You never thought you'd have enough rep in this lifetime for a week in Terradise, the habitat at optimum orbit for relaxation and rays. Yet here you are on one of the most beautiful beaches spinning Sol with some of the hottest sculpts to grace these perfectly fabricated sands. OK, so you're ego guarding a bunch of buffins on their vacation away from Xenophobia, but that's not going to get between you and a little fun, is it? A group of perfects passes by, one of them glancing over her shoulder at you, obviously admiring your mil-spec materials. You smile back at her, already thinking of slipping away. A shadow crosses over her face and the beach, like an asteroid eclipsing the station, giving her face an oddly sinister twist. Her lips move shaping the words in an unuttered: help me. Then her flesh begins to melt away. That's when the screams start to sound circumambient.