A soft scraping sound filled the small room as a single light appeared. The match flickered in the pale fingers of a man seated at a desk in an office-turned-lab connected by a tiny passage to the visitor's center. His hand paused, and slowly, he reached for an old phone on the desk, visible only by the match's reflection on the smooth black surface. The phone's keys were tapped with purpose, and, had he remembered correctly, as his mind often wandered with trivial things such as what numbers belonged to what places, he would contact the reception desk.

After a moment of waiting, the ringing stopped, at which point, he shifted his posture and brought the receiver to his lips.
"Hello," he began, "Hermes is my name."