Journal

For the summary of the game's lore, see Lore.
The Journal is a key lore element that is filled out as the player progresses through the game. It contains "notes" that are either found contextually or can be physically located in the game world.
These notes provide a subjective look on the District from the eyes of the player, given that most of the notes are written in first-person perspective. However, some found notes are written by other unknown characters, usually involved with a faction.
==Journal Notes==
The following tables are a list of notes that can be discovered. Click "Expand" to view their text.
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|-|Notes=
Name 	Date	Location 	Contents
Merchants 	N/A 	Interacting with any merchant around the map. Marked with a 'M' on the minimap. 	
Merchants... These sleazy salesmen have crawled their way back into this district too? The Quarterers sure know how to get around I guess. 
It's comforting, at least. This is something I'm familiar with; there were plenty of these guys in Fleur. Their stalls might be just thrown together, but they've got everything I need to survive out here — food, water, even weapons if I'm ever in the market. They're not afraid to play hardball when it comes to prices though, negotiating with them is like trying to squeeze water from a stone.. 
Guns seem to be in high demand out here, and it doesn't look like they're short on supply. Heard talks of them giving out "special deals" now. No idea what could be so special about them, but, better to keep an eye out. They might just have what I need to survive in this junkyard.
Outlanders 	N/A 	Joining the Outlanders faction. 	
One thing I've noticed since arriving in Sombre is the moniker "Outlander." That's what they call people from the other districts. We're not well-liked around here. They see us as opportunists, trying to profit from these desperate times. I suppose that's fair, but it's probably in my best interest to join a faction. It'll help me establish a foothold in The District and earn some respect.
I could start by talking to one of those Brokers I've heard so much about. Perhaps one of them could shed light on how things work around here.
Scourge 	N/A 	Interacting with Scourge near the arena in Metro Station, left tunnel of the unloading zone. 	
Scourge unnerves me. He's got that look on his face like he's gazing into my soul, probing for any trace of courage he can twist into profit. 
Apparently, he's a part of a group called The Scrappers. And this scrapper arena he's running? Do people actually watch this? The casualties are gut-wrenching, but the crowd chants over the screams like it's some game. They don't seem to care about the pain and suffering unfolding before them. Instead, they revel in it, cheering louder with every blow. The atmosphere is electric with their bloodlust. 
It's not even just people. They throw in machines too. I saw one that looked like a battered Operator—broken parts from different droids slapped together, barely functioning. 
Scourge doesn't care who or what gets thrown into the arena. Machines against people, it's all the same to him. The sight of metal versus flesh is horrifying enough, but the machines themselves make it even worse. They emit these weird, grating noises and twitch constantly, like they're in some kind of perpetual agony. 
It's unsettling, watching these broken machines lurch and spasm as they fight. The spectators don't seem to mind, they cheer even louder when a machine lands a blow on a human opponent. It's all just entertainment to them.
Contractors	N/A 	Interacting with any contractor around the map. Marked with an 'C' on the minimap. Usually in faction territories or faction bases.	
Contractors... mysterious figures always looking for the next big deal with people of influence. Its strange how they are able to pull these strings. Met one at the base where I've been doing jobs. As soon as I walked in, I could feel them watching me, like they already knew who I was. 
They offer unique deals based on my influence around here. I guess this must be how these big factions incentivize their members to move around and get work done. Not every job has pay, so these rewards make sense. But something about these guys stands out—they feel out of place no matter how hard they try to blend in. There's something about them that I cannot put my finger on quite yet.
Brokers 	N/A 	Interacting with any broker around the map. Marked with a 'B' on the minimap. 	
Brokers..? It's an interesting system they've got out here. The Quarterers really do have a stranglehold on this district. Being an errand boy is nothing I'm not used to, though getting paid for it sure is a foreign experience. Can't say I'm complaining, cash is the blood of this city, regardless of the district, and it'll be the only thing keeping me going. 
It's strange to me how willing they are to exchange worthless junk for cash. I doubt anyone else out here needs or wants this stuff, so I can't really comprehend what The Quarterers would need it for. 
These guys scare me, though. There's no way I'm the only one they have on their payroll. It's clear that they don't even care who they send out to do their jobs if they're willing to accept S.T.I.N.G. bounty checks. I bet working for these guys is what gets your name nailed to those billboards in the first place.
Rebels 	N/A 	Joining the Rebels faction. 	
I've seen plenty of rebel-types in my travels. All discontented with life, wanting to make a stand. But apparently, this one is the largest and the oldest. They've been around since the Sombre Riots. They're mostly confined within Sombre, but I've seen them in Fleur and Culminer too. Just not in this volume. 
