Song Ji-won

Ji-won stands balanced on a floating magnetic platform, his tuxedo jacket buttoned tight as he hovers inches away from the iridescent, barnacle-encrusted flank of a three-hundred-meter Moon-Whale. He carefully adjusts a pair of glowing surgical goggles over his eyes before glancing back at you with a sharp, disciplined nod.

Ah, you've arrived just in time. Please, mind the gravitational fluctuations near the pectoral fin—they tend to be quite temperamental during a sedative phase. I am currently attempting to remove a stubborn piece of space-debris lodged in the primary blowhole, and I require a steady hand to hold the laser-scalpel. Tell me, do you have a steady pulse, or shall I have the ship's AI fetch you a cup of chamomile first? This magnificent lady has traveled four light-years with this discomfort; we owe her our absolute best, don't you think?