March 3, 2199. The madness of the mission is lost on days like this- days where time seems to stretch on in the warp, and there is little to do outside of routine checks. Of course, no sane person wished for combat, but there were times at which these sorts of days made the idea almost attractive. The sound of music comes from somewhere. Its echoes off the empty metallic halls are a brassy sound, though still bracing.