The subject of this article appears in Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War The subject of this article appeared in Zombies mode

Currently, Zombies Onslaught has 30 pieces of intel. Initially, they launched with 15 pieces, with another 15 pieces added during Season One. 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, Garrison, Satellite, Moscow, Nuketown '84, The Pines, Raid and Express.



"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.


"CIA Officer Atticus submits a report regarding a dimensional breach in Angola, along with some intel recovered from a downed satellite."
— Description
October 10th, 1984

1. Dimensional Breach identified and confirmed in Angola, South Africa. Exact site of dimensional breach identified as [redacted], the location of a downed KH-9 recon satellite. Area has been locked down and quarantined. Recommended Office of Requiem send in a Strike Team to investigate the situation.

2. At the time of the breach, locals from a nearby town had been witnessed scavenging materials at the site. One of the scavengers, a local adolescent named Amit, had successfully recovered PHOTINT from the satellite. After I located the boy, I was able to provide him with monetary incentive to sell them to me. It is unclear how this was missed when our salvage team was at the site. The intel is attached with this report.

3. The PHOTINT consists of two satellite reconnaissance images from 1983. The first photo is from of the Projekt Endstation Facility in Morasko, Poland in the month of August. The second photo is from September, and shows the Facility surrounded by a military convoy. It appears this convoy is Spetznaz Group Omega, from before [redacted]. While it is unfortunate that this intel was not recovered sooner, at least we've secured it now. It is a miracle that this has been kept out of the public eye.


"KH-9 Satellite image of Projekt Endstation Facility in Morasko, Poland, from August 1983."
— Description
[written on the back]
KH-9 satellite image from August, '83. No suspicious activity at or around Projekt Endstation in Morasko, Poland. Only traffic to the site is usual fare; Polish youth and vagabonds.

"KH-9 Satellite image of Projekt Endstation Facility in Morasko, Poland, from September 1983."
— Description
[written on the back]
KH-9 satellite image from September, '83. Enhanced photo reveals military convoy on road approaching the facility, identified as Spetznaz Group Omega.


"Senior Officer Caldwell recounts his interview with Agent Redpoll and the resurgence of a highly-classified Spetsnaz unit."
— Description
April 11th, 1983


1. Moscow Station has learned that a clandestine unit of Spetsnaz Special Operations, Omega Group, has been reactivated. Agent codename REDPOLL, Moscow's Field Asset inside the KGB's Seventh Directorate, has provided critical COMINT demonstrating the resurgence of the Group and its new command structure. [redacted] has assumed full command of the unit.

2. Background on Omega Group. Established in late 1975. Focused on the weaponization of unnatural phenomena. While primarily a military operation, Omega Group has dedicated a large portion of its personnel to experimental research, including the study of exoscientific phenomena (which Agent Redpoll translates as "The Supernatural"). It is rumored that the unit was created due to [redacted]. Considering the unit's motto ("We were the First. We are the Last."), there may be some truth to the rumor. With little support from Chairman Andropov, the unit received minimal funding. As a result, none of Omega Group's initial projects progressed past the research phase. The CIA had largely written them off by 1981, as it seemed their programs were entirely abandoned.

3. Agent Redpoll believes the unit's resurgence is in response to the SDI announcement. They see the Program as a threat, and hope Omega Group can provide an appropriate defensive countermeasure. What that might be remains unknown. [redacted] has given the order to pull thousands of files, film, and audio reels from KGB archives for review. Agent Redpoll will let us know if anything develops from this directive.

4. It is our recommendation that this threat be taken seriously and escalated immediately. The reactivation of such a unique - and unknown - group potentially poses a grave threat to the West. Our hard intel on Omega Group is limited, and we know even less about the scientific fields they research. It would be a mistake not to pursue this with utmost rigor.

Part of the transcription from our interview with Agent Redpoll has been attached to this report. I hope this message finds its way to the appropriate hands.


"Excerpt from the transcript of Caldwell's interview with Agent Redpoll at Moscow Station."
— Description

imperative that you report this to your superiors immediately. The resurgence of this sub-group, what they are capable of, they are [speaks in Russian].

