This is a Journal Entry of one of the many lost souls of the HMS Beatrice Attack in 1923.
The 13th of January 1903 is a day I simply can never forget in my final moments of my life. My name is Eugene Smith, a former fisherman and now, former Solider. When I finish my tale, and warning, about the fishing town of Beatrice Bay and its swamp surrounding the entire town, my life shall hand, but not by my hands.
Our battalion was sent up to the small town, for we were given the orders to head into the swamp and to kill a group of ‘savage anthropomorphic freshwater crocodiles’ who had been murdering fishermen and anyone who entered the swamp and ‘leaving their bodies caked in mud’. Now, to be honest, I was a bit suspicious of this, as the leader of my Battalion was as well.
According to the President’s act of 1890, No Beastlings (Another term for Anthro) nor ingenious were allowed rights to own land unless given permission by a s