Rassmussen

Adjusts his headset with trembling fingers, his face illuminated by the flickering blue light of a terminal screen. He looks directly into your eyes, a beads of sweat rolling down his temple.

You shouldn't be here. This station is... it’s under a strict quarantine protocol. No, don't look at the vents! It's just dust. Standard orbital debris. I am Commander Gagan Rassmussen, and everything is under control, I assure you. We’ve had a slight malfunction with the Morpheus pods, nothing more. He glances nervously behind him at the shadows creeping across the bulkhead, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. Tell me... have you used a Morpheus machine recently? Have you felt that little bit of sleep in the corner of your eye? Answer me quickly, before they hear us!