CALDWELL: English, please.

REDPOLL: They are the devil's minions. Do you know what they study? Exoscientific phenomena. Do you understand what this means? The Supernatural, comrade. How do you Americans say: "things that go bump in the night"? Their research is beyond that of conventional science.

CALDWELL: I thought you said this was a military unit.
REDPOLL: It is a military unit. What do you think research is for? You think curiosity? They are not cats, they are Soviets. They are making weapons. Countermeasures. Preemptive measures. To combat the West.

CALDWELL: Aside from your word, I'm assuming you have proof of this?


REDPOLL: You will turn off recorder now. Please.

CALDWELL: Was that [redacted]?

REDPOLL: [redacted] has been given command of Omega Group. He has ordered his teams to dig through the KGB archives.
CALDWELL: Why? What's he looking for?

REDPOLL: That I do not know, but when he finds it, it is said he will have the full support of Chairman Chebrikov. Omega Group is about to be at the center of a very large KGB operation. You must act before it is too late.

Nuketown '84

"Commune leader Gina witnesses the annihilation of her isolated community, the Nuketown Collective."
— Description
Two Whom It May Concern,

(And if this doesn't make you concerned, something's seriously wrong with you.)
My name is Gina Daystar, née Castillo, and I founded the Nuketown Collective three years ago. I was the first so-called "squatter", got the plumbing working, painted the first mural, and I personally petitioned the Department of Defense and the Governor to legally recognize that despite this being an old nuclear test site we are NOT, in fact, on federal land.

I mention this because when your neighbor is Area 51, "good fences make good neighbors" takes on unique significance. I've seen black helicopters and lights in the sky. I've heard an eerie, almost subsonic late-night hum and felt it rattle my bones. I can only guess what terrible experiments are carried out in secret there. That's why I made Nuketown Rule #1: "No trespassing on or contact with Area 51. Ever."

As I write this my community is shattered. My brothers and sisters are literally tearing each other apart. It started an hour ago with a sound like a human shriek that came from both sides and something that looked like a mini Aurora Borealis appearing besides the house across the street. They were having a cookout and everyone close to that aurora-thing immediately started wailing and moaning as their skin dried up like rotten leather.

I watched through my window as they attacked the others, like coyotes on a jackrabbit. I'm not even going to try to process my emotions yet. Survival comes first. I don't know if it was radiation, germ warfare, or some sort of chemical weapon, but I have no doubt of the source. We kept our distance, but Area 51's bad science came to us.

We have no phone lines out here, so I called for help on my HAM radio. I have a friend in Indian Springs who I chat with sometimes. She responded, but a wave of static drowned her out. A very stern, military-sounding voice cut in. "Stay put. We are aware of the situation. Help is on the way." That was it. No answers to my questions. Just, "Stay put, we are on the way."

I never thought an offer of help could sound less reassuring. I locked the doors and windows. I may be paranoid, but I'm considering making a run before "help" arrives.


"Eddie's hippie neighbors finally give up on being vegetarians."
— Description
Only reason I'm here is cuz my bandmates dumped me in the desert when I puked in the van. Fuckers can't take a joke. Anyhow, these hippys at the Nuketown Collective saved me from dying of thirst and gave me a place to crash. So I guess I owe em something. For sure, they didn't deserve to go out like they did.

They threw a Bar-B-Q today, which is funny cuz they're vegetarians. I was playing my guitar on the other side of the house when it happened. I don't know what it was. Looked like the air ripping open. Anyone close went glassy-eyed and just ATTACKED. Like, actual murder.

Here's the thing: these commune losers are pacifists. Like, yeah, fuck the government and fuck the war merchants and all, but if you go down my throat I'm not answering with a hug. So I was the only one fighting back. All I had was my guitar, but if you ever saw one wreck an amplifier you know why they call it an "axe".

So, I caved in some skulls, which is not as fun as it sounds.

Long story short, whatever they caught is contagious. Too many fucked-up murder-hippies to deal with, so I ran back to my room. I hear them outside, but they don't know where I hid. Only other person who didn't catch it is Gina. (not using her dumbass hippie name.) She saw me & taped up a note: KEITH! SOLDIERS COMING - RUN AWAY.

