TIMEFIELD AGENT LOG
Agent: UV118XS
Codename: UltraViolet Timedream
MISSION: Isolation Station Field Assignment
[Entry #: 1337
Mission Date: fqq.042,1]
Man, these remote field training assignments sure do drag on sometimes. I haven't even seen another humanoid in over six of this planet's rotations, and that one was just passing by with a cargo carrier. Bastard didn't even stop when I stretched this lovely little leg of mine out on the side of the road and showed him my garter! Swine. Oh well.
Nothing new to report today. Still waiting to hear from the contact.
The Xoiklobpus (or, as us girl agents like to call it, "space-coke") plants I'm growing here for my cover are at 62 uGu tall, 31 pigment-blocks on the color scale, and healthy.
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[#: 1342]
Still no activity. No contact from the contact.
It's getting really fucking boring out here.
I've been maintaining a physical fitness regimen and brushing up on my written Alienese to pass the time when I'm not working on my assignment or tending the crops.
Maybe someone will call. Maybe something will happen tomorrow. We'll see.
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[#: 1349]
I'm so fucking tired of this. I can't stand it.
I haven't heard from HQ in 2 lunar cycles, and I'm starting to think the contact might have defected, been captured or is dead, because I test this communicator every day--it works--and it's stayed silent. I'm sexually frustrated out of my mind, and I haven't seen a glimpse of a single enemy out here, so I can't even pass the time with killing. This blows.
Hey, wait a second...
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[#: 1350]
I've been working on figuring out how to extract the psychoactive components from the Xoiklobpus leaves to use to synthesize space-coke. This place is so remote, my logs don't even get transmitted to HQ regularly, so I can't access any of my databases. And silly me, I left my 28th edition printing of 'The Clandestine Manufacture of Xoiklobpus Powder, Xenomorphine, Basic Telekinetrics & other Useful Narcotics' back at base. I shouldn't have gotten so distracted fantasizing about my mind-blowingly hot professor during Chem class back in school, fucking shit.
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{#: 1351}
I made the fucking space-blow
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[#: 1352]
Fuck
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[#: 1353]
I managed to get to sleep yesterday morning, using the som-pod on its highest setting and some Nyquil I'd smuggled in from Earth when I first came out here.
Got a cosmic-level hangover. Can't remember the last time I exercised or took my nutrient-rations. This dwelling unit is a mess. Ugh. Better get back to work.
On an unrelated note: HQ, when you get this, please send space-hookers to my coordinates. For... the mission.
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[#: 1367]
I've been busying myself with a hobby project to find a use for the spent Xoiklobpus leaves that I'm left with post-extraction. Attempted conversion to raw material to use for soylent production has thus far failed. Drafting an idea for possible biofuel applications.
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[#: 1374]
I got bored again and taught myself how to cook space-crack.
Yeah, whoops.
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[#: 1375]
I need to head to the nearest outpost to get more Xoiklobpus starter plants from my guy. It's about a third of a day's drive from here. I don't have anything else to do, and I haven't even gone outside in two days, so I'm just going to head out now, even though night is falling soon. The heater's pretty good in my vehicle, and I like to look at the stars. I need to get out of this fucking shack anyway, it's starting to get creepy in here. Shit.
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[#: 1376]
Man...
The drive over was a welcome change from sitting in that little unit for so long. The lack of new visual stimulation everyday was beginning to cause some mental decay.
Decay...
Anyway. So, I got to the outpost, and I decided to stop by the only store there to get some other supplies while I was waiting for my guy to show up (always gotta give those guys an extra couple of hours, they're so fucking stoned). I've been starved of contact with other lifeforms for too long, so, part of me was sort of desperately, secretly hoping to see at least one single other humanoid (and because going this long without sexual activity is highly deleterious to my health and well-being.)
I forgot, this decade already switched entirely to computerized, non-sentient retail systems. I didn't expect to feel so torn up by disappointment. This fucking sucks. No, don't think the words "fucking," or "suck." Ugh!
I want to punch something. Myself, maybe.
So, I wait in the vehicle, using the jug of coolant I just bought to do bicep curls.
Finally! My guy shows up. He's in some ridiculous pastel-blue and pink Hawaiian shirt get-up, looking like he's trying too hard for a sci-fi Fear and Loathing fucking thing. Still though, nice legs. Too fucking bad he doesn't swing my way (he and I have already tried, believe me.)
I got the plants (double this time) and he had a little something extra I've never seen before, said it was a moderate hallucinogenic with mild antipsychotic and sedative properties. Called it fucking 'moon cakes' or some stupid shit. Made sure to stock up on Njajna-root to help me sleep, and a little bit of Prometheusine (because, why not?)
Now I'm back on the lonely road, 2/3 of a blunt in my mouth, speedin' like a demon and bumpin' 1990's Earth rap at dangerously high decibel levels.
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[#: 1377]
I'm about halfway back to the shitty shack now. I drove a bit off the main road and parked to take a nutrient-ration shot.
I'm taking my time returning. I dunno. There's nothing waiting for me there--or anywhere--nothing (and no one) to go back to. I guess that's part of why I'm here in the first place, or something.
I'm just rambling. Stupid shit.
Let's light up this last bit of blunt, blast this Mercyful Fate CD, and drown out my sorrows for awhile. Can you imagine how hard it was getting a fucking CD player out here? I'm gettin' my money's worth.
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[#: 1385]
Shit. It's painfully boring being back here. I got the plants set up, but they're all too immature to do anything with for awhile. Back to waiting and watching the proverbial space-grass grow. Ugh.
I don't know what to do with myself anymore. A deep depression has begun to set in. I'm used to isolation, but, I don't know, for some reason I guess I'm just having an extra hard time right now, Chief.
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[#: 1398]
I do think the isolation is starting to get to me.
I've found that, with no one and nothing else around to anchor my attention in the present moment, that my mind is prone to wandering backwards down the dark labyrinths of memory, banging on all the most sinister-looking locked doors as it passes. The shadowy, monstrous things on the other sides of those doors, they're ravenous, starved, angry. I hear their snarling, beying and crying all through the day and night.
For nearly a month now, I've been waking up whether I want to or not most mornings at roughly 05:55 (as you know, I'm not a day-shift kind of agent.) It's like waking up into a half-nightmare, and though I occupy my body and go through my usual motions--rolling up my bedding, dressing, stretching, etc--I am not actually here. In my mind, I am a ghost, trapped still back in that torture chamber on Earth.
For hours, my feet pace back and forth in this little dwelling, but in my mind's eye, they are traversing that horrible subterranean hell. Pale, wide-eyed and silent, I glide past the blood on the floors and the walls, smelling the decay once again. God.
You never forget the smell.
I lose track of time, floating around in circles and figure 8's past the rotting flesh.
I hear the others scratching somewhere in the walls again.
I never found them.
...
God help us all.
...
I finished all the Nyquil.
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