After a hell of a flight, I finally arrived on Island Four this morning! Professor Hawton - Joseph, he insisted - is a massive, wobbling pudding of a man, nothing like his photos. He's the stereotype of a jolly fat bloke, with a crushing handshake and a hearty laugh. I took a liking to him instantly.

After a lunch of roast boar and home-brewed real ale - which was delicious, by the way - he showed me his progress on the Improbability Drive, showing off the enhancements and modifications he's created, pointing out the deviations from the original plan, all of which met with my enthusiastic approval.

The Improbability Drive has the potential to eliminate all of mankind's margins of error. Imagine what we could do with Absolute Certainty! If we could inflate the slimmest chance to the highest mathematical probability! Professor Hawton - Joseph, sorry - highlighted some of the things I hadn't even thought of… what if our soldiers never missed their targets? What if we could easily affect the rate at which cancer cells divide and subdivide? What if we could determine, for ourselves, the chances of being struck by lightning, or hit by a bus, or dying of AIDS?

Joseph seems a little eccentric, but a terribly nice chap - he has been here for twenty years on his own, so it's only natural he should be a tad “touched.” I'm sure he'll regain his senses - that's what I'm here for, after all, to keep him company and stop him from going completely off the deep end.

I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship!

Joseph walked in on me while I was having a shower, stripped off his clothes, and jumped in. The presence of his ample frame didn't give me enough room to stand up straight in the shower, and I was constantly buffeted by the folds and valleys of his soapy belly. I found it all a little odd, but what really struck me was that he left his socks on. When I quizzed him about it, he told me that his socks were vital to the Plan.

“What plan,” I asked him.

“PlanplanplanPLANplanplanplan,” he laughed, enthusiastically rubbing his belly, and then he grabbed my head and rubbed it between his soapy man-boobs.

Yup, he's nuts.

Joseph gave me a Valentine's Day card. He'd drawn it himself, in crayon, and signed it “Doktor Improbable.” I asked him about the name - he told me he spelt Doktor with a K because he wasn't actually, strictly speaking, a real doctor. Fantastic.

We rolled dice and flipped coins for the rest of the day, while Joseph fine-tuned the Improbability Drive.

I have a feeling we're getting closer. We rolled ten dice this morning, and got ten sixes. After subsequent rolls, we got ten sixes again, then nine sixes and a five, then ten ones, then nine ones and a six, and then five sixes and five ones. They were all supposed to be sets of ten sixes, but it's plain to see that we're making progress.

I think we've cracked it! Ten rolls, of ten dice, and sixes across the board!

Joseph, for some reason, isn't happy with the result! He frowned, muttered that he'd have to fine-tune it a little more, and then went back to the computers.

I have no idea what more he'd want to do with this. We've done the basic experiments as an illustration of principle, and that's all we were supposed to do.

I'm going to leave this journal where you can find it. I don't have much time. It's all gone wrong. We threw ten dice, which came up nine sixes and a seven, and then five zeroes and five nines, and then ten ones and a Z, and then three parrots, five monkeys, seven cakes and the Ace of Spades. Joseph was laughing and wobbling like a madman the entire time.

Improbability is leaking out into the island like radiation, and everything's going very strange. If you read this, GET OFF THE ISLAND - and if you survive without being turned into something, give my love to my wife, and tell the world that Doktor Improbable is coming.

I don't know what you, as outsiders, can do about this place. If you try to nuke it, then the missile will probably change into a sperm whale or something. If you send soldiers, their weapons might backfire, or not work at all, or turn into bananas. I guess you could make some sick Reality TV show where you launch unarmed people indiscriminately at the Island and see whether or not they survive - note, THIS IS A JOKE, DON'T ACTUALLY DO THIS.

Doktor Improbable, and the Improbability Drive, aren't your only problems. There are other things here, too - some are nice, some not so nice, all insane.

This is David Abraham, signing off - and I apologise for my part in all this. Forgive me. I knew not what I did.

If you read this, get away. Get away FAST.

The Church of Bluerock, based in the Bluerock Chapel in Kittania, believes that David Abraham's great-grandniece's son's uncle's sister's father's wife's daughter was the first KittyMorph, and thus KittyMorphs are the Drive's chosen people. Don't worry, though, they won't hold it against you; they're perfectly fine with having people¹⁾ of other Religions²⁾ pay them exorbitant amounts of Req for wedding rings and services. They also cite the existence of Bluerock in Kittania³⁾ as proof of their chosen-ness, hence the name of their Religion.

The connection between Bluerock and other Improbable types of stones remains unclear.

(Not to be confused with <WATCH> The Watch or Failors. Probably to be confused with <TWD> The Watcher's Disciples.)

The Watchites believe that David Abraham's great-grandniece's son's uncle's sister's father's wife's daughter was actually The Watcher, which is why she's so amazingly strong,⁴⁾⁵⁾⁶⁾ and also why she should be worshiped. They tend to hang around the FailBoat, but since they have no dress code and pretty much everyone visits the FailBoat, Watchites are rather hard to identify. They accept I Am The Watcher as gospel, despite⁷⁾ the chronological inconsistencies with Abraham's Journal. There is a minor disagreement in the Religion as to the proper capitalization of Her name,⁸⁾⁹⁾ but it appears to be nothing schism-worthy at the moment, as they've resolved to only use Her complete name at the beginning of sentences.

The Nightmarians, who run the Nightmare Court, are obsessed with violence. However, since the other Religions refused to get into a holy war with them, they schismed into many, many denominations in order to have a holy war with themselves. Each denomination has its own particular rules, which may change at any time. And that's really all anybody knows about the Religion, including the practicing members themselves. Some suspect they worship some or all of the many things that claim or do not claim to be or not be gods on the Island. Some suspect they worship CavemanJoe, but, if they do, he probably wishes they'd stop. The denominations also like to fight for control over places such as The Nightmare Court, The Moral High Ground, and the Holy Land.¹⁰⁾¹¹⁾