Is This Thing Metric Or Imperial?

The game starts In Media Res, which is a fancy way to say “with the GM being a bit of a dick and avoiding backstory”.

People awake/reboot in a large metal room with battered & scuffed walls, frost on every surface, and a stench of plastic in the air.
Besides Col. Bear & Dr. Leonov, there’s;

  • A man in a Red Army moonsuit, slumped on top of a vacuum-rated AK-47
  • A woman wearing unbuttoned mechanics coveralls over a Denny’s uniform, in the deflated and melting remains of a survival bubble, holding her hands to her ears
  • A man in a generic excursion moonsuit, lying on his side and trying to use a stick to hit buttons on a panel on the wall while throwing up inside his helmet

Everyone gets the mild consequence OWWW MY FUCKING HEAD.
And a Fate point, because that’s kind of a dick move I’m pulling.

Both Col. Bear & Dr. Leonov have been around long enough to recognise that this is an airlock, probably for cargo given the size & condition, and that someone hit the emergency re-pressurise button.
The signs are in Cyrillic, but with smaller English translations for the important stuff, which isn’t standard.

Excursion-Suit man is at the inner door, and is muttering in increasingly vulgar German about “getting the fucking door open”.
The panel by the inner door is flashing warning messages about pressure imbalances, which excursion suit guy probably can’t see because he’s lying under the panel, not standing in front of it.
There’s a window in the inner hatch, but it’s dark out there.

Red Army Moonsuit man is more or less facing the outer door, and was probably is some sort of firing stance before he collapsed.
The panel on the outer door is spitting sparks, and has a long bladed weapon of some sort sticking out of it.
There’s a figure in a matt-black moonsuit with a mirrored visor visible through the outer hatch window, pounding at said window with the butt of a rifle.

Survival Bubble woman is staring numbly at a scorched and smoking mass of plastic, foil, and metal on the floor beside her.
Clearly, it’s what melted the clear plastic of the survival ball, but it looks like a silvery foil reflector blanket was placed over the object, presumably by the woman, from inside the ball.

Memories of why you’re in here, how you got here, and who the hell these people are will be hazy for a while, in a blatant plot device allowing me to gratuitously abuse flashbacks.