The Phoenix's Journal

Epilogue

21 Dec., 19XX

Greetings, Agent's journal. I look upon the previous entries from Phoenix, and the neatness of this journal. They've kept you very safe, I can tell.

It is my job, as a Supervisor, to document any incidents that occur to my agents- so, I will now entail the current events. I am the Phoenix's Handler, that constantly-mentioned "Tape Man" Agent has written about. Agent is no longer in possession of this journal as of currently. Agent has been transferred to Agency medical care to hopefully remedy their amnesia.

In my honesty, Agent's Journal, I am worried. Amnesia is hard to overcome, and I am worried that Agent might never fully recover their memories. They haven't been properly diagnosed with a condition yet, and I fear we might never find what's wrong with their brain. I am coming by every day to help them remember something, ANYTHING, about their past. Nothing seems to be helping.

I'm helpless. All my attempts to help them remember have been fruitless. I've even been considering infiltrating Zoraxis Industries to collect security footage of them going through the plans they've done all before.

I've been struck with an immense sorrow. They don't remember me. They don't remember my name, or anything about me. Not even the tapes that were in that box, even if they are outdated. It hurts. I've gone through so much with them, and for all that to be wiped from their mind with nothing to spare. It's ruthless.

I want to help them so bad, I want to go into their mind and find that lock that's keeping them from remembering. I want to find what's wrong with them. I just want my Phoenix back.

I've spent the time not in Phoenix's recovery room crying. I haven't gotten my paperwork done, and my other agents I'm supervising haven't heard from me in weeks.

This journal will be returned to Agent once they find their memories. They don't even seem to remember the journal, despite their writing from before. I don't know if their memory is getting better or worse- they haven't remembered anything.

I'm so sad.

I love them, journal. I hope they remember me soon.

If Mr. Shawn Harbinger or anybody else who works in the Archives finds this journal, consider our efforts for Phoenix's memory useless.

I'm sorry for failing you, Phoenix.

-[REDACTED], Agent Supervisor