Zombies Onslaught/Intel

Currently, Zombies Onslaught has 15 pieces of intel. They are split up into 3 categories, each of them regarding a different force within the narrative of the game-mode. These 3 categories are Requiem, Omega Group, and Maxis. Intel can be found on Miami, Cartel, Crossroads, Checkmate, and Garrison.

Requiem

Miami

"David Martinez, Front Office Supervisor and last surviving staff member of the Blackwood, leaves a final message for his coworkers."

— Description

I don't know how much longer I will survive, so I will make this brief. My name is David Martinez, and I have worked at the Blackwood for five years. I started in Valet, got a job at the Front Desk before rising to Front Office Supervisor. After many hours of fighting these..."things", I am the last of the Blackwood Staff. I am hiding now in the hotel lobby closet, waiting for a rescue that I fear will never come. I emptied the staff vending machine, but my snack supply is rapidly dwindling. There are a few things I would like to say to my former colleagues.
To Dexter, Assistant Controller: Thank you for being kind to me. You helped me get my first job at Blackwood and supported me throughout. I know we had talked about transferring me to Accounts Receiveable, but it was not meant to be.
To Wiley, Assistant Engineering Manager: before all this happened, you kept to yourself. But when it mattered, you were brave enough to be there for the rest of us. Your knowledge of the Blackwood's extensive layout saved countless lives. I wish you had been spared your terrible fate.
To Lindsey, Sous Chef: you are the finest Dessert Chef I know. While it is true your Crème brulee knew no equal, it was your torreja that truly transcended time and space. Also, thank you for teaching me how to weaponize a cooking blowtorch. I had never imagined I would see so many heads on fire.
To Pablo, Spa Locker Attendant: that bud from Cali is still the best damn grass I've ever had. Shit had me in a haze for daze.
To Arlington, Assistant Front Office Manager: you were a sad man. You frequently feared reprisal and reprimand from those above you. As a result, you were cruel to those below you. I only wish I could watch you be torn limb from limb again.
To Bob, Blackwood Hotel Manager: what you did for this community will never be forgotten. A true hero.
To every guest I ever met in our lovely establishment: you should be kinder to those who work in the service of others. Most of us have come from nothing. We've worked hard to get where we are in life. We are human, just as you are - or were, before you were changed.
To Carmen and Antony, my wife and son, the loves of my life: I hope that you are both safe and have been spared this fate. We will meet again in the next life.

"Amber Jackson, Desk Clerk at the Miami Beach Visitor Center, writes about her experiences after the dimensional breach occurs."

— Description

My name is Amber Jackson, and I never thought of myself as the sort of person to write a note like this, but, well, HERE WE ARE, with me hiding inside Bob's yacht in the harbor. The Good news? Those fucking creatures haven't found me in here. The Bad? I'm rapidly running out of hamburgers and tequila. The food will be gone before the booze, which is good, because if I'll definitely need some fucking liquid courage if I have to make a run for it.
As if this Tourist Season couldn't get any fucking worse, three days ago a freaky hole opened in the middle of Miami Beach. Whatever it was, it seemed to infect a good portion of the location population, causing them to attack and eat the rest of us. Ew.
Dana said we should try to hold up in the Visitor Center. Sorry Dana (not sorry, Dana!), but the last person I trust right now is the person who's been lying to me about the affair she's been having with the Tourism Board Senior Manager. Oh yeah, I know why Amber stayed behind the front desk while Dana got promoted upstairs. Besides, if my Momma taught me anything growing up in the Glades, it's that you can't protect yourself with tourism pamphlets and postcards. You need real guns.
I went over to Willie's because we both know he's got that twelve gauge behind the bar, but get this - he's been infected already! Had to put two in him before heading over to the Paramour. Things were bad there, but nobody got hit like the Blackwood. By the time I got there it was more like the fucking Blackhole, what with the portal opening in the middle of their swimming pool. They even got to Alfredo, that hunky lifeguard with the weird nipples.
Gotta say, I'm a little surprised the National Guard hasn't rolled in. Feels like this is part of something bigger. Like what if this is how it starts - what if this is the Soviet invasion? Oh my GOD, is this like some weird reverse Bay of Pigs, but with Cannibal Tourists??
Anyway, I plan on getting the hell outta here. I'm running out of food, everyone's dead, nobody's seen Bob. It's a fucking shitshow. Bob's yacht is out of gas, but I heard they keep a couple of fuel canisters over at the Caiman. If I can find it, I can drive this boat the hell out of here. Wait, these things can't swim, can they?
Wish me luck. If Amber's going down, she's going down like her Momma taught her - kicking, screaming, drinking, and swinging.

