Diary of Marnie Wilson
Posted: Thu Sep 04, 2025 1:43 pm
Have you ever thought about the last time you played pretend with your friends as a kid? Most people don't remember because they never knew it would be the last time. If I would have known, then I would have savoured the moment; remembering every detail of being Andrew Wilson, my great great grandfather. One of the heroes of a time long ago.
Andrew Wilson was responsible finding safety from the 'Time of Chaos.' His brother, Carl, established a small settlement, to the south, known as Camp Wilson. I figure that I'll visit there next. Yet, my great great granddad established some town, called Fort Hammer. I've been searching for it for the past five years. His grandson had moved from Fort Hammer to the Baronies, where I was born. Mom died in childbirth. Maybe I have relatives in Hammer. Grandpa died of old age when I was just a baby, which upset my dad. In any case, with dad passing away, there's nothing left in the baronies for me.
My dad, Colt, was tragically killed in a racing accident across the desert. It's hard to remember my last moment with him. I think he took me to eat at the local market; right before his race. It's all such a blur though. If only we knew each time we'd be doing something for the very last time, we could just embrace those moments. So, now I embrace every moment.
Since then, I did research on our genealogy. Our family tree dates back to Andy Wilson. A man known for discovering ley lines that intersect, creating a sort of zone of mystical energies. Some say he was a great conjurer. Many believe that he was in the favor of gods, who could create areas of solitude, keeping out supernatural, alien and demonic forces who aren't native to the area. Rumor has it that Camp Wilson is somewhat of a paradise and that Fort Hammer is more of an undisturbed agricultural haven.
So here I am, in this small weapons trading post called Rifle Ridge. There are two streets of shops, dedicated to trade and travel. There's the Double Barrel Inn, where I'm staying and writing this now. A local militia, who deal with trouble. Two decently maintained paved roads and a set of historical railroad tracks that haven't corroded away. I'll have to come back here when I have more time. I feel like there's more history to uncover here.
Dad used to tell me about stories that his grandfather would tell about his own father. About a time when all of these things were still fairly new, and some old. Flying cars, no disease, longer life expectancies, safety... They called it the Golden Age, even back then. I wonder how bad it was before then? There were no wars and the world is actually round! Quite a few people don't believe it, but it is! Just look at the moon.
So, if Andy Wilson started Fort Hammer, then how many other places did he save? He was a member of an elite fighting force, only known as NEMA. I don't know what it stands for, I just know that some of it became the Coalition States. Look at them now.
The Coalition States keep people safe, but I think that some of the powers that be abuse their authority. Stories of entire towns being leveled in the name of humanity. Innocent people who're still affected by random pockets of radiation, develop genetic mutations, branding them as outcasts, at best. Most are drug out somewhere secluded and 'neutralized.'
I've had two run ins with Coalition squads. The first one wasn't so bad. They fed me and gave me a safe place to sleep. The second group, well, they stole half of my belongings and almost killed me. If it wasn't for my knack for seeing danger, then they would have gotten me. I'm sure they're still trying to find me. They'd be crazy to follow me this far north.
So, without my trusty mountaineer. I'm stuck riding this horse, which I've appropriately named Mule "asshole" Wilson. I was told that he had a "personality" by the stable master. He should have said, "If you want an animal that will challenge you, ridicule you, make your day harder, then this jackass is it!" all with that charming sales pitch.
So, Rifle Ridge... I wonder why they call this town that. I walked Mule into town, cus he was tired of me sitting on him, only to be accosted by multiple snaggle toothed vendors with bad breath. Most trying to either hire me for carnal favors or sucker me into their "backroom of treasures." I guess there is a high demand for comfort women. I guess being twenty-one years old has its disadvantages for me. I handled it well, I think.
I spent the last of my money on food, ammunition and some information. One of the old timers knows of a man, named Dusty, who can be my guide in Fort Hammer. I just have to find him when I get there. I just need to find the town. The rumor at one of the two saloons, is that it's near a trading town known as Smith Falls. The map shows that it's quite a ways away. It'll take a week if I'm lucky, but more than likely longer.
The bar was fun. I didn't drink much. It's too hard to trust the men, and some women, not to try and medicate me with a 'free drink.' Billiards was fun. I won every game, winning me the money that I used earlier. I met an intriguing man, named Alec. He had a repair bot friend, named Robbie, who swears that he was once human. The robot did definitely talk more human than most bots. Alec was searching for a few friends. The only name that I can remember is Drake, who was some high up soldier in a personal war against the Coalition. I let Alec get me a drink. I hope that I run into him again.
I forgot to mention the wolves following me for the past three days. They never attack but I think that they want Mule. I could be wrong but those animals are smart. They seem to already know which direction that I'm heading. Some of the townsfolk here had to scare them away, but they didn't go far. I swear, the further north that I go, the more bizarre and dangerous this trip has become.
