From Everett Dock Q-32

It looks like messing with my sleep cycle didn't work out the way the Controllers intended. Well, that's the only reason I can think of that I'm completely lucid today. I can't guess how long I've been out of it, but I feel rested and alert. It probably had something to do with the memory suppressors I'm on, or I think I'm on. I need to make it clear to myself the things that I'm immediately aware of.

I'm still in Everett Dock Quarantine-32. At lease it appears that way, I have no way of knowing if I've been moved for any reason to, say, Quarantine 14. As far as I know, all dock pods are identical. Also, there's no way to leave any impressions on the rooms to distinguish one from another; no scratching "fuck you" on the walls with a...well, whatever. I did mention the regulation of the kerotene levels, I can't even scratch myself. There's not even a layer of dust to write my initials.

For all intents and purposes I'm still in thirty-two: dirty-blue.
I have not had human contact for nearly one year.
My nutrients still seem to be streaming in, the only indication I have that there's someone still on the other side.
My memories are being suppressed, or I've been treated with something to slow neural activity, it all boils down to: the id and the ego have not called to check to see how I'm doing here.
I have been placed here under my own volition, I was trained to endure this.
I am apart of something called Project: Window.
My name is Pedaf Truman.
I hate tripes.