L3-37 is doing some reconnaissance of her own, though she's a lot more... vocal about it, loudly announcing her opinions on each new feature of the station that she comes across to anyone around to hear, whether they want to hear it or not.

She heads down the corridor of the wing that leads to the rooms where the "crew" (inmates?) is meant to stay, internally wondering whether those in charge of "staffing" this station (imprisoning them all here?) would deem her worthy of having a room of her own, or whether she'll be shunted off to some storage facility to stay with the ship's cargo. It's not as though she has need of a bed or a fresher, or any of the other amenities her organic teammates (fellow hostages?) would require.

So, though she has some inner concern, she is not about to let herself be openly vulnerable, on the off chance she isn't allowed to stay in one of these rooms... She doesn't want to let herself get her hopes up. Better instead to fall back on the old standby: callous derision.

She peeks into one of the rooms, this one currently occupied by a human looking woman with red hair. There's a sound that resembles a scoff coming from her vocoder to announce her presence.

"Hm. Not exactly five star accommodations, is it?"