"Jerry, bartender and new owner of Grodie's Pub, offers a little advice."

— Description

Two months ago my wife divorced me, got the kids, took half my money and kicked me out. My friend Billy said "move to Florida, it's beautiful year-round. Go get you some sun." So I moved to Miami to get me some sun and I started working for my cousin Frankie, the owner of Grodie's Pub. One month later, we get hit by a hurricane; the bar get's destroyed. I put half of what I had left into rebuilding the joint (Bob chipped in, bless his generous heart), so Frankie makes me co-owner. Two weeks later, Frankie gets eaten by a Gator, and the bar's been left in my name. Then - get this - Frankie owed the Mob money, so now I owe the Mob money. They showed up, all suited up and strapped, and took the rest of what little I still had, leaving me with nothing but the bar. And NOW, on top of everything else, everyone's gone crazy and somehow been turned into these crazy freaks - I heard they got stung by killer bees that come down from the palisades.
Word of advice. Don't move to Florida.
-Jerry

Omega Group

Cartel

"Jorge, a young soldier in the Menendez Cartel, writes a letter to his mother following the events of a dimensional breach."

— Description

Jan. 12, 1984
Querida Madre,
I know you have not wanted to hear from me since Manuel and I started working for the cartel. And I have tried to respect that decision. But something has happened out here. Something terrible. And if I do not warn you, I would truly be as bad as you think I am.
It began yesterday morning. I was at the airstrip helping load a cargo plane. Raul Menendez himself was there, so his sicarios set up a checkpoint in case the gringos who murdered his father tried to interfere. I was driving a forklift out of the warehouse when a strange sound rose up all around us, almost like a human scream. The sicarios grabbed their guns, thinking it was a raid. Instead, the area around the checkpoint crackled like lightning and I swear it looked as if the air itself was somehow splitting open.
Mama, this will be hard to believe, but all I can do is tell you what I saw. The men nearest the rip in the air staggered and fell. They looked withered, like corpses left out in the sun. Even so, they all got up and walked towards the rest of us, dropping their weapons as if they did not even know what they held.
Some of the other workers ran to help them. The sicarios attacked them with their hands and teeth. I saw one tear a man's throat out. All the while, that rip in the air stayed open. For all I know it is still there.
Manuel was not present for any of this. He was back at the cartel's main camp. He always told me to show loyalty and courage around Raul, but in that moment I just pressed the gas and tried to drive that forklift as far from the airstrip as it would take me. I saw Raul's car pull away in the other direction.
The pilot of the cargo plane fired up his engines and made the quickest takeoff I have ever seen. Some of those withered, mindless "soldiers of death" clung to the plane as it left the ground. I think one got inside, because I heard it go down almost immediately. That sound stayed in my head, along with the screams of the friends I abandoned as I drove across the airstrip and into the jungle. Aside from Menendez and his driver, I may be the only one who escaped that place alive.

"Jorge's letter to his mother continues, describing the cartel's battle against the Soldiers of Death."

— Description

I left the forklift at the tree line and ran up a hill that overlooks the airstrip. I could hear gunshots the whole time, growing less frequent. By the time I reached the top, anyone who understood how to shoot a gun was already dead. The soldiers of death now feasted on the corpses of my coworkers. I have always been afraid of Menendez sicarios, even after Manuel joined their ranks. But they were still men who could be reasoned with or paid off. Now they are mindless beasts who never knew mercy to begin with.
I walked ten kilometers back to the main camp, avoiding the roads. When I arrived they were already fortifying the place. I nearly got shot as I walked out of the jungle, but they lowered their guns when I waved and called out. I started to tell them what happened at the airstrip but they said it was happening at all of our camps in the area. Senor Raul ordered us to shoot on sight anyone infected by the same withering condition that turned his bodyguards into mindless cannibals. Then he went to call in a favor from his contacts overseas.
No one could tell me where Manuel was. I slipped away and went to a place in the jungle where he buried some money he never told el Jefe about. And that is where I found him, mama, wandering aimlessly, moaning like an animal. He is no longer your son or my brother. He is one of the soldiers of death now.
I had my orders, but I could not shoot Manuel. What if this was temporary? What if they find a cure? I decided to go back and tell the others I could not find him. I even managed to tether him to a tree so he could not wander away. All I knew was if the cartel saw him like this, they would cut him down without a second thought.

