Logs From The Suit

[Typrop]

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+++VIDEO: OK+++
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+++AVAILABLE MEMORY: TRUE+++
+++TITLE: Breakdown+++

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The pilot seems restless, anxious. He fidgets in his seat, A series of sharp inhales, followed by lengthy pauses occur, as he scrambles for some way to express what his body language can only imply. The exterior of the vessel is shrouded in an oppressive, orange-brown haze. His helmet continues to give the same listless, blank gaze it always does as his head swivels wildly, trying to look for an escape that will never come. He begins to gibber.

"Liner, Liner... So many... Not ag-..! Hogosha, supposed to be harmful, went f-for one, was a liner, passengers e-everywhere!"

He practically chokes on his own words, his voice a panicked quiver, moderate crackling filling the air as he continues to circulate every inch of stale air in his vessel as fast as he can.

"Empty, hollow, empty inside, during... That. Fires, faces, parts don't belong there... Thanked dusties, stared, took carcass, left, d-didn't feel, until now. Say, life's cheap, think, see life gone? Scared, again. Reminds."

His body eventually finds a position of rest from his fidgeting, hunched forwards, head-in-hands.

"Heart, gone. Rapid, like exploding. Hate it. Ran, again. Omegas. Burning clouds, hidden. Away from 'Burgh, from Kus'. Safer. LPI, zealous. 'Gosha, doubt. Roch' Junker advice, not worth listening. Not worth, ever."

His fingers tighten, compressing against the back of his helmet and suit's neck covering, wrinkling the gloves quite heavily from the exertion.

"... Name, name. Name. Name? Notkin."

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