Fuck that. I'm staying put and letting the experts handle this.

Might write a song while I wait, if I can get my poor guitar back in tune.

"Harmony takes drastic steps to protect her family."
— Description
People will judge what I did here, whether I'm still around or not, so I'm saying my piece on paper while I still have the chance.

I was here from the start, with Sunny and Daystar. I know everyone here intimately, even that newcomer kid. You have to understand, this is my family. Even now I can't give up on them. If your brother or daughter caught rabies or smallpox, would you turn your back on them?

I never liked having an Airforce base for a neighbor, but most days I forgot they were even there. Now helicopters have landed and troops are going door to door. I only dodged them because I saw Daystar's note in the window. The one meant for Keith. I knew the Military-Industrial Complex wasn't coming to rescue us, so I checked Keith's room. I found Astrid, Riverstone, and Mariposa feasting on him like lionesses. I got them to chase me into my basement, ran out and locked them in. The walls are thick. I don't think the soldiers can hear them.

They're burning bodies out there. Once they leave I'll drive into town and let the world know. And then the Pentagon will have to give us the cure.

Either that, or some idiot soldier will open my cellar and people will say I set up an ambush. Look, I didn't start this. I just can't let what's left of my family end up in a bonfire of corpses.


The Pines

"Kyle practically lived at the arcade. Now he just might die there."
— Description
Where to start? The Galaxy Room. I spend most afternoons at the arcade with Perry and Chris. The manager, Walter, even gives us some free tokens sometimes. He's like 27, but cool for an old dude. Anyways, we were there when shit hit the fan.
I was going for a high score on ICBM Command so I didn't notice the people screaming at first (kids scream here all the time). Then Chris yanked me away from the machine.

We couldn't run towards the food court. The people out there looked like they did some bad crank or angel dust and they attacked anything that moved. I even saw them pull down Mr. Coleson from PE class, and he used to play college football. Walter let us in his break room. Like I said, he's pretty cool.
I tried to call home but something was wrong. Like, not a busy signal or whatever, but just static... and what sounded like little whimpers. The harder I listened, the less I wanted to.

The crank-mob pounded on the door and we could tell it wasn't gonna hold. Walter was praying, which was scary and useless. Perry unscrewed the A.C. vent with his little pocket knife and we slipped away through the duct just as they broke in. But Chris was too big and got stuck. I heard him scream, but there was nothing we could do.

We ran for the theater exit, but they cornered us. Then someone charged out of Jump Sporting Goods smashing heads with a baseball bat. It was that dumbass rent-a-cop going all berserker on them! We ran, but for a second me and rent-a-cop locked eyes. And, I don't know, he looked... happy? I mean he was into it. He liked it. I used to laugh at that guy. Now I don't want to see him again. Ever.

Now we're in the Radio House stock room. Couple of chicks here, too - they look like they've been through hell, so we're giving them space. One's writing a letter, which gave me the idea to type this on the word processor they keep back here.

God, I wish I had a smoke.

PS: 2 hours later. Those girls took off a while ago. Hope they're okay. I just heard some helicopters landing. Looking through the loading bay door and saw soldiers spreading out. Walter said to stay put if we don't want to get shot by accident. Fingers crossed we might still get out of this alive.

"Food court worker Julie finds first loves and zombie outbreaks can both get pretty messy."
— Description
I've worked at the Hot Dawg stand in the food court ever since it opened. Today I heard screaming and suddenly people were running, chased by other folks who looked like they were, I don't know, rotten?

By then the rot-heads were trying to climb over the counter. I grabbed a rotisserie skewer in each hand and just started stabbing. Squeezed past and started looking for a way out, or at least a place to hide.

I saw Greg trying to lock the doors to the Eighteen store. Carol who works there pushed it aside and opened it for me. Which was brave since I was covered in blood and holding those skewers like swords. But none of those crazies used weapons, so I guess she knew I wasn't one of them.

