Still, Work Needs to be Done
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I'm merely an ordinary researcher, unlike other personnel who possess anomalous properties. Everyday, I sign in at the facility, write some reports for various experiments, assign D-classes to work, and that's it.

So, out of the blue, I asked the site director to move me to another facility. Honestly, it was not until recently did I finally understood what motivated me to make this decision.

As you can tell, this place is completely desolated.

Nonetheless, the sand and the ruins are here to keep me accompanied.

I stood on the sand, plugged my phone in, threw it side, and started to stare into the distance.

The work here is dull and vain. My job is to simply sit here, and act as an assurance that this safe-class object under my feet will not cause any trouble.

Sitting here, all that I'm able to do is write about my suffering as a result of this careless decision, and type again and again on the computer, "object did not display any anomalous properties", every single day.

I leisurely painted the Foundation's emblem on the wall, and kicked around the sand beneath my feet out of boredom.

The sand whispers.

"Don't you think living like this is truly meaningless?"
"Indeed,"

I fidgeted with my pen, stared blankly into the distance and the ruins,
"But there is always someone who continues to work here, in this desolated place, for 
the sake of all of you bastards."
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