In Ghost Recon: Wildlands, the player can find different types collectibles in the environment: Textual Evidence, Picture Evidence, Recordings… For the Last Rites DLC, I had ownership on the Textual Evidence part of the Lazarus Files. I used these entries to expand the world a little, dive into the reasons why members of once-enemies factions would join the new faction Los Penitentes, and to examine the psyche of our antagonist a bit deeper.
Unidad Reports
Unidad report on strange crimes in Villa Verde.
Two officers on patrol had a call about a burglary at a bigwig’s compound: victim claimed a group of armed men were seen fleeing his private zoo. Night guardian found knocked out; all the animals had their throats cut. Circle of dead apes found in the courtyard with a note reading « better free than enslaved ». All apes decapitated. No sign of the missing heads.
No credible suspects or motives. Night guardian was dismissed for incompetence and called in for questioning. He never showed.
Unidad report on the disappearance of several officers and their families.
Column of smoke spotted in jungle, patrol sent to investigate a possible wildfire. Our men didn’t report back. Families vacated their lodgings shortly after. All we have is a couple resignation letters (forged?) brought by a local kid.
Interrogation revealed nothing but blind faith his mother would return for him. Kid may not know the whereabouts of my officers, but he’ll learn something. In the meantime, I’m sending more men out there. What the fuck happened?
Unidad report on the assault of a officer in a remote village.
Incident during a routine Security Tax collection. Villagers refused to pay their dues, said they had no more need of Unidad protection.
Standard procedure was followed. Next day, local officer was found flogged to death on the plaza. All villagers gone. They seem to have left their belongings, some tables were still dressed. Remaining officer found babbling about angry spirits. Investigation ongoing.
Unidad report on strange officers deaths.
Bodies of missing officers found during Marco Cortes murder investigation. Several were assigned to his security detail prior to their disappearance. The bodies were found hanging from trees, forming a five-pointed star. Too disfigured for a mere settling of scores, this feels personal. Patrols extended the search to more remote areas.
Directives given to the invaders who sacked Vargas’ villa
Free the country of traitors who would sell it to devils. Uproot corruption, and reclaim your birthright in its stead.
Unidad report on the civilians’ responses to local agitator known as La Llorona.
We got a name. Lunatic calling herself La Llorona claimed the unexplained dead bodies that have been piling around. Civilians suspected of providing supplies to the agitators. Arrests have been made and unmade; the mines can’t stop running, higher-ups say. The men refuse to venture in the jungle. We’re asked to put the bitch down without the means to do it.
Unidad report on the hunt for local agitator known as La Llorona.
Bodies are found every day now, and still no sign of « La Llorona ». Reinforcements requested and declined from La Paz. Say they have their own troubles to deal with. Multiple sightings of her followers, masked, unkempt, fully armed.
Most signs point to the jungle. Trees block lines of sights, the few men who come back swear they hear voices following them. But now I know who I’m looking for. Sooner or later, the crazy bitch will make a mistake, and I’ll be ready.
Penitentes Writing
Fragment of a resignation letter sent out by a Unidad officer, mentioning the cult Los Penitentes.
… no matter how much power we gather, we’re still playing lapdogs for the cartel, for a few rich men, for foreigners who wouldn’t last two hours in our provinces. Unit after unit, we die for nothing. We die of losing our purpose here, and hierarchy doesn’t care. Los Penitentes have that purpose, and I won’t die for nothing. It’s not desertion when everyone else is already dead.
List of pros and cons made by two former cartel members about whether to join Los Penitentes. The paper emanates a strong pisco smell.
Cons: The bastards are crazy / Too much kneeling / No clearly defined hierarchy to climb. Pros: Easier to join a rising organization than to rebuild a dead one / Nutjobs got teeth, get the work done / Civilians already onboard / Masks provide anonymity
Letter from an ex-Katari 26 rebel to a family member.
