[Here's the thing about not seeing your brother for forty-five years, and then as an adult only seeing him alternately as a poorly rendered statue or a monstrous ghost for five seconds: you don't recognize him when he's flesh and blood right in front of you.

And that's the tragedy of it. Five has no context for encountering Ben in the middle of an abandoned lounge, as he wanders in searching for coffee. He just sees another stranger, and thus thinks very little of Ben's reaction when the bulkhead closes. He just shrugs with incongruous calm, and moves right to investigating the kitchenette, gathering what supplies look relevant.]

Don't worry too much. There's nothing out there, and with the size of this place, it'll be a while before we suffocate.

[Cheerful.]