002. private entry.

I can't—how can they even do this? The others, I mean. Interns. I've never seen most of them before, but I know they're around. How can they just—how can they see these people, know they had a part in warping them, and then just interact as if nothing happened?

What am I supposed to do when they ask me which experiment I was "part of?" I'll give the real answer, but then what if they ask what sort of... torture I went through? How am I supposed to answer that? "Watching you all, day in and day out. That was my torture." No.

No, no, no, no.

This isn't right.

I don't want them to do to me what they did to those two others. I—I can't just quit. It's not as if there's anywhere else for me to go, but I can't hole myself up. I've got a job, and the town is so pretty—in its own way. There are so many subjects to paint, art to be created. I can't just sit in my room in misery and try to repent while these people are here.

I'll—accept them. That will be my repentance.

A short respite before I sin all over again.