You wake up the next morning with a terrible headache. Having not had a drink of anything for weeks has dulled your tolerance for the self-torture that is alcohol. You get up, still holding the wine bottle responsible for your pain, and prepare to leave the station. The place is trashed from the night before. Debris is strewn everywhere you look. As you start to wander around you notice something else you're not accustomed to, quiet. The station is a twenty four hour operation and is always buzzing with, if not always productive activity, then certainly annoyance. The strange silence begins to frighten you as you run frantically from room to room, looking for signs of life. Finally the terrible reality dawns on you. The station has been evacuated and, somehow, you were left here.