybe he wanted to see the face of our Lord, to hear His judgement, most likely the sick fantasy that he would be given some holy blessing. The man had lost many a young German to his ill-fated war, one that encapsulated our entire world, for the second time. Whatever the reason I was happy that I could work towards my goal again.

 

Entry 2

 

  It appears I have made the most foolhardy of mistakes in accepting this offer. My funding is virtually cut off, and progress has yet to be made, it seems I am to be shipped to the 935 facilities as yet another of their "bright" consultants. Their work apparently is much more important than my own...

 

Entry 3

 

  Work here at 935 is steadily disappointing, who would think that so many brilliant minds would be set towards these unthinking abominations?! The Undead, resurrected by the meteor one can only name as Wormwood, mined for radioactive material, will be the destruction of us all! My displeasure is not unheard of however, the good Dr. Richtofen, another consultant who's own work was cast aside, has agreed to induct me into a secret group of Alumni. Secrets within secrets, our burgeoning supplies of metal must be for soundproof walls, for I had never heard of such a group. After much consultation, and even some praise at Edward's foolish teleportation machine, I had earned a seat at the society. Under the cover of night, my work was transferred to a Russian base, run by the very same Illuminati. Perhaps soon, I shall travel to that haven to meet my creator, visit that Aether realm. But first, work is to be done on the device to carry me there.