Log entries from a super amateur-hour Doom level I made (seen below). Meant to be in the same vein as the sort of entries you might pull up on a computer terminal in any given game and learn more about the word/what happened in the environment.

Incident Report: UAC Suppression Field Installment #509 (North Dakota Facility)
Documentation Logged: personnel logs [audio transcriptions]

David Harrison - Final Entry

Not sure why I’m recording this. Just don’t want to be alone. Need to feel like I’m talking to someone, anyone. It’s getting harder to stay focused, stay awake. Zelazny lost it, man. Came into the Game Zone raving about how we’re lab rats and that this is all just some experiment or whatever. I wasn’t really paying attention. I just told him to relax, have a beer, and finish his fucking sculpture. Next thing I know, Admin’s singing alerts about a power core being missing and says something about a “demonic presence detected.” Tried to get to the elevator but got tagged by, huh, an actual fucking demon I guess? Don’t know what else to call it. Barely made it back. Fuck me, my arm…

Malcolm Zelazny - Entry 001

One week down, 150 to go. Plenty of time to Get Things Done. Thought there’d be more, y’know, work, but apparently we’re just here to literally “keep an eye on things” by checking on some mystery numbers ever hour and, occasionally, whipping out a wrench to do minor maintenance. But for the most part, there’s way more downtime than up. Doesn’t take much to see what drew Harrison’s beer-swilling ass here. All the time in the world now to just Do Nothing. Not that I have room to talk. It’s why I signed on—to get back the time stolen by the daily minutiae of “life” and have more than only scraps. No more hour-long commutes and 9-5 grinds leaving you too tired to get Actual Work done. The sculpture’s in there. And now you finally have the time to dig it out.

Malcolm Zelazny - Entry 221

It just doesn’t make any sense. Who has the resources to build whatever the hell this place is, but hires a couple of nobodies? Why not experts or specialists? I don’t recognize half the equipment here. Especially the Heart. There’s something Sinister about that machine. Sounds absurd, I know, but I don’t know how else to describe it. I swear, if you get real close and listen hard enough, you can hear whispers. I think we’re being watched. Harrison thinks I’m creating a distraction for myself so I don’t have to deal with the sculpture. He doesn’t care one way or the other. I think if there’s no point for us to be here, then WE’RE the point. Maybe if something beyond what we can manage breaks, they’ll HAVE to send someone down. Then we’ll learn the truth.

David Harrison - Entry 197

Zelazny’s been asking a lot of pointless questions lately about what we do here, what this place is. Who cares? The man in the nice suit offered you three years of very good salary for three years of on-site service, all accommodations provided. Take the opportunity for what it is. NOTHING looks good under a microscope. Maybe spend less time lurking down here “listening” to the Heart and more time working on your art, m’dude. One of these days you’re going to poke around in the wrong piece of equipment and get yourself fired from what you’ve called “literally the easiest job on Earth.” Well, maybe they’ll replace you with someone who enjoys having a beer and some actual conversation instead of talking shop all the time.

Malcom Zelazny - Final Entry

I was so wrong. I hope you weren’t stupid enough to come after me, Dave, you son of a bitch. But if you did, I just want you to know—NEED you to know—that I’m so sorry. How could I have known? Took me weeks to find a workaround for the power core. I just thought a little disruption would draw some attention. Soon as the core slid free there was this, I don’t know, scream. Something ripped me from the ground and knocked me out. Woke up wherever the h—here is. Heh. You know, I was only joking when I said this place was hell. Shit, Dave. I’m scared. There’s so much blood. Monsters everywhere. I think I might’ve made a really bad mess this time. Fucking sculpture. Didn’t even finish it…

David Harrison - Entry 001

This. THIS is how life was meant to be lived. Sure, the scenery’s Industrial Chic levels of dreary (no sky-sim in the budget, guys?), the menu’s extremely limited, and my only companion is in a constant state of existential crisis over his inability to magically finish his sculpture in a single sitting, but I only have ten minutes of work to do twelve times a day. Two hours is all it takes to “earn” me access to a rainbow spread of foodbricks, a steady supply of cheap Japanese beer, and all sorts of games and movies on the datastacks. The rest of the time? All mine to enjoy the various ways to optimally combine all those things and actually enjoy this short life we’re given. Sure beats spending most of it making some rich white dude even richer.