David Rennick was a hardheaded, short-tempered whiney old fud who often stuck to very limited one way beliefs and would rather burn in the pits of hell than change those beliefs. Or the way he did things — or anything, really.

Needless to say, it was very safe to assume that when he found out that he was nothing but a ‘ character ‘ — something to gawk at, for the eyes of people that were from a newer time — from gods knew where, he drowned it out with as much whiskey he could find on the rig. He didn’t want to believe it at all, really, it was ridiculous enough just to even attempt to wrap your head around — that Caz was just some..vessel. Nothing but a pawn to whoever wanted to subject the entire crew on the Beira — Rennick himself included, to such..unfathomable horrors so disgusting and vile that the human mind couldn’t possibly comprehend it. He sneered, taking another swig from the bottle on his desk — feeling the burn travel down into his stomach as he placed the glass onto his desk. How the fuck could this POSSIBLY make sense? That he was nothing more than code? Really? How did that work? He couldn’t help but feel endlessly helpless. At it did nothing good for Rennick but piss him off more than he already was that morning — however, he couldn’t help but think on it harder. Could there really be an alternative to..all of this? A way out? And if there was — how? How could it even be possible? His blood pressure was sky high, he thought. Or at the very least he wanted to think that. He felt bittersweet about it, but at the same time — hours upon hours of play time on the game only contributed to the distaste for whoever just..let them suffer fates worse than death.

He let out a long, drawn out sigh and pressed the button that turned the intercoms on as the game begun — again, and atleast tried to mentally prepare himself for the long hours ahead.

“ McLeary, My office. Now. Not when you’re ready. Now. “