Wherever you found it, it was obvious the owner never wanted it read. The thing was bound in a leather cord and clasped shut... After some dexterity you pick the lock, curiousity gets the better of you and you shift the journal open.
As some pages rush past, flowing with an omnious wind that willed it to a spot. You noticed the crimson writing, blood. The penmanship was surprisingly remarkable, thetre was obvious care in how the person constructed this...

 

"Here we are again, back into the pages...

Journal, thank you for being here through it all. Though I did manage to make friends... It's only you I'd confide in.

I did it. I worked my wretched fingers into this damned ciry. If you could see me now, you'd be so proud. I came here, just a boy in the eyes of the world. You thought I ran things in Detroit? Thought that was rough? Hathian is a whole other monster. From several gangs running the streets to snakes in uniforms... It has it all. Everything I didn't know I wanted.

 

Ah, it's been so fun... I've neglected you so much.

From loved lost, to love gained. Wolf attacks, Meeting brothers, sisters, gunfire, war and so, so much more. I'm finally at home, Journal.

 

Hathian... Is my home.

 

I hope I never lose you, as I have some wicked tales to write...

 

Officer Malakai Grae."