"Jorge's letter to his mother comes to a close, revealing the fate of his brother, Manuel."

— Description

I knew the reach of the Menendez Cartel extends around the world, but I did not understand just how high Jefe's influence went until his Soviet friends arrived by helicopter - several squads of Russian soldiers that made our sicarios look like boy scouts.
Senor Raul spoke to them briefly, then told us these men were in charge now. I have not seen el Jefe since, but his Russian friends seem to know more about this whole situation than they are willing to admit. If feels less like they are here to help than they are here to cover it all up. I am beginning to doubt that I will survive this after all. And to be honest, I don't much care. Not after today.
You see, I went to check on Manuel after the Russians sent out "kill squads" to eliminate all soldiers of death. By the time I reached Manuel I knew I was being followed. Turned out it was Hector Garcia from Matagalpa. He was Manuel's squad leader - which is probably why Hector let me live. He understood why I tried to spare my brother but leaving Manuel in this condition was simply not an option. So he said he would keep this between us on one condition: "You must spare your brother the continued pain of his existence." And so I did it, mama. I put two bullets in Manuel's head and then I buried him. Hector even helped dig the grave.
I pray you are safe and that Rio Blanco was spared this horror. I am going to stay here and help hunt down the rest of the infected. After that, I expect the Russians will eliminate all witnesses, including myself. And I will deserve it. But what happened to Manuel and the others was not their fault. And I know you will disagree, but it was not God's judgment either. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I only hope time has not run out for everyone.
Con Amor,
Jorge

Crossroads

"Farrukh Abdullayev, a young Uzbek soldier in the Soviet 40th Army, writes about an incident involving a Soviet Convoy arriving at his remote outpost."

— Description

23 May, 1984
My name is Farrukh Abdullayev. I am 23 years old. I am a soldier in the Soviet 40th Army, stationed at a Forward Operating Base on the Uzbek/Afghan border. And I am writing this to set the record straight regarding the events that happened here. I do not mean the battle that took place last December when the convoy of RSD-10s was attacked by American special forces. I mean the reason no one should ever come here again. After that battle on December 5, our commanders found alternate routes for missile deployments and ordered our unit to vacate the base. However, I was asked to remain here and maintain the base in case it is reactivated. I think they chose me because I am from a nearby village. My family connections and contacts in the community would be helpful in preventing other locals from looting the base. I was even promoted to the rank of Efreitor before the pull-out. Five months passed quietly. Then, a week ago, another missile convoy arrived unannounced. Apparently the top brass decided it was less likely to be ambushed if no one knew it was coming. As I tried to get the mess operational to feed my surprise guests, I heard the strangest sound, like a woman wailing, but from all directions. There was something like a thunderclap, and I thought one of the missile trucks had exploded. By the time I got outside to see what happened, some of the convoy troops had set upon their squad mates like wolves tearing into sheep. There was not time to organize a counterattack - especially since the "enemy" were our brothers in arms. I grabbed a latrine spade and fought off at least 3 of the crazed soldiers before running off in the direction of my village. I will never forget those men's faces. There was no humanity in their eyes, teeth bared like rabid dogs.

"Farrukh continues to write about the incident, revealing that he brought men from his village to assess the situation."

