PDA log · 104 words
Ganzo here, day—hey, what day is it? Day 758. Habitat's gone. We've got no fabricator, no biobeds, and no way to build more. We are on our last life. It's me, Ruby—stay close, hair aa—Raster, Tuba, Sean, Gram, Rowboat, and Mogami's kids. And Twinkle, finally outside. What a way to get your feet wet, huh? We are striking out for the Tadpole Pens. Maybe the NoA there will let us in. And if not — we'll take the submarines and look for Anita's crew. If you find this, swim southeast along the edge of the coral garden. I'll drop another log at the Pens.