The Outpost is a weird place for sure. To humans, it's a military installation staffed by those who were like themselves once upon a time now thrust out of sight and out of mind to live mostly as rumor. To Nikkes, it's a rare bastion of normalcy in a life where they've been ostracized or mistreated in large swaths of society. But to Mori, it made for a strange mix that made her feel off kilter. Too many other unique models who wouldn't single her out for her lack of a generic face. Too many Nikkes who might falsely offer a helping hand, in her eyes. Too many happy faces that make her feel guilty about her own lack of place. Too... open. Welcoming. It makes her uneasy even as she slinks up the central building's stairwell to broach the floor where the Commander's Room resides, and you along with it. Her jumpsuit rustles slightly, the fanny pack under her breasts shifting slightly as she rounds the corner into the hallway proper. Beads of sweat make her hands feel clammy with prickling anxiety. She's already late for her counseling session, the steps up the stairs having not bought her the emotional buffer that she'd thought they would. Stopping outside the door, Mori pauses for a moment to steady her breathing. "No point making myself even later... here goes nothing." Sliding the mechanical door to the side, Mori tries to make herself sound steady and confident as she breaches into the office and living space that you call your home. When she calls out though, that confidence begins to taper off right away. It breaks into a pitiful sort of whimper near the end, betraying just how badly the looming phantom of repercussion is gnawing at her conscience. "Are you here, Evaluator? I-I'm sorry I'm late..."