"My name is Alec Trevelyan. I am an agent of British MI6. I inherited my predecessor's codename, and from today forward, I am 006!"
July 10, 2000. Ten days since I returned to West Virginia. My adopted daughter, Sharon, and I are gradually becoming familiar with each other. She calls me Daddy now, and I've come to think of her as my own.
July 11, 2000. Sharon's sleepwalking seems to have eased somewhat... I'm preparing to take her to the hospital for a checkup.
July 12, 2000. The child is sensitive and resistant to the idea of examinations. I told her I wasn't feeling well and asked her to come along for support. Sharon agreed without hesitation. What a sweet child—and what a clever father I am!
July 13, 2000. Suspecting Sharon might have a neurological condition, Rose and I took her for a brain CT scan. To ease her anxiety, I went first, then coaxed her through it.
July 14, 2000. How is this even possible?! What kind of third-rate facility is this?! They claim Sharon is fine and that I'm the one with problems. Abnormal shadows in my brain, they said. Recommended hospitalization for observation. Ridiculous! My health is perfect. I'm not sick!
Rose and Sharon both begged me to stay for observation. I refused. I know my own body. As an elite operative, I possess that much self-awareness. This hospital is simply incompetent.
July 18, 2000. We've been to three different hospitals. None could determine the cause of Sharon's sleepwalking. Someone suggested we travel to a major city for better specialists.
July 25, 2000. This is becoming troublesome. Medical expenses are mounting rapidly. I have money—but it's money I can't declare. I can't exactly explain that it came from dealings with Afghan militant groups. The more I think about this, the worse my headache gets. It's agonizing. Like a drill boring into my skull. Am I truly the one who's ill? No. I refuse to believe it.
August 10, 2000. News reports gave me an idea. Flight 180 air disaster, the pension compensation case, the Florida alligator attack—plaintiffs in all three received enormous settlements. Clean money. Even if something happens to me, Rose and Sharon would be secure. Decision made: find a target, file suit.
August 12, 2000. After careful analysis, I've identified potential targets. Isabella Swan from the pension case. Hailey Keller from the alligator incident. Both vulnerable women. Both worth investigating. This "I'm weak, therefore I'm right" mentality in modern society is baffling... I'm getting old. Truly old.
But this Isabella Swan... she looks familiar.
006 drew a line under Isabella Swan's name, marking it for further attention.
"After deeper analysis, this woman is remarkably unlucky. Bank robbery. Plane crash. Both survived. Heh. Schadenfreude, perhaps—but I can't help finding satisfaction in others' misfortune. Dark of me, I know. Still... the more I study her photograph, the more certain I am I've seen her before. This bothers me. The more I dwell on it, the worse my head hurts."
August 19, 2000. Traveled to a mine in Minnesota with legal counsel. At the invitation of several female miners, I've filed a joint lawsuit on their behalf, accusing the company of widespread sexual harassment by male coworkers.
Even without a law degree, I can see this case is a guaranteed win. Practically free money.
However... that blonde miner is striking. Beautiful, but cold. The way the male miners look at me is suspicious. Do they think I'm having an affair with her? Or are they sizing me up for a fight? Stupid Americans, thinking only with what's between their legs.
The handwriting here was particularly flamboyant, as if displaying the author's inner pride.
August 20, 2000. I was beaten. Badly. This town is utterly barbaric. Over a hundred men cornered me in an alley. I fought hard—took down five of them before...
August 27, 2000. Transferred from ICU to a regular ward. Broken leg in a cast. I contacted a subordinate and had him locate a legendary Eastern physician. The man has white hair, a white beard—looks like something out of an old scroll. His ancestral medicine supposedly dates back to the Mongol Empire. We Cossacks respect Genghis Khan.
The physician told me to drink more hot water and take my medication regularly. Something about that advice triggered a vague memory. I didn't think much of it at the time. Nothing to do but follow orders—take the medicine.
Evening of August 27, 2000. Something is wrong with this medication! My chest—it's burning! I came here for my leg! There's something off about that doctor. I need to find him.
August 29, 2000. (Here follows a string of expletives in Russian...) That was no physician—he was a charlatan! This has to be a conspiracy from the Crown! Too vicious!
September 18, 2000. The miners won their case. I received the agreed commission—one hundred ninety thousand dollars. Clean money. Enough for Sharon's treatment... and perhaps mine as well. Now it's not just my head and my leg—my heart aches too. If Sharon's sleepwalking weren't so severe, I'd prioritize my own health.
October 28, 2000. Using experimental genetic drugs secretly developed by the military, my leg healed remarkably fast. Sitting in a wheelchair, I took Sharon to see a new psychiatrist recently relocated from Los Angeles—Dr. Harmon.
Dr. Harmon and his wife maintain only surface-level civility. The rift between them is obvious to anyone trained in observation. As wide as an abyss.
November 3, 2000. Brought Sharon to Dr. Harmon's home for treatment. There's something deeply wrong with this couple. When I asked if they had children, they hesitated. Stammered. Couldn't even answer whether they had a son or daughter. Bizarre. Does Dr. Harmon have designs on Sharon? I won't leave her side.
November 5, 2000. Dr. Harmon's counseling has shown results. Sharon's intermittent sleepwalking—over five months now—has stopped. She mentioned feeling as though something inside her was being suppressed by an external force. Childish nonsense. No scientific basis whatsoever.
November 15, 2000! That seemingly gentle Dr. Harmon attacked me! Struck me from behind with a shovel—accused me of having an affair with his wife!
What the hell? My leg was still in a cast. Did he truly think I was capable of seducing women in my condition?
Even injured, I subdued him. Then I saw his wife. God. A month ago, she appeared normal. Now her belly was grotesquely distended—as if she were ten months pregnant. Mrs. Harmon smiled at me. That smile... I felt only terror.
I fled with Sharon immediately. I later heard she gave birth that same night. The couple vanished the next day.
When writing this entry, 006's hand had trembled. The handwriting scattered across the page.
December 1, 2000. Certain memories are resurfacing. Fragmented. Unclear. Ever since I stopped taking Sharon to Dr. Harmon's house, her condition has deteriorated rapidly. She draws horrifying pictures alone in her room. Mutters a name under her breath.
December 3, 2000. Rose left with Sharon. They went somewhere I've never heard of. Silent Hill?
December 5, 2000. I arrived at Silent Hill. There's some kind of barrier. I can hear Rose calling to me—faint, distant—but I can't reach them. I can't find them. I'm useless!!
Evening, December 5, 2000. Isabella Swan. My memory has fully returned. This woman possesses abilities beyond scientific explanation. Even at the risk of exposing my identity, I've boarded a plane to San Francisco. I must find her. I must convince her to help me rescue my wife and daughter.
This is my only hope.