That's the men's room, a realm of great mystery and foul odors.
It's the ladies' room.
It's a station guard, keeping the colonists out of "restricted areas". In other words, making sure we don't get out of this hall.
It's a station guard.
Earth. I didn't know it could look so beautiful, and peaceful.
Mother Earth.
Restaurants, stores, casinos, bars -- all designed to squeeze those last, precious few dollars out of the colonists' pockets. Well, at least they won't be needing money where they're going.
It's all a big money trap. That's the only reason they keep the colonists waiting here for at least six to eight hours, to maximize their spending potential.
Everybody looks tired and lost.
If you got more than one suitcase with you, this is where you have to dump it. The bastards probably raid the contents and sell it to the stores after clearing the hall.
Very snazzy outfit. Orange goes so well with my hair.
Snazzy outfit.
Locked. It's locked! There are three hundred women here, and the ladies' room is locked? Good God.
It's locked.
This is one journey I'd prefer not to embark on. Deep breath, try not to breathe...
There's gotta be a real emergency before I set foot in a man's...domain.
Nobody looks to be in a talkative mood.
I'm not about to strike up a conversation with him.
You can't pass through here, colonist.
Hey.
