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Journals of a Hero


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Before we start: hey guys, been a while since I went to Varrock Library, so I'm probably forgotten by most. I kinda deserted my other story (no pun intended) since I'm not really sure what to do with it. I don't know if I'll ever continue writing that one, I might one day, but for now it's just history for me, a learning experience. Last time I wrote something has been many months ago, so it might seem a bit bad at first. I'd very much appreciate any criticism, good or bad, so I know what to improve, what to keep, etc. Now about the story itself; it's been in my head a long time. I've been developing ideas and scratching 'em in my head whenever I had nothing to do, and I then came to the way that I'll be writing it now. Hope you guys enjoy.




Journals of a Hero


Written by Michael Adams,


Collected and commented on by Jacob A. Whiteman.




Date of first print: 3rd November, 1972.




Comments by mr Whiteman:


This book contains all the journal entries I have found by dr Michael Adams, who is commonly referred to as Dr. Electro. This man lived a horrible life, contrary to what people believe and I think these journal entries are a perfect portrait made by the man himself. I have collected these journal entries from various locations, most were found at his home in Brooklyn, New York, and others were found scattered around his office. I have taken the liberty to write them all down, so all generations could read the story of this extraordinary man. Everything written here is written by dr Michael Adams, except for the occasional comment by me.






Chapter 1:


The Greatest Day




3rd November, 1962.




Today was a busy day, I've been driving from my office to my home and back all day, preparing the workshop for the grand opening on the fifth. I've been working on this my whole life and I can't have anything go wrong. The machine should be working finely, as my many tests on rats have had a significant effect. I noticed that all the rats I have used as subject lived an average 150% longer then their untested companions. And they were still active to their last days. Rabbits have shown the same test results, so I'm confident. This machine, the XPC1000, should be able to prolong a man's life, while also keeping him more active.


The world needs this, and if I succeed I shall be hailed as the new Thomas Edison. This is what my life was for, the climax of those many years of hard labour. I shed sweat, blood and tears for this, but for far too long have I been ignored by my collegues. For far too long have they called me the town idiot, not even worthy of my degrees. But I shall prove them all wrong, and I hope all of them come on the fifth of November, so they can all see they were wrong.


I haven't slept properly in 3 days, and I've been drinking coffee like water. This cannot go wrong. No, this shall not go wrong.




12th November, 1962.




Horrible, it was horrible. What happened? I don't know. I woke up and found myself lying on a bed in a hospital. What had happened? As soon as the nurse saw me awake she came toward me. "Mr Adams", she said, "you finally woke up. You've been gone for a week since the fifth." This shocked me, as I thought it was a mere dream, a product of my imagination. But it was true. All that could have gone wrong, went wrong. I remember how proudly I stood there, in front of the huge crowd of journalists. Whoever wasn't holding a camera was a rich snob waiting to get prolonged life.




There I stood, with the XPC behind me, ready to be unveiled and shown to the public. I was foolish, convincing everyone this machine was safe. I chose myself as volunteer to test the machine, I was going to be the first man to get the currents of this machine through his vains. I felt like God. But God had no mercy with my sinful thinking. As I removed the red curtain that was covering the machine up, and explained what shall happen, I heard it rain. I went on. I positioned myself on the machine and asked my assistant to start it up. Lightning struck and lit up the whole room. I felt the currents go through me. I then got pushed out of the machine with brute force, the lightning had caused a shortcircuit and I was sitting in a machine which should sent 1000's of volts through my veins. The machine went berserk, it started emitting beams of electricity around as if it was lightning, and soon afterwards people started panicking.


A curtain caught fire, and soon the whole building followed it. I saw people getting squashed by falling debris, and soon I was to fall victim to the debris myself, feeling something on my head and then passing out.




Then I was here, in my hospital bed, just wondering how it could have gone so wrong. As I see my neighbouring patient reading the newspaper, I notice that this accident had caused 13 deaths. All because of me, because of my arrogance. And I was just standing there, watching the people die, and what did I do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I wish I was capable of comitting suicide, as my life has now lost all its meaning. That's what I'll do. I hope this will ever be read and I hope whoever reads it understands that I'm truly sorry.

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  • 4 months later...

Hmm, I guess I'll continue this, been a while since I written, so it might not be that good.




17th November, 1962.




It's been 12 days since the incident. I was allowed to go back home. The nurses told me that I should take it easy, I didn't. When I got back, I started calculating what went wrong, looking for every possible source that reported on the 5th. While I was walking on the street, I got angry looks and many people pointed at me as I passed; I was seen as the cause of their problems. Every once in a while someone would run up to me screaming something about their brother or father. And all this while my body would sometimes have random spasms for no apparent reason.


I don't know what's happening to me, it feels like I'm slowly dying, but at other moments I feel like I can jump off the Empire State building. My TV broke down, after a lightning bolt which I might've imagined. Is this just my imagination recalling the horrible events of 2 weeks ago? I feel like I'm slowly going crazy.




18th November, 1962.




(this page contained what seemed to be drops of water, probably tears)




Today, I'm finishing it. It's over. Those 13 deaths, they're all my fault, and God cannot wait until I die too. I did my research. 13 deaths and 12 people that will be forever paralyzed. All of they're lives were lost and ruined because of my arrogance and my selfishness. When this note'll be read, I'll be dead, I'll have gone to the deepest corners of hell to pay for my unforgivable sin. I no longer deserve to live.




TBC at a time where I have more inspiration and when I'm less sleepy. Any comments would be welcome, as long as it's constructive.

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