Welcome to The Resistance.
Let's fight extinction.

Characters found on the character's page of the wiki are people that your character- providing they have spent some time with the resistance- would know of, or know personally. Consult the wiki page for regularly updated information as the campaign progresses. 


Vincent Parker Journal Log Vol.1

click pop Crackle followed by muffled sounds of Vincent steadying the recorder

Well apparantly I'm being forced to do this as some form of coping mecanism… I'd rather be working on the vehicles since we bloody need them but fair enough…

Long awkward silence as VIncent has infact put down the recorder to do maintenance on one of the vehicles before being yelled at and told to pick the recorder back up

Faint and quiet voice, probably calling out to someone 

"Alright, sheesh I'll do it, but don't expect anything deep or philosophical… so them aliens huh? Y'know I've watched Independance Day, Paul, the Alien Trilogy and strangely none of them mentioned a two-year plan of world dominance… except maybe War of the Worlds… though that film sucked, mostly because of the daughter and Tom Cruise, the book was much better…"

More awkward silence filled with coughing from Vincent

"Alright… that should tell whoever is looking over these voice-logs that I like old things… found older films and books alot more engaging than current new day crap, I mean, compare the re-make of Terminator 2 to the original version, sure the new one had all this fancy "CGI" bull-crap covering up where they couldn't be arsed to make  film but the old one had Arnold Schwarzenegger, I mean how do you beat that, plus all the practical effects and the chase scenes… also, that's one thing I want to vent about, what is with taking an old classic and re-making them to be shit? I mean go ahead and re-make phantom of the opera, never much liked it but Camelot with Richard Harris is a classic, it's some sort of film heresy to do that…"

"Right and now I've come across as an old man I'll go ahead and shut this off, "Valuable information" my ass"

Audible click and a pop as Vincent shuts off the recorder

Vincent Parker Journal Log Vol.2

click, crackle, groaning and shuffling around Voice coming through, sounding tired

Day… day… something of some month of… whatever year…

Y'know, sometimes you do things… and you regret them later on… y… you look back and say w… "Why did I do that?" I th… I think that maybe… just maybe… going first was the regret in that mall… I mean I don't know if that was… that was just a regular American mall… or if some arseholes thought that bear traps was a good idea… I mean overkill or what, since it was the bear trap… then a shotgun…

Team-mates seem alright, I got put with Miss Victoria after the lieutenant asked if she wanted me to drive the medical stuff… two americans… or was it three…? Eitherway the guy with the glowy armour seemed cool if abit quiet… the other lieutenant woman was also quiet… good shot and abit grumpy… and the other one… I-I think he might have confirmed what I used to think about most Americans from texas… loud, overtly cheery and quite literally everything from the film Top Gun… but the bit were they were like… all bro-ey and crap… aviators and calling each other nicknames… I doubt the half-naked volleyball thing actually happens but I… I'll just wait until I actually see otherwise…

Sudden wince of pain followed by shuffling

Oh yeah… burns, forgot those were a thing… yeah one of the wankers in the mall had a flame-thrower… hopefully they picked that thing up and took it back to camp, wouldn't mind a flame-thrower on the truck… or just next to me when I want to burn a twat… hopefully I don't look too much like a walking piece of salami when I get back up… and thank whatever god may exist if we can get me a replacement leg… because only being able to kick one person isn't going to be enough…

Anyway… that's this log done with… now to nap again until I can move… so this is Parker, signing off.

click, recording ceases

Vincent Parker Journal Log Vol.3

Click before alot of muffled fumbling and Vincents voice being abit distant

Doc, I know it's supposed to help but I'm abit busy right now, I'll do one when I get back…

Recording stops here

Victoria Ashford's Journal 1

<meta />

Here follows audio transcripts of the personal journal of Victoria Ryder Ashford.


Sounds of fumbling with the recorder.

How does this thing… Ah, there.

Faint cough


Session one.


It is said, ‘The first casualty of war is the truth’ and if that has been true for the wars of the past, it is even more so in a war where the stakes are not only the survival of our species, but where all of our records and communications are destroyed. Even as dire as the situation seems now, it is important that we think of the future. I can do little to save the knowledge that was contained within our great stores of data, but I will try to shed some light on the past for anyone that might come across this recorder in the future.


As such, allow me first to introduce myself. I am Victoria Ryder Ashford, 11th Countess of Ashford. I was born in the year 2010 in Ashford in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. I am a trained doctor and surgeon, and until recently studied the field of neurocybernetics. I have wanted for little in my life, and that has certainly coloured my experiences as well as my perception of the recent events.


