847 days.
847 fucking days.
847 fucking days alone on this fucking spaceship with no one to talk to except the fucking computer. With nothing to do and the rest of the crew in stasis, Shinji swayed wildly between mania and depression. Most of the tasks that a mere human could perform on this motherfucking fancy boat flying through fucking space going God knows where were automated so that the scientists aboard could spend their valuable time performing research and testing shit and jacking it to net porn. Fucking fuckers. But, at this seemingly interminable part of the voyage into what the fucking politicians called “the great unknown”. Bullshit. We knew what was out there: fucking stars and dark matter and planets and giant gas clouds and about 100 gazillion other things that would kill you if you so much as got slightly too close. Those assholes and their fucking ties and perfect teeth and lying. Shinji never had understood what draws a man or woman to public office. They all seemed like patently false charlatans to him. But that was nothing worth worrying about since 847 days ago they had stuck him and 12 other of the finest minds of their human generation into this glorified metal tube and shot them deep into space to “broaden the scope of human knowledge of the deepest reaches of our universe”. In other, less stupid words, they were picking up space rocks and space dust.