The Story of POSTAL

Diary: Moving to "Paradise" was a tragic mistake. People here are... sick. I hear gunshots, screams after dark. Now the phone calls, sayin' I'm being thrown outta this home. MY house. Wearing Kevlar vest and carrying a sidearm at all times now...

Diary: Worst fears confirmed. Group of lunatics tried to invade my home. Must get to truckstop and Sheriff, see if anyone there can help me. Afraid only God can help me now...

Diary: Like animals - even the Sheriff! Everyone here is infected with something. Something in the air or water. Don't know. Maybe from the Air Force Base ? Hope not - that base may turn out to be my last hope...

Diary: Must face the possibility that I am only uninfected person in Paradise. Air Force must napalm entire town... ensure this madness doesn't contaminate rest of the country! Wait! I hear... music ? Damn! It IS music! Better check this out...

War Journal: It's war now. That "parade" of murderous maniacs marching down the middle of Main St. was... sobering. Everyone here is mad, sick... Must attempt to cross the bridge, lose myself in the mines.

War Journal: Didn't think I'd make it. Sitting duck on bridge. Must work on my way through these caverns... they open into junkyards on far side town... either way, I'll have the advantage in these narrow mines!

War Journal: Crossed the bridge, successfully navigated the undergroud mines and have emerged into salvage yard. Am now straight in my mind about what I have to do and will do it as efficiently and remorselessly as possible...

War Journal: There MUST be others like me - immune to this germ warfare or whatever it is. Approaching trailer park. Maybe some sane people here. Can't get hopes up, but must not despair, either.

War Journal: Drenched in blood - mine, others. Could I be infected too? Up ahead... train station. If I can get out, I can warn them. Yes. Then I can warn everybody...

War Journal: Looks like a farm. Birds? OSTRICHES? Good Lord, am I infected, mad like the others? Must move efficiently. Got to get this dirty job done. Let the feathers fly!

War Journal: Blood everywhere. Like a river, flowing around me, pulling me in its wake like a helpless child. It's all got to go now. The whole town. Prepare for.. deconstruction!

War Journal: My head... pounding. Must work way toward Air Force Base. Coming to a "bad" section of town... Better be... careful... Might get mugged...

War Journal: Keep wondering about that Base. If I run into a flyboy, it's God's guarantee he'll trz to put a cap in me, figure I'm infected. Oh, hell, I'm gonna die once I hit the city anyhow...

War Journal: Taking too many hits... Getting weak... See green up ahead - maybe a forest? Probably a park. Can't go backwards - nothing back there but death. Keep moving, soldier...

War Journal: The industrial complex is last obstacle between me and the Base. Too far to quit now. Whatever waits at the Base, I'm going to see it with my own eyes.

War Journal: This is it. The New Alamo. Me or them. Can't delay, can't risk infection. C'mon, grunt, let's rock and roll..

War Journal: I woke up from the strangest dream this morning... My head is pounding ... Who came in here and moved around all my furniture? I'd better go find out...

War Journal: The veterans of many Wars fill these slums. I'll bring my own war with me.

War Journal: The earth trembles below my feet. Just how long has this crusade gone on for? Months? Years? Decades?

War Journal: I grow weary of this struggle. There's no time to rest. Not for me, and not for others.

War Journal: In the blink of an eye, I find myself across the globe. Fate has brought me here, and I will answer its call.

War Journal: Is it too late? Could it have spread this far? It may be hopeless, but I will not waiver. I will continue this fight. It's all I have left.

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