A small pause follows


During the afternoon of January 1st 2039, I was traveling from Los Angeles, heading back to London. In the plane with me was the pilot Jerry Smith, his co-pilot and a member of the security detail Vincent Parker,  the flight attendant Amanda Nell as well as Susanne and Jonathan Vega, also in the security detail. At roughly 5:15 PM the airplane encountered what first seemed like turbulence, before roughly five minutes later the airplane lost all power. Later I have managed to piece together a rough recollection of what happened. Sometime during the night and early morning of the 1st, NASA's deep space radar telescopes picked up incoming objects. It took a few hours for them to make sure that it was not simply a bug, and around ten AM they sent an alert to the United Nations, who distributed it. Everyone was advised to stay inside and pay attention to the news. At three, the objects had reached Earth, and wasted no time, first destroying all satellites in orbit, before moving to heavily populated areas and starting their occupation of the planet.


I came to later that evening, having been pulled out of the wreckage by Miss Vega. The pilot, Mister Smith and the flight attendant, Amanda Nell were both already deceased, having died in the crash. Mister Vega had sustained some injuries, while myself, Mister Parker and Miss Vega were all only lightly injured. While Mister Vega had already been given rudimentary first aid, I immediately proceeded to see what I could do for his injuries, while Miss Vega went to scout the area. None of us were at that point aware of what had happened, other than a power outage in the airplane. Once I was finished helping Mister Vega, I tried calling an ambulance, but there was no response. Perturbed by this I retrieved my long range communicator and contacted my father. It was not my father I reached, but my sister, and only through her frantic explanation were I made aware of the ongoing invasion, as well as my father's death only hours before. That was all there was time for before the connection was broken. In a state of shock, I relayed the information to Mister Vega and Mister Parker. The rest of the night was spent huddled around a campfire. The next two weeks were spent roaming the countryside, surviving on what we managed to scavenge from the wreck and on the road, as the big city in the distance, which I later learned was Cincinati, had giant.. Spaceships hovering over it. Miss Vega never returned from her scouting mission, and Mister Vega died from drinking the water from a river after our water supply had run out. I drank from the river as well, and I had quite horrible pain for days afterwards, but seemingly have taken no permanent damage from it. Mister Parker did not drink at all. Our story would probably have ended at that point, if a patrol from the local national guard had not found us soon after.


We were brought to an improvised camp in a small city called Eaton, which lies north of Cincinnati, and is where I am currently located. Once hearing that I was a doctor, they were overjoyed and I was put to work at once. I have not had much time to process… Or rather, I have not given myself much time to process what has happened, on an emotional level, and I am not sure it is a good idea.


Here the audio pauses for a few minutes


I asked if they had an audio recorder, and they have me this one, and with it, I shall start my project of documenting this… Resistance. However, I am aware that there is no singular truth, and as such I have asked that others do the same, and give several perspectives on what has happened. Failing that, I shall try to do a bit of reporting on my own and document their take on things. Though work takes most of my days lately, and there is no end in sight for wounded soldiers and civilians alike.


In virtus scientia.

Victoria Ashford.

Recording ends here

Rhona MacKenzie's Journal 1

I am Second Lieutenant Rhona MacKenzie of the third Batallion of the Anglian Regiment, or was, I guess. The date is… February thirteenth twenty thirty nine. I have been asked to create a series of running logs on my thoughts, feelings, the day to day… business. So, right, I am tired, uncomfortable… hungry. I… what else can I say? Everything went tits up when it happened and we've not had a moments rest ever since.

A pause filled with the sounds of shuffling

I learnt yesterday that my dad died in the initial incursion.

A further pause

Not heard about mum though, I guess her situation wasn't as 'important' to those in charge.

A long drawn out sigh

I guess, I don't know, it hurts? All I can do is to continue doing what I can, help these people. But it's not soldiers they need, it's doctors, carers, people who can find some way to sustain us all. All I can do is shoot things, so I guess I'll keep shooting things. But this… this war. It's not a war. It's a cleanup operation and we're the ones that need swept clean. If there was a hell on Earth, then… Jesus, 'on Earth' actually means something now, doesn't it.

Silence follows

I will keep fighting but… we're not winning.

Elliot Hawk's Journal 1

A loud click

"'Aight, the thin' is glowin' green, that means it's on right?"

A short pause follows

"Great. 'Aight.. So this 'ere is something that I used to do back while the world was still somewhat in one piece. So this 'ere is Master Sergeant Elliot Hawk of the 4th Battalion "The Buffalos" 17th Infantry Regiment. I'm supposed to just record my day to day activities to try to keep it all together and for them mind docs to watch over in case they think I'm goin' all crazylike. So yeah, I'm still doin' normal things.. Joggin' in the mornin', brushin' my teeth an' all that stuff.. Runnin' dangerously low on TP. I swear the moment a man with diarreah comes to the outhouse the first thin' we'll hear is the groan before the groun' will quake with the wrath of a thousand shotgun weddings. But I digress, I won't lie the thought of not findin' Ben, Ma'n Pa is gnawin' at me. I can only pray to god that they are doin' alright out there somehow."

