I've gotten maybe four hours of sleep in as many days. There's this insane, huge-ass roaring noise coming from somewhere on the station. (Platinum DJ Bentley D, MC, PhD, must have had some bad chili.) It almost sounds mechanical, like gears grinding, but I can't think where we stored a couple eight-hundred-ton gears. It's keeping me up at night. And the rest of the crew, too, except Nosemeal, who's basically in a coma. I don't think it's any kind of medical issue; he's just locked down from fear.
And Iron Man's been returned to us. He looks, uh, not that bad, actually, except for one tiny little flaw in the overall image of perfection. His eyes. They're gone. Not clean empty black sockets where his eyes should be like you see in the movies, but like someone took a chainsaw to his skull and ripped out his eyes. The scary part is, from what he's frantically mumbling and the way his hands are trembling, I think he gouged them out himself. Meaning that there's some serious shit hitting some serious fans right now.
Huh. Maybe the noise is coming from a big old fan?
Red October, over and out.
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