1. Ship History
2. Ship Specifications
3. Research Logs
4. Ship Logs 5. Personal Logs
Middle Management (Name Withheld)
8310707-1718
///PERSONAL LOGS SELECTED/// /D:8310707-1718/ \\\ERROR, INFORMATION FRAGMENTED, RECONSTRUCTING\\\ //BEGINNING PLAYBACK//
It's pandemonium out there. People are dropping like flies, coughing up their lungs. Medical is overflowing, and they're running low on supplies. The whole place smells like disinfectant and fear.
Heard some whispers from the nurses – they still don't know what it is. One of them even mentioned something about a "forgotten plague" from way back. Doesn't exactly inspire confidence, does it?
Starting to see some folks getting real desperate. Resource stockpiles are dwindling faster than expected, and there are rumors of fights breaking out over basic supplies. This isn't how it was supposed to be. We came here for a new beginning, not to die hacking up blood on some alien rock.
Looking around at the scared faces, I can't help but feel a cold dread creep into my gut. What if Goodman's wrong? What if we're not prepared for what's coming? What if this whole thing is… bigger than they're letting on?
The Consortium… they control everything – the ships, the supplies, the damn air we breathe. Maybe this whole "colonization" thing was just another one of their sick experiments. Maybe we're the lab rats, and this… this is the result.
The Administration, they keep saying it's just a regular illness, something the body will adapt to. But their briefings feel… hollow. Like they're holding something back. Like they know more than they're letting on.
Maybe I'm just paranoid, sleep-deprived, and scared out of my mind. But something about this whole situation stinks. And it ain't just the disinfectant.
//END PLAYBACK// //RETURN TO MENU?//
( Y / N ) ///CLOSING FILE: HAVE A NICE DAY///
