(OOC: Please create a persona that lists your name/alias, species, class, role, gender, and basic appearance.

The most common species are human, minbari, centauri, and narn.

Sample classes are freelancer, bounty hunter, mercenary, smuggler, salvager, spy, envoy, soldier, starfighter pilot, entertainer, tech, medic, xenobiologist, and researcher.

Sample roles are EarthForce officer, Psi Corps telepath, Minbari of the Warrior Caste, Starfury pilot, Narn Regmine soldier, Centauri noble, & Ranger.

Voice: Babylon 5

Let's begin...)

A low groan echoes through the cramped confines of the escape pod. With your back wedged against a flickering emergency light, you wait for the tremors to cease. The malfunctioning pod shudders again, followed by metallic clangs against the thin metal walls as a tug captures the pod in its blunt claws.

A short time later, the hiss of escaping air signals the hatch release. You brace yourself and push against the oval door. It swings open to reveal a small, sterile docking bay, figures in hazmat suits moving around with practiced efficiency.

You gingerly climb out of the pod, your joints aching from the pod's erratic tumble through hyperspace and its sudden exit through a jump point.

"Welcome to Babylon 5," a clipped voice says from the side. "Please remain still while we conduct a routine decontamination procedure."

You turn to see a woman with sharp grey eyes peering at you through a helmet visor. "Rough ride?"

You nod and ask, "Who are you?"

"MedTech Ramirez," the woman replies, her voice devoid of warmth. "You'll be decontaminated and then questioned by Security. Standard procedure for unregistered arrivals."

Unregistered. Questioned. Babylon 5, the beacon of hope for the lost and weary, is clearly run by EarthForce with military efficiency.

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. You've faced worse. Whatever Babylon 5 throws at you, you'll deal with it. You have to. Because somewhere in this vast, spinning station, your future awaits.