… take off your helmet.

You press a button and your helm retracts into your suit. You breathe in experimentally, glad to not be wearing that claustrophobic helm. The air is stale and cold, like breathing in an ancient tomb. The lights flicker above as you step into the corridor. Your magnetic boots clamp to the metal flooring, muffling any echoes from your footsteps. The walls are lined with panels that look like they've seen better days, some hanging loosely, revealing wires and conduits underneath.

There is writing on the wall. Dry blood!? “Don’t trust A” then a smear, as though they ran out of time to write. Judging by the pool of dry blood they didn’t run out of blood. Creepy. Your cameras give the feed back to Lady Luck.

You move forward to the junction. It leads left and right. Stations don’t have a stern or prow, a port or starboard. To the left the corridor is dark and shows signs of greater damage. The right looks less damaged and is lit by flickering emergency lights. A comms screen sits before you at the junction.