Standing in front of me is a short older man in a long tailored coat. It looks well fitted but has an unusual shabbiness to it, with mismatched buttons and panels of fabric that don’t quite match in color. He has greying hair, a short beard, and a friendly smile behind a primitive pair of glasses.

The young woman you’ve been speaking to looks to be a teenager, maybe 16 or 17, though tall and athletic, with dark skin and frizzy hair cut short. She is wearing coveralls and a toolbelt, but her hand twitches at the belt as if she were an old-west gunslinger.

It is their companion, however, that is certainly the most shocking of the trio. At first I think he might be wearing some kind of armor or costume. He stands taller than the corridor ceiling, having to hunch down. Over his body he has plates of what look like broken concrete and pavement. Like a pile of construction garbage had been glued together in the shape of a person. This is the one holding the torch, and as it (he?) holds out the torch to illuminate me, I can see more of his face. Deep within the cracks and slabs that make up his facial features I see the shine of dark eyes. As he shifts awkwardly under my scrutiny, the face somehow manages to smile.

2- I’d better introduce myself more politely now that we’re face to…well…

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