Entry #1, Date Unknown

Zarkhov intimated the transition would be quick. She said we would emerge in an instant, bypassing distance and time with equal measure.

She was wrong.

Now we are confined to a dimension where the passage of time is perceived only by our dwindling Vitalus reserves. The chronometers no longer function. Some of them even run backwards.

Entry #2, Date Unknown

Is it a quest for sanity that drives me to record this? Or has my mind already slipped away? I cannot say. I have naught else to do but sit, and wait, and watch my serum slowly spend itself.

Entry #3, Date Unknown

This place, wherever it is, is a home of horrors. Infernal figments flicker in and out of existence like pyreflies, and one of the crewmen has been killed. Perhaps it is only fitting.

Even in death he could not find peace. We survivors fought over his corpse like jackals, thirsty for what little Vitalus remained in his reservoirs.

Even I squabbled for my own meager share of his serum.

Entry #4, Date Unknown

Lack of Vitalus has begun to take its toll, and the sweet respite of death proves no cure for our condition. Whatever compels the Contagion is fortified by the alien dimension we find ourselves fenced within.

Those who have been physically killed soon rise from their repose, as ravenous for the blood of their brothers as those who are driven to depravity by the Contagion alone.

Soon it shall be my turn.

Entry #5, Date Unknown

The Vitalus is gone. So, too, are my chances. Even now I can feel the fetid fever as it fills my form with fatigue. Yet I am comforted, but by what... I know not.

I shall secret away this story of my time aboard Zarkhov's Shade. If any should find it, they will know the horror that befell us...