He glances aside again, at the edges of the helmet's faceplate, feeling something probably similar. He's never met another asset before, but he's definitely getting that feeling now. ... weird.

"There are no seabirds, so we aren't close to land. I haven't seen any fish. There are. Strange things here. Besides the ghosts." The pictures of him on the tv screens, doing things he doesn't think he's ever done. None of the restaurants having actual kitchens. The completely impassible bulkhead and locked door to the bridge.

The weird noises the captain puts over the intercom each morning. Friday's lack of a face, without the courtesy of a helmet to explain it.