(This is not a physical log, simply a short story I wish to put somewhere.) Tolkin once had a nice, clean office, plenty of space to walk around, a grand view of the open stars and the world below...now, he had a dingy, unlit backroom in a restaurant he doesn't even remember buying, with the door barricaded with branded trash for a brand he doesn't remember making. The synthetic spent most of his time jacked into the building's power supply to keep himself functional, surfing the nexus for answers to the world. Things he's seen in his past few years since reemerging from his accidental exile to a barren dustball on the edge of space. Things that science can't explain. "Clown dimension. Had to be some sort've planet that just...they were all in on it, I did what I had to to survive. If people don't get that, fuck em..." He mumbled to himself, hearing his office phone ring, he shuffled over to it, picked the entire thing up off of the table, and dropped it onto the floor amidst the cardboard burger containers and paper bags and cups. He didn't need to eat anymore, but it helped him think about who he is. Was. Will never be. Not again. He shook his head, grabbing at where the Horizon-made body he commissioned would normally have it's face, but has since, been stripped of it, revealing a dark, black visage of synthetic muscles and bone. He tore the face from his own, the face he wore before, he lost the right to call that his own long ago. He spent months in that room, running it all back. The school, the ship, the outpost, the business, here. Every time he tried to remember, he lost a bit more of it. A name, a face, he could feel himself crumbling into pieces by the second. Stop thinking about it. A voice in his mind tells him. Let it go, focus on now. He slumped into his rollie chair, rolling back and bumping the barren wall with a sigh, before opening the nexus to see what the rest of them were on about. "Another radio stream, like the first hundred didn't get the point across that you like music...pfft..." He mused to himself. He couldn't remember if he hated her, she hated him, or they hated each other, but honestly, he couldn't care less. Indulging in his own personal flagellation, he decided to turn on the broadcast. Break up the monotony for a bit, maybe it'll do you some good. As he listened to the podcast, his mind raced. New theories jolted him back to reality, brushing off his desk of trash, reinvigorated with, with...something. He couldn't remember the word. Then, his heart sank. The guilt of knowledge weighed down on his mind. She's endangering herself for the good of all. "She's making of an ass of herself on live broadcasting." She just wants to help. "Doesn't she care? She has a family, just use someone else to get it out there." She's going to... "She's gonna get herself killed." Tolkin stood up from his chair, reaching down to the floor underneath his desk and brushing the garbage from it. He opened up the safe underneath it, grabbing what he needed. Don't do this. Don't do this, it's not worth it, don't do this. He pushed down his thoughts as he donned the gear, throwing his barricades aside and stepping from the office for the first time in too long. "Hey, I need to talk to you for a second."
