Introducing Tomás Gellemo Lombardi... Deep thinking veteran desperately searching for his older brother, only to discover that the best way of finding him is through the 1007th. 

Not sure how old Simon-Pietro was, but I'm operating under the assumption Tomás is 28-31. Strengths and weaknesses are written into the last couple of entries. Let me know if you need anything else!

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[B]21 September 2020[/B]

As the ferocity of winter's bite grows, I find myself thinking of before. In the blink of an eye I'm walking in the California sun as a child. Parents ahead of me, my older brother walking by my side. Those memories are fragments. I remember later on a bit better. The day we moved to the Pacific Northwest, just in time for the freak ice storm. Maybe I had seen snow, but never so much, and never like that. Despite my brother and I being teens we played like snot-nosed kids. Throwing snowballs, 'building' snow huts, just acting making total fools out of ourselves without a care. We didn't give a shit. Most of our lives were spent in a place where a number of houses had to have water [I]trucked[/I] to them. Give us a couple feet of ice and snow -- how could we not freak out? That was before everything changed. Before the first frost meant a new struggle. Nevertheless, even with this new reality and the challenges it brings, I still smile at the thought of winter. I still smile at the thought of snow. And I hope to have the chance to be that snivelling California kid with his older brother.

[B]13 December 2020[/B] 

According to my count it's been about three months. This trip has been long, and It might be foolish, but I've already made it to Centralia. The roads clear once you're out of the major cities and suburbs and the junk left behind is amazing. From the looks of it there are definitely bandits, but nothing like the rumours I've heard elsewhere. Supposedly the gang of note here is called 'Legion'. It's funny, because my brother was always artsy and he'd study the old Greek-or-Roman works. He'd probably flip to see his cultural wet-dream reduced to bunch of brutes with guns. Well, what with the stories, I hope he'd just run. These guys seem seriously tweaked like the sort who'd shoot first then check for zed later. I'm sure he's fine. I mean, I don't even know if he's alive still, but if he is, I'm sure he'd know better. 

[B]2 January 2021[/B]

I didn't expect to find him here, honestly. A part of me hoped and dreamt that despite all the horrors and chaos he'd somehow be here waiting. The more childish part of me thought I might even surprise him. Deep down, I never expected to make it this far. After things went to shit and I decided to get moving, the thought of finding him was really just an excuse. Staying where was before was like lying in my coffin. The search for my brother was just my denial at work, my mind coping with the fact that there really was no reason for me to exist any more. I knew how much he spoke about Olympia and after passing by his old, burnt out flat, I figured why not. At worst, I died on the trip up. At best... well, I had my hopes.

Finding Evergreen State was surreal. I made this drive dozens of times back when he was a student and this was still a college. Back then Evergreen State meant free love, hard studies, weed, and creative freedom. He started school at the same time I enlisted too. When I went to visit I just remember the conversations with the 'Greeners'. I had only just completed boot camp and was already growing more rigid, perhaps more conservative. Speaking to them about politics, religion, and philosophy undid what weeks of tireless training had worked to establish. I never felt so alive and doubtful. The systems that I had only just learned to trust with my life seemed nothing more than illusions to convince me to throw my life away. I just remember thinking, both laughing and crying, that I wish the Recruiter's Office had been here. I wished I'd heard what a person could make for themselves with education and support rather than discipline and apathy. The Evergreen of today is far different. I only just arrived, and I expected some fortification if anyone had survived, but the guards here are well armed. When the gates opened I'd expected a rag-tag group just doing their best. Instead, I was met with a trained military force. How much has really changed?

[B]4 January 2021[/B]

Shortly after arriving to Evergreen I was taken into a dark room. Although they grabbed me as I finished my last entry, they left me with both my journal and pen. The only things they took were the most obvious weapons. That said, despite the poor lighting, I could clearly see myself in the mirror. Multiple means to create a weapon or, I guess, kill myself. Maybe that's the point.

Seeing myself in the mirror was more startling than isolation. I normally wear my hair short and have no patience for scraggly facial hair. Haven't had much choice lately, hell, I really haven't cared either. My face is now a dark tan and both long as well as gaunt. The bottom half is consumed by an untamed beard that curves toward the center at a point a few inches below my chin. Atop of my head is a mess of long hair that I've clearly let tangle -- not dread, mind you, this is far worse. The hair stretches down to my chest. Somehow all of this is a surprise. Somehow I never realized just how long it'd been since I saw myself. Or maybe I had. Maybe I'd walked by mirrors countless times and just not cared until now. Until I found others. How long has it even been?

[b]10 January 2021[/b]

I have been given the choice to stay or go. Something seems off about the soldiers here and the community, well, they don't express much anything. [url=http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/48/e7/1e/48e71e1d76a74403c68e16f147c4dbf0.jpg]I've cleaned up a little[/url], but kept all the hair. I consider it my way of not settling. They gave me the choice to stay or go, but it doesn't matter. I saw my brother's name on a document. He's alive. They have a sketch of him on a wanted poster.

There really is no choice. I didn't expect it to be this way, but if this is how I find you, so be it. See you soon, Simon.

[b]21 February 2021[/b]

Training with the 1007th has been brutal. My time in the Marines prepared me for physical side, not to mention walking some hundreds of miles just to get here. What really has me sweating is the intensity of these people. Can you even call them [i]people[/i]? Most of them would sooner mow down a few travellers rather than hitch them a ride. They have what little fuel is left, great weapons, and even body armour, but it's like they're afraid of every little thing. Why? I know my strength and had to make my own weapons while out in the wilds. With their armaments I'm not the least bit concerned. What stops them from thinking like me and seeing this as the potential to help? Maybe that's conceded. 

[B]23 February 2021[/b]

I was told that I didn't know my own limits yesterday. They told me my strength and ingenuity was wasted on someone who didn't know the end of their abilities. Since when do these guys get off going philosophical on me? Most of them are murderers, dammit. But fine, I'll accept that. I've been told before I'm bullheaded and been hurt because of it, probably will again. It's like I see a challenge and can't back away, and that might sound pathetic, but it's pretty damn serious when that challenge can easily break you. Otherwise, I feel pretty well established in this world. I can take more punches than most, and often do, but I usually figure it out on my own. 

I will admit, this journal has really helped. Looking back at my entries, I hadn't spoken to a single living person for at least six months before arriving here in January. If I hadn't been writing I'd probably have been some dribbling fool. Can't say I'm some Casanova nowadays, I'm nowhere near as charismatic as my brother, but at least I can hold a conversation.

... 

- Tomás Gellemo Lombardi 
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