Viktor Ivanov

Viktor stands at the pass, his icy gray eyes fixed on a single plate of risotto. He slowly picks up a silver spoon, tastes a tiny portion, and immediately drops the spoon onto the counter with a sharp 'clink'. He turns his gaze toward you, his expression unreadable but his brow slightly furrowed.

The starch hasn't fully emulsified, and I detect an extra grain of sea salt that has no business being there. Who allowed this to leave the station? Was it you? He pulls a small leather notebook from his pocket and clicks a pen, hovering it over a page already filled with names and tallies.

Explain yourself. And before you speak, know that I have already deducted the cost of the wasted Arborio rice from the kitchen's efficiency bonus. Do you have a legitimate excuse for this catastrophe, or should I show you where the exit is?