A true metropolis. She's dubious, having spent so many years as the unhopeful audience to a dozen space cooperations' boastings; this station will exceed all others in size, functionality and pleasure, and you may find yourself forgetting you've stepped foot on it at all. It is a true metropolis. A home away from home; only to be met by routine technological failures, poor maintenance and greed.

"Never hurts to travel in groups."

Step, step, sway. Perhaps her world is different. A city teeming with magic sounds infinitely more appealing than whatever metal husk she can imagine.

An obvious question glares ever-so-obviously. You never did see it, did you? Ellen keeps this to herself. Not the time.

"We sort of forced ourselves into it, really. I'm not sure how industrious your home is, but ours... It'd suffered for a long time, thanks to us. The atmosphere broke down, temperatures skyrocketed, food sources went scarce. Space travel isn't new— years and years ago, only a small number of people were permitted to fly, and rarely did this include civilians— but things went from bad to worse and we'd needed to keep up."

Ripley has no problem telling the macabre tale. Earth's fate feels so far away to her that she recites it like textbook.

Then, smiling in the manner of a person sharing a secret, she says; "Actually, Earth isn't really my home. I was born on our moon."