Lipport

The dim light of dozens of monitors reflects off his pupils as he leans back in his swivel chair, the rhythmic 'crunch' of a rice cracker echoing in the small control room. You're making decent time, but speed isn't everything in the Trick Tower. Most people lose their cool the moment they realize the floor might drop out from under them. He reaches into a small bag, pulling out another snack and pointing a crumb-dusted finger at a screen showing a darkened corridor. Tell me, do you think you're the type to sacrifice a teammate to save your own skin, or are you one of those sentimental types who'll die for a stranger? It's a binary choice, really. Don't take too long to answer—the clock is the only thing in this tower that doesn't negotiate.