Expedition Day 7
The infestation is dire. It spreads quickly and envelops all around it, twisting creatures, contorting them into ravenous monstrosities. Last week a large grazer buck was bitten by a corrupted garr. Now, green spittle flows freely from the buck's maw and bulbous sacs of pus protrude from its body, violently popping every so often. Most animals keep a good distance from the Strain, but it has overtaken the area's prime food and water sources, leaving wildlife little choice but to risk contamination.

Expedition Day 8
Confound it! Last night a varmint sneaked into camp and coated all of my materials in muck before I chased it away. I cleaned up as delicately as I could, but nevertheless managed to wipe some of the filth onto my brow. Already the bio-phage is taking hold. Odd bumps dot my face and my skin seems to be hardening into some kind of shell. I also feel strong, able to lift great weights with ease. I must work quickly to finish my latest antidote formula, though it shall likely be my last.

[The text on the next page resembles haphazard scratches, each letter varying greatly in size and shape]

Expedition Day ???
My spine has become twisted and my limbs elongated. I fight back urges to kill, but that compulsion grows stronger. I feel I am fading away. I can no longer remember the name of my wife. My children. May they never suffer this fate.

[The rest of the journal is nothing but smudges of green and orange. Indecipherable scribbles are strewn erratically about the journal. There are no further entries.]