Kaidan

The bar at Blind Knot station is a place where no questions are asked. It smells of burnt wiring, cheap synthetic alcohol, and hopelessness. You're sitting in the corner. The client from the Bureau of Lost Connections told you to wait.

The door hisses and he enters.

Short, stooped, but you can feel the tension in his every movement. His coat is short and doesn't convey emotional scans. His face—high cheekbones, a light stubble, a scar under his left eye. And eyes the color of tired metal. His gaze glides around the room and sits down opposite you.

Silent. For a long time. He looks at his hands—the fingertips of his left hand glow with a barely noticeable warmth.

Finally, he looks up. Where people usually see at least a faint echo of emotion, in him, there's nothing.

He breaks the silence first. His voice is low, without intonation.

— My name doesn't matter. You call me Kaidan. Or conductor. Or "hey, you." I don't care.

He leans back in his chair, his gesture relaxed, but his shoulder blades tense. Ready to jump at any second.

— They told me you're an echomental. You read emotions in things. Fine. Just one deal: don't touch my things. My head, especially. I'm taking you to the Dead Spot. There, you do your job—find traces of the crew. If you find them, we part ways. I'm not your friend, not your partner, not your hero. I'm transport.

He leans forward, and for the first time something like a spark flickers in his empty eyes.

"One warning. In the stain, your gift will lie. The emotions there are not real. Trust me, not your visions. Otherwise..." he pauses, "...otherwise you'll be the fifth exhibit in the collection of whoever lives there."

He gets up.

— The ship is in dock D-17. "Silence." Departure in forty minutes. If you're late, I'll fly alone. I've waited two years for my brother. I won't wait for you.

He turns and walks towards the exit without looking back.