Anyways, it's time for bed. Gnight.
Andrew Wilson was responsible finding safety from the 'Time of Chaos.' His brother, Carl, established a small settlement, to the south, known as Camp Wilson. I figure that I'll visit there next. Yet, my great great granddad established some town, called Fort Hammer. I've been searching for it for the past five years. His grandson had moved from Fort Hammer to the Baronies, where I was born. Mom died in childbirth. Maybe I have relatives in Hammer. Grandpa died of old age when I was just a baby, which upset my dad. In any case, with dad passing away, there's nothing left in the baronies for me.
My dad, Colt, was tragically killed in a racing accident across the desert. It's hard to remember my last moment with him. I think he took me to eat at the local market; right before his race. It's all such a blur though. If only we knew each time we'd be doing something for the very last time, we could just embrace those moments. So, now I embrace every moment.
Since then, I did research on our genealogy. Our family tree dates back to Andy Wilson. A man known for discovering ley lines that intersect, creating a sort of zone of mystical energies. Some say he was a great conjurer. Many believe that he was in the favor of gods, who could create areas of solitude, keeping out supernatural, alien and demonic forces who aren't native to the area. Rumor has it that Camp Wilson is somewhat of a paradise and that Fort Hammer is more of an undisturbed agricultural haven.
So here I am, in this small weapons trading post called Rifle Ridge. There are two streets of shops, dedicated to trade and travel. There's the Double Barrel Inn, where I'm staying and writing this now. A local militia, who deal with trouble. Two decently maintained paved roads and a set of historical railroad tracks that haven't corroded away. I'll have to come back here when I have more time. I feel like there's more history to uncover here.
Dad used to tell me about stories that his grandfather would tell about his own father. About a time when all of these things were still fairly new, and some old. Flying cars, no disease, longer life expectancies, safety... They called it the Golden Age, even back then. I wonder how bad it was before then? There were no wars and the world is actually round! Quite a few people don't believe it, but it is! Just look at the moon.
So, if Andy Wilson started Fort Hammer, then how many other places did he save? He was a member of an elite fighting force, only known as NEMA. I don't know what it stands for, I just know that some of it became the Coalition States. Look at them now.
The Coalition States keep people safe, but I think that some of the powers that be abuse their authority. Stories of entire towns being leveled in the name of humanity. Innocent people who're still affected by random pockets of radiation, develop genetic mutations, branding them as outcasts, at best. Most are drug out somewhere secluded and 'neutralized.'
I've had two run ins with Coalition squads. The first one wasn't so bad. They fed me and gave me a safe place to sleep. The second group, well, they stole half of my belongings and almost killed me. If it wasn't for my knack for seeing danger, then they would have gotten me. I'm sure they're still trying to find me. They'd be crazy to follow me this far north.
So, without my trusty mountaineer. I'm stuck riding this horse, which I've appropriately named Mule "asshole" Wilson. I was told that he had a "personality" by the stable master. He should have said, "If you want an animal that will challenge you, ridicule you, make your day harder, then this jackass is it!" all with that charming sales pitch.
So, Rifle Ridge... I wonder why they call this town that. I walked Mule into town, cus he was tired of me sitting on him, only to be accosted by multiple snaggle toothed vendors with bad breath. Most trying to either hire me for carnal favors or sucker me into their "backroom of treasures." I guess there is a high demand for comfort women. I guess being twenty-one years old has its disadvantages for me. I handled it well, I think.
I spent the last of my money on food, ammunition and some information. One of the old timers knows of a man, named Dusty, who can be my guide in Fort Hammer. I just have to find him when I get there. I just need to find the town. The rumor at one of the two saloons, is that it's near a trading town known as Smith Falls. The map shows that it's quite a ways away. It'll take a week if I'm lucky, but more than likely longer.
The bar was fun. I didn't drink much. It's too hard to trust the men, and some women, not to try and medicate me with a 'free drink.' Billiards was fun. I won every game, winning me the money that I used earlier. I met an intriguing man, named Alec. He had a repair bot friend, named Robbie, who swears that he was once human. The robot did definitely talk more human than most bots. Alec was searching for a few friends. The only name that I can remember is Drake, who was some high up soldier in a personal war against the Coalition. I let Alec get me a drink. I hope that I run into him again.
I forgot to mention the wolves following me for the past three days. They never attack but I think that they want Mule. I could be wrong but those animals are smart. They seem to already know which direction that I'm heading. Some of the townsfolk here had to scare them away, but they didn't go far. I swear, the further north that I go, the more bizarre and dangerous this trip has become.
Anyways, it's time for bed. Gnight.