— Description

When I reached the village I immediately called for the elders to gather. This was not merely a threat to my family and neighbors. I knew the 40th Army would send more men once they lost contact with their missile convoy. And if they found nothing but Soviet corpses, the blame would fall on every Uzbek within a hundred kilometers. I had no wish to see the elders strung up in the village square. So I led them back to the base to see if we could somehow salvage the situation. We found a handful of men wandering the base, moaning mindlessly. We watched them from a distance, careful not to let them see us. Through my binoculars, they looked like they had been dead for at least a week, yet still they staggered around, staring blankly, incapable of speech. One of the elders was a respected holy man. He told us that these soldiers were not dead. They were cursed. This meant there was at least a slim hope the curse could be broken and the men restored. And since this was out best chance to avoid Red Army reprisals, it was decided that we should round up the men and secure them until the curse itself could be dealt with. I led the group that cleared out each of the fortifications. It was the most frightening thing I have ever done. While we tried our best to do no harm, the cursed men did not hesitate to attack us. Our only advantage was that these mindless soldiers did not even attempt to use their weapons. I do not think they even remembered how to use a gun, much less who they were. Somehow, we managed to round them all up without losing any of the villagers assisting me. I made sure that the elders stayed out of the base while only the young and strong did the actual work. They prayed the entire time, and I think it helped. Now the stricken soldiers are locked inside the communications bunker. We collected their weapons and stored them in the village. It is up to the elders to find a way to break the curse.

The elders spent a week trying different rituals to break the curse on those soldiers, but nothing seemed to work. Yesterday we ran out of time. Helicopters arrived at daybreak, depositing a Spetsnaz unit in the base. I was still asleep in the village while they established a perimeter and started searching for the missing soldiers. It did not go well. From what I can piece together, they opened up the communications bunker and immediately lost two men before gunning down the rest of the cursed men. Now they were no longer on a search and rescue mission. Now they wanted revenge. I got word of the Spetsnaz unit's arrival about the time they needed to attack the village. I had only a few minutes to organize a resistance. I knew that as an enlisted Soviet soldier I would surely be court-martialed, assuming I lived that long. But the time had come to choose between my job and my people. It was not a hard choice. I distributed the weapons we collected from the base to anyone who could hold a gun and pull the trigger. The women fled with the children, and we awaited the arrival of one of the fiercest combat units in the world. Our only hope was deception. So I asked one of the elders to stand with me in the square, bound in ropes like I had taken him prisoner. I wore my uniform and saluted as the Spetsnaz troops rolled in. They approached cautiously, but as I hoped, they kept their attention on me. They approached cautiously, but as I hoped, they kept their attention on me. And once they were all inside our kill box, I shouted "I have the one responsible!" This was the signal to the others in hiding. In less than ten seconds it was all over. My people opened fire from all sides. They began to fire back. We lost eight villagers, including the elder who bravely stood beside me as bait. Somehow, I came through it uninjured. The entire Spetsnaz unit perished. We are now abandoning the village and dispersing - some elsewhere in Uzbekistan, some, like myself, heading into Afghanistan. We burnt the bodies of the Spetsnaz men. I threw my uniform on the pyre. If I am ever captured by my former comrades, I am a dead man. But I do not regret my choices. Something terrible happened here, and we tried at every step to do what was right. In the end, the only option left to us was violence. But we are still alive, and that is all that matters.

Maxis

Checkmate

"Gertrude Baumann, caretaker for a secret KGB training site, witnesses a dimensional breach occur inside the facility."

— Description

3 April, 1984
About a month ago I was asked by the KGB to help safeguard a secret training facility they are constructing next to my farm near Bohnsdorf. The Chekists knew I worked as a Stasi filling clerk during the '50s and '60s. My former supervisor told them "Gertrude Baumann can be trusted to keep a secret," no doubt thinking he was doing me a favor. And so they informed me they wanted a local asset to keep an eye on the place without alerting the neighbors. It was an offer I could not turn down. In such an instance, one says, "Ja" and then keeps their mouth shut. So I walked the grounds twice a week, checking gates and locks to make sure no farmer or villager trespassed the facility. To be honest it was all rather boring. A week ago the Chekists advised me that a delegation from the Lubyanka were coming to inspect the facility. They wanted me to show them around, which made me rather nervous. If the wrong people think you know too much, well...I have filed enough execution reports to know where that leads. But I also know how to be both helpful and ignorant in all the ways that count. Yesterday they arrived, these grey men in their suits, and I led them through the facility, pretending not to recognize the crude reproductions of Air Force One and the Oval Office. Clearly an assassination mission would be rehearsed there. The less I seemed to realize this, the better. And then it happened. There was an otherworldly sound and a flash of light in what I have come to think of as the "airplane hangar." I was standing away from the group having what I feared might be my last cigarette. Whatever that light was, it engulfed the KGB inspectors and I heard them scream. I ran to assist with injuries, but as my vision cleared I could see they were changed. Horribly changed. They howled like lost souls and lumbered towards me. I barely managed to latch the door with them inside. So what do I do now? They are still locked within the hangar. Do I contact my friends in the Stasi and let them know? Will I somehow get blamed for what happened to these men? Stupid question - of course I will. They will soon be missed. Someone will come looking for them. Again, what do I do now?