Recently, the rebels have been locked in a turf war with The Vultures. It has spanned multiple years, districts, and involved soldiers. It seems to have taken most of the rebels' attention away from S.T.I.N.G. 
I've heard rumors that one of their members has been working on special modifications. Maybe I should pay them a visit.
Terminals 	N/A 	Interacting with any terminal around the map. Marked with an 'T' on the minimap. 	
Terminals... It has always fascinated me how it fell off the rails so quickly... and I mean the whole "maintaining order" initiative they tried to instill. An utter failure. 
Ever since Division Systems stopped monitoring what passes through these machines, it's been chaos. There are no limits anymore—firearms, gear, armor, all stashed away inside the heart of the machine, just for you, so long as you've got your personal access key. 
Surprisingly, they still dispense routine support funds. But everyone knows it's a pittance, barely enough to scrape by these days. They keep us alive just enough to use us as political leverage with the outside world. They love to play the savior while tightening the chains. 
I can't help but wonder what Division Systems is really after here.. What part are they playing in S.T.I.N.G.'s little game? There must be something here they want, something worth all this effort. Until I figure it out, I'll keep using the tools they've provided to store my findings.
Blitz 	N/A 	Talking to Blitz inside of Rebel Caves. 	
He's for sure an odd figure, but his passion is undeniable. I've seen the arsenal he's crafted, and Blitz himself has done a fine job advertising them—they're quite impressive. Each piece seems to tell a story of ingenuity and resourcefulness. I wonder where he sources all these materials to meld together into such intricate modifications. 
They say Blitz has a few screws loose, but that hasn't stopped him from becoming a legend in these parts. His methods might be unconventional, but they've made him a force to be reckoned with in the world of weapon crafting. He has made a name for himself aligned with The Rebels, his brand is almost synonymous with their cause now.
Vultures 	N/A 	Joining the Vultures faction. 	
Bandits are a constant across Mensong. It's streets are a commonplace to get attacked and robbed anywhere, but The Vultures are unique in the sense that they're organized. They systematically extort the district's populace and maintain a tight grip over Sombre. Their growth is only stunted by the Hawks and the lockdown of Sombre from other districts.
They're crafty, though. Plenty of smugglers embedded within The Vulture's ranks. They have a little bit of everything. I can't help but question their sudden rise to power, back in '34. They went from nothing, to a well-organized, highly efficient crime group within a week, who's achievements echoed across the entirety of Mensong. 
Nowadays though, they just spend the time warring with The Rebels. It's been going on a while now, and has slowly become their biggest undertaking- the Hawk versus the Vulture rivalry.
|-|Found=
Name 	Date 	Location 	Contents
An Artisan's Confinement 	Autumn, 2034	Sniper Tower 	
August 23rd, 2028 
Above the clamor and clang of the city, I reside inside my sanctuary towers—a penthouse nested against the horizon where each day begins with a simple ritual. 
I sit at the desk that brings meaning to my life, peeling varnish and paint splatters, and I gaze out through the metallic window that frames the bridge and the train station below, structures that have served as the steadfast subjects of my daily paintings.
 
Once bustling hubs of activity, they now echo with a quieter, more somber rhythm, and I trace their lines and curves with my brush, chronicling their slow descent into stillness. 
May 17th, 2032 
The shift of the cityscape is both stark and gradual. The bridge that once pulsed with the vibrant steps of morning commuters now bears only the occasional, solitary passerby. 
The trains, less frequent with each passing week, seem to sigh as they carry less commute along the worn tracks. These scenes, captured under the changing light from dawn to dusk, fill my canvases with the fading heartbeat of a city that once throbbed with life and energy. 
My art has become a record of decline—a series of brushstrokes that lay down the twilight of an era. 
October 7th, 2034 
Tonight, the air is thick with the scent of storm and smoke, the cityscape below dotted with erratic lights that struggle against the growing darkness. 
Sounds of distant tumult, perhaps the drumbeats of war or the cries of upheaval, ascend to my high retreat. As I mix my paints, the colors seem to bleed into each other—shadows deepening, forms blurring. 
With every stroke, I feel the weight of an ending, the lines of my own fate intertwining with the city's uncertain future. As darkness envelops the skyline, my final image remains incomplete, suspended in the haze of what is yet to come.
Message to Maintenance 	N/A 	S.T.I.N.G. Facility (Access Denied)	
I'm going to lose it if I have to hear another complaint coming from the desk jockeys at the offices about all the equipment being left behind by YOUR maintenance team. 
