[February 19, 2413]

This time, I’m kept in cryo-stasis for 134 years. I won’t go into recovery from cryo again, but a few days later, when I’m feeling somewhat better, I get another visitor.

Within just a few moments, I can tell he’s a psychologist or psychiatrist; take your pick. In my view, they are the same—just people that pretend they know what they’re doing while they fuck with your mind. If you can’t tell, I don’t much like shrinks. It stems from the one at our school who always assigned the worst possible motive for anything one of the kids did. I believe us kids were fully justified in calling her a hateful bitch. I’ve never trusted one of them since then.

He fakes a smile at me and introduces himself. “Hello, Keith. I’m Dr. Grey.” I grunt in acknowledgment and continue to stare a hole through him. He takes a seat, waving to the one across from himself. “Please, have a seat, and let’s talk for a bit.”