WIP!
This is Intern Maria. Ever wondered where these missives are coming from? Yeah, me too. I mean, they're read out by various interns and/or passers-by, Station Management is currently indisposed (does it even write a language viewable by the human eye? Hey, scientists, we need you) and our sponsors prefer to exercise their new control in... other ways. Intern Maria's right!, I imagine you thinking. There's literally no person or entity that has the authority to issue these who's still present.
Well, you'd be (technically) right, butĀ
UGH NOT LIKE THIS MORE OF AĀ
Yeah, it's a bit weird. Down in the archives there're rows and rows of filing cabinets that... well, we've always assumed they've been locked, but I guess they were just jammed, since one of them just fell open when Intern Chad (may his consciousness be spared the bleak eternity of death) was doing the rounds. There're these little cream index cards lined up inside, dating back to before the ban on writing utensils, with neat dated entries on each one. Nobody really wants to look at the cards ahead of time - not after Intern Aaron (he sort of deserved that, it was a pretty dumb move).