… in all the years we fought the cartels and their militia, nothing changed in the barrios. The same look on people’s face. We won, but we didn’t succeed. Taking a greater evil down allowed lesser ones to grow in turn. But She is different, tío, She won’t let bureaucratic cowardice stand – all our promises, She will keep, and more. She will break the wheel. The people in the barrios know it too. For the first time, the light of hope reached their eyes. For them, I will take the mask, and so should you.
La Llorona’s Diary Entries
Page ripped from a diary. It’s old, the ink faded, in the handwriting of Ines Cortes.
The dead drops are silent, untouched again. Months with no answer, with my offerings piling up without an acknowledgement. It’s like screaming into a void, but this void is closed even to my voice and won’t grace me with so much as an echo. Emily turned away from me, but I have eyes and I see how much work is left to do. If the CIA has no appetite for the fight, I shall be hungry on behalf of all. If they don’t have hands to stop the hurting of my people, I shall use mine. If they will turn a blind eye, I shan’t need to listen to them.
Page ripped from a diary. The text seems to refer to Ines Cortes’ deceased twin daughters.
A pair of angels grow older for the last time. Their king of a father invited all the knights in the realm to celebrate them, honor them, crown them. They laugh and dance and don’t see the tiaras turning into shackles. The first time, I, too, remembered it wrong. Now birthday gifts turn into severed heads. The last one is mine, but they will never see it. They will not cry if I do it for them. For their next birthday, I will get them sparks of arson and justice.
Page ripped from a diary. The handwriting seems to match Ines Cortes’.
I gaze upon the stars and their light tear my skin apart to reveal untold secrets, secrets that were put there before I was born. Soon their tears will blend with my tears and drown all the crows who peck at the land. May they choke on silver and dirt. Down their throats goes my land, it swells until their tongues fall off. Then, we drag their filthy bodies onto the sea. Away their corpses go. In my mind, the stars have all fallen and my people dance in the dark, inside the freedom of truth.
Page ripped from a diary belonging to Ines Cortes.
Some nights, I wake up in the dark and instead of daughters, I look for a mother. One vanished, who believes in me still. One to whisper in the dark, to tell me again – I can change things. For if I cannot, what were my sacrifices for? No whispers in the night comfort me anymore; I learn that it is my burden and mine only to walk through the night, to know what I can do. This is a night only I can light. I am the whisper in the dark, I am the guiding star. I stand alone, and I learn that even stars yearn for mothers.
Page ripped from a diary, presumably written by Ines Cortes.
In my dream, I bite and bite at the skin of the land. I break my tooth, and my blood softens the rock. The land opens up for me, and I see rivers of blood infected by poison the color of bolivianos. I see life so busy struggling, it doesn’t notice it’s being uprooted. The roots know what is being stolen underneath, so the invaders have them removed. But with them, come the spirits of the ancestors. This is our land, and only us can cure it. We are its offspring, and only it can nurture us. In my dream, I bite and suck the poison right out of the wound. I spit, and I fall. Content.
Severed page from a diary in Ines Cortes’ handwriting.
I woke up with my face covered in clean bandages. Inside, my heart felt soiled; I knew I couldn’t let it fester. I wore the bandages still to go after Marco, and when I killed him, it was his blood, not mine, that marked the cloth. When I came back, villagers fell on their knees, brought icons in my new likeness, and I thought of my old dreams and my hopes – maybe that was fate’s twisted gift to me, the role I’d been preparing for. An actor is no liar. What is a stage? Nothing if not a shrine where deeper truths hide. Once masked, my face screams louder than ever, and everyone listens.
Excerpt from a younger Ines Cortes’ diary.
I remember Marco’s smile when he took my hands, on the day he held our daughters for the first time. All he did was for us, he said. Those smiles were real, as solid as my emotions and the walls of the church he had built for the people.
But as the smiles tightened, so did the uneasiness. Did I miss acting so much, I started to do it daily? Or was it creeping doubts about the man I married? He’s a good husband, but is he a good man? I feel distant, drifting away as my eyes take to the blinding light. Open wider. He smiles still, and I wonder how much right it takes to balance out the wrong.