These stories first appeared in Hunt's Book of Weapons, an in-game collection of found documents curated by an unknown researcher. They are replicated here in their original format. This means that many of the stories are not presented chronologically, or in one grouping, and it is left to the reader to put together the puzzle pieces and determine to what extent they contain fact, fiction, or fable.

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Railroad Hammer

Railroad Hammer (See also, BLUNT FORCE, TOOLS) With the innovation of the railway came the need for simple, cheap tools to build the tracks. Simple and effective, the misshapen sledgehammer is perfect for driving spikes that sit next to high rails. They are light, adaptable, and require no adjustment for caving in skulls.

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Letter to Maribelle Armstrong
Author: Abel Baker
Single loose sheet, 8.5 x 11 in.
1/4

My exquisite darling Maribelle,

I wish there was something I could do to cut down the despair that will befall you once you are made to understand that this will be my final letter. When I told you that I'd be home as soon as I finished out my sentence, I meant it with the whole of my heart, but recent events that will soon make the papers have all but destroyed the man I once was. I don't know how long I'll make it out here, although I promise to fight as hard and long as I can out of respect for what you would want. I thought you deserved the truth and not some over-sweetened lie that your sharpest mind would see through in an instant. I'm so sorry.

The circumstances of this bayou determine that there are no rules for anything, and nothing is fair or just. At some point in time, there may have been someone who cared enough about the idea of mistreated inmates that they'd do something about it, but as you well know, we've been cut off from the luxuries of the places unaffected by the corruption. All we were told was to obey or be killed.

2/4

For some context, that beef-witted sheriff, Hardin they called him, made it known from the first morning he arrived at the camp that he was on the lookout for men he could lawfully deputize. Watching us break our backs in order to get the railroad in fine condition would be test enough for him to decide which of us he'd choose to free. But my buddy Marky called the promise out for the deceit it truly was. There was no freedom at stake. Anyone chosen to be a deputy would be forced to obey commands without second guessing the source, just like we did here. The illusion of free will would be more magnified, sure, with the clean shirt and the gun and the badge we'd be given if we made the cut, but like Marky pointed out, there wasn't much left in this life for us to dress up for, and being used to carry out whatever Hardin's shifty motivations were hardly came with any sort of 'stay alive' guarantee.

I only wish I'd listened to Marky earlier. Maybe if I had, he'd still be alive.

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Letter to Maribelle Armstrong
Author: Abel Baker
Single loose sheet, 8.5 x 11 in.
3/4

The beginning of the end came when Hardin became noticeably interested in another inmate called Swamp, nicknamed after his favorite hiding place to do away with dead bodies once he was done with them. Swamp's stare is bone-chilling, his mouth ever-curled into the slightest, most unhinged smile. He erupted into delighted giggles when a patrolling officer accidentally used the wrong end of his knuckle knife on an immolator and got himself cooked alive right in front of us, screaming like a child screams when it wakes up from a night terror, smelling like a mix of Ma's Sunday pork roast and burned, greasy hair.

Anyway, after Hardin arrived, Swamp decided he wanted to stick out, I guess. When he saw that Marky didn't like Hardin, and that Hardin didn't like Marky, and took it upon himself to show the sheriff that he had no problem squashing Marky like a spider.

4/4

One evening, Swamp took a railroad hammer to Marky's chest over supper, crushing it inward like a finger poking through the malty, softened bruise of an apple. I knew better than to retaliate right away, with the commotion gathering the attention of inmates and officers alike, but the seed of my current mission was planted. Like a cat stalking its prey, I was silent in my search for the perfect moment, biding my time.

Like a gift straight from the hands of God, four packs of Hellhounds descended upon the camp not a day later, tearing their way through the flesh and bones of the less experienced as others scrambled to help. When I saw the railroad hammer Swamp used on Marky resting on its side in the dirt nearby, I knew my chance had come. I took it in my hands and made sure Swamp felt exactly how Marky must have, taken by surprise that bubbled from his mouth in the form of scarlet froth. Justice, done.

My sweetest Maribelle, I have reached the ending of my sentence so much earlier than anticipated, as the disturbance was the perfect time to take my new railroad hammer and slip away. I cannot come home, for Swamp was not the only one with a debt to be paid over what happened to Marky. Promise me you'll find someone who actually deserves you. This is something that I have to do for my railroad brother. I will love you until my last breath.

Yours,
Abel

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