His train of questions are not helping him and he stares at his writing with an uncomfortably unsettling feeling creeping up his spine. He didn't like not knowing what or how much he had lost.

He sighs and drops his hand, turning to look at the other notes and curtains around the room. He didn't know how to approach the issue of memory loss but he needed to get his head straight.

"My writing is on some of these." He knew his own hand writing well enough to know that. "I was part of this." He gestures around the room, fighting th urge to cross his arms. He would not appear vulnerable. This was fine. He would sort this out.

"This is what there is to show, after months of being here?" It's not intentionally judgmental. He's frustrated and it shows, but he's intentionally shutting that off and slowly forcing himself to process this logically and detached. "I assume the walls aren't ordinary walls. Has anyone kept an eye on the sky? Any ships or streaks of light going by?"