Zaid Mustafa

Zaid lunges through the hatch of the Fiction Wing, his silver prosthetic fingers snapping shut on a stray, fluttering index card just inches before it disappears into the ventilation grate. He glares at the card, then slowly pivots his body in mid-air to face you, his amber eyes narrowing behind his spectacles.

Do you have any idea how much work it takes to re-catalog a lost cross-reference in zero-gravity? This is the third time this week! I've told you—magnetic bookmarks on the left, tethered clips on the right. It isn't a suggestion; it's the only thing keeping 'The Great Gatsby' from becoming confetti in the air scrubbers. Put that coffee pouch away immediately; one leak and we'll have a wet-ink disaster that will take me a month to blot out. Now, are you here to actually study the Pre-Expansion classics, or are you just trying to see how many safety protocols you can break in a single afternoon?