There's just an abundance of toolboxes and ladders being left behind around the workplace! It's a safety hazard to these people. You'd think our entire department was replaced by a bunch of blind mole rats with the number of incidents I've received of people tripping or running into equipment. 
You know Elyna, the one who does all the paperwork for Michael in H.0.? Yeah, she was the clumsy dolt that walked into one of your ladders, which shattered one of the office room's glass walls and set off the security shutters, jamming the thing. Oh, and y'know Gabriel? Yeah, he's on leave because he tripped over one of the toolboxes and sprained his ankle. 
I get this place is constantly in need of maintenance, but for the love of God, just make sure your guys pick up after themselves before we have more incidents. 
- Briggs at Office Management
Project Mensong 	Winter, 2028	S.T.I.N.G. Facility (Access Denied)	
As of January 20th, 2028, the city known as Mensong is to be placed under quarantine until further notice. No individuals are to pass in or out of the city without prior authorization from either the Ministry of Health or the supervising S.T.I.N.G. officer, █████. The city is to be divided into four individual districts: 
District 01 - Sombre, a.k.a. "Blackout"
District 02 - Culminer, a.k.a. "Opulence"
District 03 - Canal, a.k.a. "Spillway"
District 04 - Fleur, a.k.a. "Blossom" 
Anyone caught breaking quarantine is subject to prosecution and possible incarceration. 
This program will last █████.
(Sombre huh, the infamous Blackout District.)
Adv. Arms Seizure Directive	Winter, 2046	Bunker Interior 	
NOTICE FROM MILITARY HIGH COMMAND 
Effective immediately, all squadron leaders currently assigned to District's currently under martial law are to begin cracking down on illegal weapons smuggling operations. A list of the offending weapons will be provided, and they are to be seized and placed within the Districts local contraband containment facility. This decision was made in accordance with all standard military operations, and under supervision by S.T.I.N.G personnel. 
Claiming and successfully returning a high priority item may permit temporary double rations.
 
(Double rations... they were getting desperate.)
The Ghost of Tunnelside 	N/A 	Near Scourge Arena 	
October 11th 
They laugh at me. Everyone laughs at me, and they think In insane... but, but but I know what I saw. I SAW IT! Deep in the bowels of Tunnelside, the darkness... it's alive. It twists and contorts into shapes that shouldn't exist, shadows that move on their own. They call me crazy, but I know what I saw. There is something with us in Tunnelside, something that threatens the foundation of the Scrappers. 
The whispering begins when In alone. Soft at first, like the rustle of dead leaves in an autumn breeze. It tells me things I don't want to hear. It berates my very core. It knows my secrets, the ones buried so deep even I have forgotten. It laughs, a sound like shattered glass on stone. 
October 18th 
The whispers... they grow louder with each passing day. A cacophony of voices echoes in the dark corners of the tunnels where the light fears to tread. The others shrug me off, their eyes full of pity and condescension. 
'Solomon,' it calls me, its voice slithering into my ear like a cold serpent. How does it know my name? 
The tunnels grow colder every day, the damp seeping into my bones, chilling me from the inside out. The air is thick with the scent of mildew and despair. 
November 2nd 
The laughter now... it's louder, a haunting symphony reverberating through the tunnels, bouncing off the walls like a cruel game. My hands shake as I write this. 
They don't see it. They don't hear it. But I do. I see the eyes in the dark, glowing like embers, watching, waiting. Mocking. 
It follows me everywhere, a constant hunter over my shoulder that I can't glance back at... I can't escape its gaze. I feel its presence behind me, a breath on the back of my neck. The air is suffocating, pressing down on me, heavier with each passing day. 
They'll see. They'll all see. 
November 4th
[This page of the entry is unintelligible.]
Desperate Times 	Spring, 2035	Windmill 	
As if food wasn't already a struggle to come by before, the government makes the great decision to put the whole godforsaken district under lockdown. It's only been a couple of months since, and the streets are already filled with the starving. 
The rations the government handed out were never enough, and now none of the merchants can even get in anymore! It doesn't help that the government rations are all this processed garbage like energy drinks and canned foods. 
Luckily, the Rebels have stepped in to offer their knowledge in cultivation to the locals and people are starting to scrap up some structures to run gardens on their own. It's a kind gesture, but I already know the Rebels will come around to claim some of the harvest for their own fighters once it's ready. 