A long pause follows before a audible sniffle is heard.

"I fuckin' hate this. Those goddamn alien sons-of-bitches are goin' straight back to the moon even if it's the last thing I do."

Another pause follows before a chuckle erupts

"On the other side, I saw that Dorothy gal today an' my heart just skipped all the beats, felt like butterflies was flutterin' about. Tried to say hello but I got drowned out as another pair of folks walked up to her and spoke. Maybe tomorrow, right?"

A loud click follows

Rhona MacKenzie's Journal 2

Rhona MacKenzie, October twentieth, twenty forty one.

Did you know that dùthchail means homeland in Scots? I've been thinking about home more and more, home sickness maybe. I've not been back in five or so years now. I had hoped to spend a bit of time once I was off tour but, well… things.

The recorder is switched off here but is turned back on to continue the log later

We're in America now so I asked around for what homeland was in the native language here but I couldn't get an answer. I wonder if a lot of what's going on is how the native Americans felt when the Spanish reached their shores. Sure we had the numbers but, Jesus, were we outgunned.

Soft laughter

Maybe Earth will become one big casino reservation… I shouldn't laugh at that. That's not funny, not for the Americans and… and not for us.

Drawn out sigh

I hope E.T up there knows we'll continue to fight tooth and nail for our little blue and green dot

Victoria Ashford's Journal 2
Before the Storm

October twenty-first. One thousand and twenty five days since the invasion.


Supplies are running low. Not only on medication – though the lack of broad-spectrum antibiotics is a serious issue – but also rubber gloves, injector syringes and disinfection gel. And it doesn’t help that the soldiers that they send on supply runs have no idea what they are looking for. They are just as likely to bring back vitamin supplements as they are Miglitol or Vicodinjust because they look – and I quote – “Medicine-y”.

exasperated sigh

Then there are the ones that come in to the medical wing with small cuts or a headache and similar, and demand that we not only treat it, but that we give them painkillers. Not asking. Demanding. Of course we explain that they are needed for more serious injuries, but they feel entitled to everything. Typically they go on a rant on how important they are; famous “football” players or Vice Presidents of some company and the like. Of course, most people understand that we have a limited supply, but you tend to notice the troublemakers more.


There is scheduled a gathering in hangar one tomorrow at nine. Supposedly something big. I’m not hopeful. There has been a tense air around the command center lately. Whatever it is, it’s not good.

Elliot Hawk's Journal 2
Intro 2

A loud click

'Aight, here I am again. It is the twenty second of October, twenty forty one. I saw a.. Uhm, "larger" fella. Another borin' day, exception bein' that a bunch of them officers are prancin' about in the Command post, no doubt plannin' somethin' involvin' a hella lot of gunfire against alien ass. But that's not for me to judge, fingers crossed is all I'm sayin'.

A brief pause follows.

Saw a hawk today soar over the sky, pretty cool bird that. Maybe I'll ask around if anyone knows a thing or two about birds, educate m'self a lil' bit you know? Then maybe I can fetch one and train it to be my personal toilet paper snatcher! Haha, wouldn't that be the day?

Chuckling is heard before it goes quiet for a moment and a short chuckle follows.

Hehe.. Saw Dorothy again today. Sheez how her eyes can immobilize a fella. Started to sweat all over and started twitching awkwardly when walkin', worst part was.. She was lookin' at one of her pals that was just behind me. How embarrassin' was tha'? I almost goddamn waved at her.. Phew, Pa woul' turn in the grave if he knew. Oh that reminds me, we're bein' force to "ration" our toilet papers now, a goddamn lardo appearantly had a ragin' diarreha, explosive even. I swear everyone in the airbase could smell it for days, ouldn't surprise me if the aliens smelled it also! Peeeheeeew! Oh right, anyway that man ended up using THREE fuckin' rolls of paper!

It goes silent before you hear a long and exaggerated sigh.

God fuckin' damnit, goin' to tell Jess that to pick up more on that, 'cause I ain't wipin' my ass with a goddamn sponge. That just ain't happenin'. Not even a lil' bit, and I don't give a flyin' jackass fuck about what the goddamn Romans did to their asses. 

A snort is heard before it erupts into laughter for a perhaps half a minute.

Hehe… Fuckin' Romans. So yeah, I feel fine. Not feelin' malnourished or nothin'. Kinda want a candy bar o' some kin'. I miss the taste o' chocolate. I keep up my daily trainin', I drink only the bare minimum we're given each day. Gotta make it last afterall. Dorothy is drivin' me crazy though, just wish I had a chance to like, properly talk to her… She's so cool. Alright, this was Master Sergeant Elliot Hawk of the 4th Battalion "The Buffalos" 17th Infantry Regiment, signin' off.

A loud click follows.


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