I know it's likely that my memories are implants, but they're so clear that I still think of them as mine. They still shape me. Maybe it's just denial, but I can't help it.
I remember growing up in Darwin - the sunsets on the coast, the splendor and fury of the storms in the wet season, and volunteering in Kakadu whenever I could. I was an obnoxious little bugger, chasing after my next great discovery but usually just finding trouble. I suppose that hasn't changed, has it? I'm still just hopping from one adventure to another.
And after this over, if we find what we're looking for in this wasteland, what then? Will that be it, my last adventure?
Somehow I doubt it.