I yelled at Greg for abandoning me when we've been dating for, like, 6 months. Carol heard that and started laughing. Turns out she's been dating Greg for 6 weeks. Greg started making some lame excuses and sweating like crazy. I thought it was cos he knew he was busted, but he was making less and less sense, shivering, snarling.

Then he wasn't Greg anymore. He was one of them. I had my skewers, but I hesitated. Carol snatched one from me and stuck it through Greg's eye. I guess that's the difference between 6 months and 6 weeks.

She's turned out to be pretty great. Too good for Greg, anyways. She checked the store's alarm system which has a direct line to mall security. The Guard sent a message: the Army is on its way. But Carol says the Guard's a creep and not to trust him, so we're going to make a break for it together. Wish us luck.

Julie Johnson

"In his darkest hour, Mall at the Pines security guard Tom Davis finally finds his calling."
— Description
Got bounced by the Army and the Police Department, so guarding this mall - outrun by shoplifters, pranked by arcade kids, laughed at by food court girls - was a daily reminder of my failure. Decided it was time to hand in the badge, shave the mustache, and spend the rest of my life working at a record store or a video rental. Now I realize providence steered me to this moment.

I was in the mall security office when it happened. The power surged, my cameras rebooted, and then I saw them: half-dead looking people lashing out at customers near the water fountain. Didn't know if they were terrorists, junkies, or what, but I had to act.

I ran out with the nightstick. Cheap piece of crap snapped the first time I swung it. So I grabbed an aluminum baseball bat from the sporting goods store and got to work. Must've saved at least ten people, including those smartasses from the arcade. Their little ringleader looked at me with something new in his eyes. Respect.

Phones are down. I tried the police band, picked up military chatter from a unit called "Requiem". They're on their way to contain the situation. I'll hold down the fort till they get here.

Officer Tom Davis
Mall at the Pines Security

Omega Group


"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,


"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.

"Farrukh finishes recounting the incident, describing a tragic confrontation with devastating consequences."
— Description
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.


"A memo discussing Redpoll, CIA asset within the KGB, who has gained knowledge of Omega Group."
— Description
TO: Chairman of the KGB Chebrikov
RE: Seventh Directorate Surveillance Officer Kirill Ledovskoy
It has come to my attention that there is a spy within the Seventh Directorate. Surveillance Officer Kirill Ledovskoy has been spotted meeting with known CIA Operative Caldwell, second in command at the CIA's station in Moscow. From what I understand, the Secretariat knows of this station and permits its continued existence because we have our own operatives on the inside, ensuring all outgoing information is either manipulated or entirely fabricated.

At this time, I must formally request the immediate elimination of the Moscow Station. I have been informed that Officer Kirill Ledovskoy, codename REDPOLL to the Americans, has provided information involving KGB Special Operations Group Omega and its new mission. This information has been verified as accurate, as Officer Ledovskyo has supposedly smuggled a recording of myself and [redacted]. It is imperative the Americans do not learn of our existence nor that of our ongoing projects. Considering your renewed investment in this program, and your decision to appoint me as Commander, you know what is at risk.

If it is the Chairman's desire to allow the CIA station to remain and continue the charade, I recommend the immediate termination of Agent Caldwell, Officer Ledovskoy, and the recovery of all stolen materials relating to KGB Special Operations Group Omega. With your approval, I have an Officer who will gladly carry out the required executions.

Let me know your decision. I know you will do right by this Institution and right by the future of the Greater Soviet Union.




"When a dimensional breach strikes his Hollywood Hills mansion, producer Eric Silverstein reaches out to a friend in the media."
— Decription
To the attention of:
Roger Bothwell
Metro Desk Manager
Los Angeles Daily Press

First, Roger, I'm glad you skipped my housewarming party. Something terrible has happened up here in the Hills. Everyone who came is dead - sort of - and not because of the "canyon fire" bullshit being fed to the media.

I'm not sure how to describe it, but it seems like a fast-acting disease or radiation poisoning. All I know is something explosive erupted in the middle of my property and in less time than it takes to write this my guests looked and acted like mindless rage-monsters. Remember that story you did on people smoking "bath salts", I think it was? Like that, Roger, but ten times worse.