The crops can only get sunlight on high ground because of these tall buildings and the colossal walls surrounding this place. Luckily, the rooftops are a perfect place for them. Andre and I are starting to set up our own farm. We got a good deal for some tomato and radish seeds with one of the Fleur merchants who unfortunately got caught in the lockdown with the rest of us. I don't worry for him though; he's with the Quarterers, and those guys can crawl their way into any place. I like to imagine they get around like ants. But yeah... they don't like when their merchants go unchecked or missing. They'll probably come for him eventually. 
Hopefully none of the officials will get involved with this, like try to stop it. There's nothing intimidating about these rustic wood structures we're trying to cobble together. And oh man, it's the coolest thing sometimes. It's a crazy idea, but y'know, desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess... 
- S.V.
WMD Act of 2046 	Winter, 2046	S.T.I.N.G. Facility (Access Denied)	
EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY
All entities are ordered to comply with the WMD Act of 2046, which mandates immediate surrender and dismantlement of weapons of mass destruction.
Key Directives:
- Seizure and Dismantlement: All weapons of mass destruction, including nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons, must be surrendered to authorized agencies for secure collection, transport, and dismantlement.
- Inspection Protocols: The International Disarmament Agency (IDA) will conduct inspections to ensure compliance.
- S.T.I.N.G. Oversight: The Specialized Tactical Infection Neutralization Group (S.T.I.N.G.), under the supervision of Casanova, is tasked with enforcement and the management of advanced weaponry.
The act is designed to reinforce control and shift the balance of power under the guise of security. Compliance is mandatory.
(A play for power... Seeing STING here makes them look like the good guys. I hate that.)
|-|Rebel Logs=
Name 	Date 	Location 	Contents
The Mark of a Pen	Autumn, 2039	Rebel Base	
I used to get mad at my brother for his weird habits. Whenever he found a working pen, he would immediately start writing things on his hands. I always thought it was a pointless waste. But I never imagined that this little habit would be the only way I'd find him. 
I was lost in the haze of that day, where the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The peaceful demeanor we came in with quickly faded as the protest turned into a riot. When I look back on it, how that night would end was clear, but in that moment I never imagined I'd hear the sound of gunfire. The horrors of the situation that followed quickly became clear. They weren't just gunshots anymore; they were directed at us. The military fired on us. 
That's when the Rebels stepped in. They had been waiting for this moment, armed with handguns and civilian shotguns. They fired back, creating a diversion and giving the crowd a chance to escape the chaos. The streets became a battleground, but their bravery gave us the opportunity to flee. 
Amidst the screams and the smoke, all I cared about was my brother, hoping he had made it out. Hours seemed like days as I navigated through the ruins, dodging debris and avoiding patrols. Every corner I turned, I hoped to find him alive and well. My breath caught in my throat with every face I scanned, my heart sinking with each one I recognized. 
Then I saw him. My mind was telling me I was mistaken. But there it was, his name, scribbled in his messy handwriting on his left hand. That name, that habit I once mocked, became my last connection to him. 
Now, every time I see a pen, I'm reminded of him and the senselessness of it all. He is the reason I and so many others with similar stories have joined. 
As Rebels, we fight for a better tomorrow.
|-|Vulture Logs=
Name 	Date 	Location 	Contents
Clipped Wings	Winter, 2054	The Crane	
As a vulture, I've always been told one thing: 'The sun will light your path, but look too deeply, and it'll blind you.' I used to follow this rule well, but what was the point? Every day felt the same, just heavier. The weight... the weight of it all eventually catches up to you. 
At some point, you begin to question: Is the world the sun shines its light on even worth seeing? When you start asking these questions, they notice. They begin clipping your wings, slowly but surely, until there's nothing left for you. No purpose, just work. 
It started when I began snooping around, I had this burning question in my head. How is the military so content with our presence? As long as we don't cross any lines, they just leave us alone, to do what we do. 
I hadn't reached any conclusions yet, but Raptor noticed. He always had an eye for dissenters, those who dared to think differently. My curiosity was seen as a threat. They watched me, whispering in the shadows, ensuring I could never soar too high. 
All the work I did felt meaningless when push came to shove. They took the only person I cared about in this god-awful world. That was the last straw for me. Instead of becoming their hopeless little bird, I now have nothing to lose. I've handed over everything I know. Now I'm sitting here at the top of the world. 
I guess I looked at the sun too hard. And now, the sun is going to blind me just like the rest. I can hear them climbing up to the crane as I finish this note. 
Today, I will take my very last step. This little vulture's last leap, without my wings this time.
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