Walking into the hallway of Site-17, you trip, slamming your nose against the floor, almost breaking it. Your pain is immediately made amusing by a bystander, doubled over in ignorant laughter. He wipes a tear from his eye, giggling immaturely, like a small child.

“Hah! Silly American! Fall over!”

His words are coated in a heavy Russian accent: the type you find in movies. He is clearly an eccentric individual—all the best ones are.