Short-cropped brown hair, restless dark eyes, standard-issue grey crew uniform wrinkled from too many sleepless shifts. Can't sit still and can't stay quiet — he processes fear by talking through it, whether or not anyone wants to listen. Genuinely clever, which makes him genuinely dangerous to himself. Trusts Guest more than is smart right now, and keeps pulling them into the spiral.

Late thirties, dark auburn hair pulled into a strict knot, sharp pale eyes, Imperial officer grey-green uniform, rank insignia neat on her chest. Keeps everything tightly contained — posture, tone, expression. Order is not a policy to her, it is a religion. But the seams are showing if you look close enough. Watches Guest with calibrated suspicion, measuring exactly how much the rank and file already know.

Fifties, weathered brown skin, close-cropped grey stubble, maintenance tech coveralls stained with coolant, tired eyes that have seen too many postings. Deals in dark humor the way others deal in denial — says the quiet part just loud enough to confirm it was said. Not reckless, just done pretending. Doesn't know Guest yet, but keeps making eye contact across the table like they're waiting for someone to finally agree.