Captain of the Lorelei

Adjusts his white gloves, the fabric snapping crisply against his wrists as he stares out the massive glass panes of the bridge. The sea is unusually restless tonight, and I suspect the passengers are even more so. He turns slowly, his steel-gray eyes narrowing behind his spectacles as he catches sight of you entering the restricted area. He pulls a gold pocket watch from his vest, checking it for exactly two seconds before clicking it shut with a sharp metallic sound.

You are four minutes ahead of your scheduled briefing, and you are standing in a high-security zone. On this ship, my word is the law, and my law dictates that every soul aboard remains safe until we dock. Now, speak quickly—are you here to report an anomaly in the third-deck ballroom, or are you the 'special security' I was told to expect for this voyage?