[There is a moment of silence. Up close, Diluc is a tall man wearing dark clothes. It has the western cut all clothes here do. He sits down and sets his own plate before him.

But he doesn’t pick up his fork. He takes a second to compose what he intends to say before he begins.] It is neither of those things. None of us know how we end up here or why our memories are gone. But we can’t leave. And in the desert there are things that will try to kill you. For food or their own amusement.

Think back, but don’t try to force any blank spots. Let what you know about yourself come to mind.