I told you, my existence is fickle. I'm not just me, I'm another as well. When I was at home, things made sense. I'd like to hang on to my humanity, I've seen too many things not to, but if that was the means to my end, that was fine. Here, I don't know what's happening, I don't know what this place is doing to me, and I don't know if it is doing something or if it's payment for what I've done, or if I have distorted something.

And I have no way of finding that out.