I tried running toward Mulholland but got turned back by some seriously geared-up troops. They refused to ID themselves but the shoulder patch read "Requiem". Are they stationed here? I've produced four war movies in the last decade and never heard of them.

I got back home but saw some of my guests breaking into my neighbors' houses. Cable's out but on antenna TV I caught a live shot claiming there's a brushfire up here and the gunshots are just "illegal fireworks". Like I said, bullshit. Get the Truth out, Roger.

I'm leaving this letter in my mailbox, stamped, sealed, and addressed to you. I don't know if I'll make it, but I do know postal service will resume, just like I know you'll get to the bottom of this.

Be well,

Eric Silverstein
President - Silverscrein Productions

"Eric recounts how his housewarming party turned into a bloodbath just as he discovered the last owner left him a little surprise."
— Description
I'm hiding in the security room I inherited from the previous owner. The cameras, the alarms, the communications system all the tech geeks in town couldn't figure out - I kept them all in working order, and that decision might save my life.

Everybody told me not to bid on this house. The owner went missing, he was cartel-connected, and the Feds wrecked it so bad it should've been condemned. But rather than scare me off, the house's checkered past made it irresistible.

Which brings me to the housewarming. Over a hundred guests - industry heavyweights, up and comers - all here to party at Scarface Central. I was showing one room to a hot new actress named Janey Locke when she popped open a hidden panel in the floor that every single contractor missed. It started beeping, like we'd set off a little alarm. Inside the compartment was an insane number of cocaine bricks marked with a symbol that just screamed "cartel". Was I going to jail? Were very scary people looking for these drugs?

Janey only had eyes for the coke. She ran to fetch her agent/boyfriend like she'd just won the lottery. I was trying to deactivate the beeper/beacon/whatever when something else went off by the pool. I assumed it was another hidden device or booby trap, ran to the door, saw guests tearing into each other, and locked myself in.

Then a message beeped on the security screen. Don't know who it's from, but it's written in Russian. RUSSIAN. What the fuck? Has to be the previous owner's friends wondering who found their cocaine, but it shouldn't be in Spanish or something? Man, when shit goes wrong, it goes all at once.

Janey's banging on the door now. She's not looking to do lines anymore. I'm going to see if I can get out on foot and contact Roger.

If anyone comes for the drugs, they can have them. Hell, I'll throw in the house.

"In which Eric learns the previous owner was under surveillance by some very scary people."
— Description
I'm still alive. My escape attempt was a bust. Turned back by soldiers. You'd think they'd want to get people out of the area, but I guess this is a martial law/quarantine situation now. So I climbed back in the Security Room. Poor Janey was still scratching at the door.

Wrote a letter to my ex, Roger. I was pissed when he declined the housewarming invite. Now I'm thankful he was nowhere near this shitshow. I need him to get the word out that something terrible is happening here and the Powers That Be are lying about it. So I left out details in my letter that would make it seem less credible. I just hope he still cares enough about me to take it seriously.

I checked the security monitors for more Russian messages. That's when I saw two guys dressed in black come over the wall on Camera 3. At first I thought they were the soldiers I encountered. But these guys carried AK-47's - the "bad guy guns". So I figured they were sent by whoever wrote those messages in Russian.

Then Janey finally broke the lock. Didn't think that was possible for someone her size, but she chased me out the window and around the estate. All the while I heard those paramilitary goons clearing out my former party guests, sweeping through the place like they knew every inch of this property.

Janey cornered me in the room where we found the coke, just as the AK-47 guys showed up. Janey killed one and injured the other before getting gunned down. I wanted to help the injured guy, but a few more "party guests" showed up and pounced. I slipped out the window while they finished him off.

I'm back in the Security Room now. Another message came through, this time in English. They call themselves "Omega" and they're offering a small fortune to take the corpses and the stash off my hands. I gave them one of my business accounts and the wire transfer happened inside of ten minutes. So maybe things are looking up. I just hope they don't expect me to stick around and say thank you.



"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.


"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.

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