After being in a partial cryogenic hibernation for seven years, I awoke to the screeching voice of that greedy, slime-ball, snake-of-a-man that calls himself “my boss”, Tweed… Out of a literal sea of employees, I was “personally hand selected due to my natural born leadership qualities, unparalleled adaptive nature, and endless desire for discovery and exploration”… Bullshit… I’ve never lead anything, I hate change, and I have lived in Chicago my whole life and have eaten the same dehydrated Chinese food every Tuesday for near a decade… Twenty credits worth of Grob says he drew my name out of that dumb hat covers his bald head with… Regardless, I’m stuck on this godforsaken planet in a busted ship with an empty tank of fuel, a fritzy government issued multi-planetary scanner, and my only ambition is to do what this creep says so I can go home to that roach-infested micro apartment I rent from my twat of a father-in-law, Chuck… 

Upon awaking, a voice in my head began speaking to me and has literally not shut up. I tried screaming to drown it out, but the voice just gets louder… Only following its orders grants me a morsel of silence. It first told me to go outside and look at the ship to assess the damage. I’ll tell you my assessment right now… it’s fucked… the entire side panel was ripped off worse than me the time I bought that case of “lightly used” toilet paper from the back of a guys El Camino… So now, not only do I have to document every damn thing on this planet but I have to replace the obliterated panel and find a comparable fuel source before I can even leave. The voice also tells me I can’t even die… If I do, it’ll reprint me with all of my memories like it never even happened… I’m just not so sure thats a good thing…