Captains pointless log, star date 22/03/3305. In painful isolation, the virus takes hold, I cant cope. The black madness was easier to contend with which hounded my existence whilst on my journey to Beagle Point, the bitter sweet feeling of reaching such a place to then have to key in coordinates for home and do it all over again, just me and my ship. Not today though, today I have my family with me, having them around me during these strange times is novel to say the least but I fear this will get old quickly, very quickly. 2 loud children and an even louder wife, they said she could work from home, no one told me that when she was in work mode she had two volumes, loud or even bloody louder, always asking questions and favours. I swear to whatever higher being might be out there in this great expanse, if she asks me to make her another coffee shes going out the escape pod!

Captains pointless log, star date 23/03/3305. One day in and its already becoming unbearable, I need an escape route, any excuse will do, pirate hunting in the FDL or maybe wage a micro war in the Corvette, its been a while since I've had a chance to warm up the Beam lasers and release the pack hounds. We've been told by the authorities to stay away from others to prevent the spread of the virus, its the perfect excuse to drop everything and vacate the bubble but alas a trip into the black in Nostromo my trusty jumper Conda is just out of the question, its got a hole in the fuselage big enough to launch the SRV. The virus couldn't have come at a worse time, where on earth did it come from? Smells like Thargoid trickery to me.