You had started to forget after the first 20 sweeps of your 'service' on the Condescension's flagship. You had only the inner walls of your Helm to look at and the features of your friends, once so clear, had begun to blur and distort.



You had freaked out and meticulously preserved every memory in a file. That was one of the few perks of having your mind forcibly remodeled into a horrific blend of binary coding and flesh. From your fallible cortex straight to the security deposit box that was the Ship's engine coolant status logs.

Seriously, no one ever checked those.



Helmsman: Open File 'vantas_fIIrst_smIIle.mem'