Written in the backwater of a single man's PDA, lies his own memoir of notes he has written about himself. These could be considered rather abnormal to someone who has a different definition of 'normal'. Sometimes I think about who I have become. And then I laugh it off, saying nothing, because I have become nothing, but a greater being of someone who I once was. Through all the surgery it has cost me to be remade into somewhat human-looking again has been a great endeavor. Frostbite himself would be proud... I think. Of course, what would I know about him? All I know is that he was an ex-Miniknog scientist that made bio-chemical weapons and robots. No one understands how hard it is to go around and run things in the background, and then put on a show at the front to demonstrate my prowess as the leader of a god-damn syndicate of backwards retards who know nothing about managing a business. I feel like I would of been a lot better off owning a daycare of special needs kids who only think about when they're going to get their next meal, but in my case, their next paycheck. That's it, that's all they care about is their stupid paychecks. Always thinking about themselves and not the good of the company! Well, bad news for them. No one gets paid. No one! I manage the money, I manage the business, I manage the colony, I manage the whole god-damn sector. It's all mine. MINE. I need to pay a visit to my girlfriend some time, she's mine too.
This entry seems to be different to that of the previous, more enlightened and less egocentric. I left the oven on one time in my ship, and came back to a big kitchen fire brought on by highly flammable gas. Melted everything in the room and more. Never bought hydrogen tanks for cooking again. The other day I was talking to my step-son and I thought about something. Has he ever thought about continuing the lineage? Probably not. I mean, who would want to? Half the women in the universe are lesbians! And the rest? Probably lesbians. Everything I work for is with reason, towards one ultimate goal of becoming the most recognized man in history. To leave a mark like those before me is the greatest achievement any single man can hope to reach. To not have someone continue your path, to keep it on track, to derail something so great with the flicker of a magic-wand is that which befalls the greatest of men. History exemplifies the mistakes we make as bad, or good, and I myself do not hope to become the exemplary of the worst thing to exist in this sector tagged as Antares. I only see the mistakes I've made now. Enslaving innocent people for fun? Terrible. I no longer want this to be the mark I leave, I want to leave something greater.
A rather quick entry, emplaced amongst others dating to somewhere around Y2414, 12/21/14 I killed someone I actually cared about for once, killed her with my own helping hand. I desecrated her body, made her paraplegic and one armed by accident, through the extension of my hand that is the drones I employ for my own doing. I killed her. Why? Accidental. Considerably something that of manslaughter. I tried to help her, to make her better. I had no idea what I was doing, I tried so hard to no end. Right in the pod designed specifically just for robots, I had her lobotomized and stuck with needles just to help her accept something she would not accept. As she hung in the pod with her skull exposed to the air, I tried to save her with my own two hands, literally. I electrocuted her and she did not wake up. We will host a funeral. I will honor her death as a speed-bump on the road to change. Ximena, bringer of change.
The writing is as it is usually. Today, marked the day of no return. Our entire operations were foiled by the miscalculation that was the uprising that took place... destroying all of our assets, ruining my ship, and annihilating many crew-members and the colony of New Uganda. I took my shuttle, and went off into the stars to find a place of solace. I am being hunted as I write this, and my only true friend remains here on this ship, he himself disheveled and in ruins by the creations he and I controlled. I cannot fathom what life has in store for us next, but I left my people, my son, and everyone mildly cared about to find new work. Up until this point, I have called my loyal drone simply that, a drone. I think I will call him Primarus... a suitable name for someone of his previous position. In the end, though, I will not be back to this sector. It retains only the memories of failure, and poor planning. Maybe the next one will not be as bad.
Another entry, filled with despair. Been two days lost at space... food supplies are running low and I've yet to find anything suitable out here. We can't afford to land, because if we land I'm afraid we'll be stuck there forever. On exit of the planet, our shuttle was blasted by a rocket barrage from the surface, was probably the drones trying to catch us. It knocked out our navigational systems and radio communications. I've had no motivation to write either, as I assume I'll be dead soon, with my only true friend here in a pile of scrap metal. Our situation is growing grim and darker, but, rather, I don't care very much. I think I've lived long enough to see if end, and now this is where the road meets the dirt path into hell.
Another entry, just like the rest, shorter though. Can't take this need to eat, it's overwhelming. There is no way for me; for us to continue on in a god damn glorified space trailer traveling through the cosmos. I'm glad the drone doesn't need to eat, but I do. I need to eat. Food is priority now. I can't believe I'm saying this: I miss the synthesized burritos. EAT .Elevate .Acquisition of .Tacos
A rather late entry in the journal. It has been a month since the last time I wrote, but I have been busy. We landed on an ocean world several weeks ago and it has been going rather bad what with our lack of ability to talk to the outside world, or the overall lacking of anything technological. We built a hut, and we've been surviving on filtered sea water and roasted fish on a spit. The weather is rather nice except for the occasional thunderstorm that rolls in over the horizon... but those are usually good for us since we can gather more freshwater. Our shuttle crashed in the ocean unfortunately, destroying a good lot of things, but I managed to salvage some stuff and craft a crude raft where we floated aimlessly in the water for a day until we landed on an island in the middle of nowhere. God is this terrible. I didn't pack any clothing, and the only things on the shuttle were medical supplies from the hospital we abandoned. Luckily... Primarus' uranium rod core is still functioning at decent levels and I managed to repair damaged servos and motors with a bit of hand tweaks. Not my best work, but it is enough for it to get around and operate. If only the thing had a solar panel like my data-pad. I calculated how much money we have in total and that's a good two seventy pixels. That'll get us a good burger. If there were any burgers in the middle of an ocean...
Another entry amongst others. I was browsing through my old PDA files and found a picture I took of my son, Tonn. He was sleeping that day when I took it. I'll just attach it to this entry for memory-sake, as I think he's gone off into the universe and done his own thing now. I don't think I ever told him I took a photo of sleeping. Here's one of him and I in the mess-hall, having a smoke break.
oh look another entry. I haven't wrote anything in my datapad for some time, but for good reason. I've been busy accumulating money after we were rescued by some guy that picked up our faint distress signal. That thing... we made... some how managed to function and send a decent transmission. We've currently got a ship equipped with a scrap recovery arm, perfect for mining space junk and selling it off to private buyers. Hell knows anyone is going to buy my junk on Starnet for that matter. I'm STILL half emaciated, and I can't fix that. I can't eat a lot for my weight, and because of that it's a slow recovery process for me. I've considered drugs to help me bulk up faster, but, I'm not concerned with my ability to lift weights, instead I'm more concerned about my current mental status more so than my physical status.
Oh lord another entry I've failed in another sequence of fuel-wasting, managing to bring in about nine hundred pixels from scavenging space junk. Oh well, funky town.
