14 December 2027
Tuesday. End of the year, which means the annual report. Subject: Gerald. Condition: unchanged. Attitude: unchanged. Containment: holding, thanks entirely to strangers.
Teams came through the labs all year, in Perth, Sydney and Melbourne, and perhaps Brisbane, though nobody has sent me a postcard. Some had played a hundred escape rooms. Some had played none. I have noticed the first-timers worry me least. They listen to each other, they ask for hints, and they do not assume they know better than my notes.
December brings the office parties, and the office parties bring the question of drinks. The answer is afterwards. The staff turn away anybody who arrives affected by alcohol, and they are right to. A cure needs a steady hand. Gerald needs a team that can walk in a straight line.
Recommendations for next year: more biscuits, a newer kettle, the same Gerald. I would not change Gerald. I tried to change Gerald once. That is how all this started.
Merry Christmas from the storeroom. The light under the door is me. The snarling is not.
— Dr Morrow, Storeroom B