"After sealing the infected KGB inspectors inside the training facility, Gertrude plans her next steps."

— Description

5 April, 1984
As anticipated, I was visited today from KGB agents looking for their inspectors. Obviously, I am still alive to write this, but only because I knew what to expect and prepared accordingly. After the KGB delegation were altered (infected? reanimated? I don't have a word for it.) I returned home and drove their car to an old lignite mine a few kilometers away. The mine was sealed back in the 1920s, but I managed to move the barricades and hide the vehicle. The walk home gave me ample time to come up with a story for my inevitable visitors. They arrived this morning before dawn, breaking down my front door and rousting me from bed. I showed the appropriate amount of fear and confusion when they said the inspectors had failed to report. I told them I toured the facility with the delegation, who seemed upset by what they found. I said they argued all the way back to my house, some wanting to report to Moscow immediately, others insisting they drive straight to Stasi HQ in Berlin. One thing they did agree on was to have the entire place dusted for prints. I did not know why they were so agitated, but they were definitely looking for someone to blame. And before they left they thanked me, saying they might "require my testimony" in the days to come. This had the desired effect. The men realized they were possibly at the center of a dispute between Soviet and DDR secret police and they had best tread lightly. One wrong step, including harming me or disturbing the facility, might earn them a one-way ticket to the gulag. They even repaired the door before departing in the direction I told them the inspectors had driven off. But I am not exactly celebrating, I bought myself a day or two at best. And if they do risk visiting the training facility they will find their missing delegation from Moscow. I will not be able to talk my way out of anything after that.

"Gertrude is visited by a stranger, who offers to help her with her little problem."

— Description

6 April, 1984
It seems the KGB and Stasi were not the only parties interested in what became of that Lubyanka delegation. Yesterday there was a soft knock at the door about an hour after sunset. It was a woman in her thirties, German like me, golden haired and quite handsome, though she wore no wedding ring. She did not say her name and I did not ask it. All she had to say was "I am here to help you deal with your little problem" and I allowed her inside. I have met enough spies to know a field agent (probably BND) when I see one. She said she was aware of what happened to the KGB inspectors. I pressed her for details - insisted I deserved them after containing those poor wretches in the hangar. She would only say that similar incidents were taking place elsewhere, though they were kept out of the news, even in the West. She also said I was lucky to have escaped the fate that befell those men. I asked how she knew about me. Had she been watching me or, more likely, the training facility? She said she worked for an organization that would eliminate all trace of what happened in the hangar. Additionally, she had arranged for someone to smuggle me to West Berlin where a new identity was being prepared for me. As I write this, she is either at the training site or at the mine making sure the car cannot be found. I am packing one bag and saying goodbye to the only home I have ever known. But if others out there are affected by whatever this is - plague? curse? worse? - then I must count my blessings and consider myself lucky to have made a new friend.

Garrison

"A note from Maxis' KGB contact, accompanied by two photos she's managed to send to Maxis."

— Description

Maxis -
I was able to gain a glimpse of the briefing file being circulated amongst the committee. It speaks of a cinefilm being transferred to videotape - something called Endstation. While I have not viewed the tape itself, the file contained still images from the film. I do not understand what I am seeing other than it involved the Red Army. Perhaps your eyes will make more sense of it. I will continue to try to secure the tape itself. I can only hope this message reaches you at the dead drop as instructed.
- Tatyana

"A picture of a Russian Colonel shaking hands with a Red Army soldier."

— Description

A frame from a film reel found in the KGB archives. Image includes Colonel Lazarev and Sergeant Zykov, moments after the Colonel decorated the Sergeant for his impending act of heroism. Film reel is dated: February 10th, 1945.

"A picture of the Red Army encountering an unknown phenomenon."

— Description

A frame from a film reel found in the KGB archives. Image features the 8th Guards Army making an unusual discovery inside the abandoned German facility known as "Projekt Endstation." Film reel is dated: February 3rd, 1945.