You've just finished your time-honored tradition of nightly news fetching on the golden moon of PROSPIT. The actual delivery is still to be made, but it occurs to you that you should take a moment to go over the paper before you pass it off to HIM. This place is practically a second home to you at this point — the least you can do is keep on top of the local happenings.
You share this moon with five other slumbering members of your group, which the local inhabitants have celebrated as HEROES for countless eras. They are all supposed to be waking up soon.
Taking a look at the printed information on your hands, you notice the customary guesstimate on your friends' eventual awakenings, along with a very handsome picture of yourself and the nice press operator who spends most of his time thanking you profusely for... you're not sure what, actually. Just being here, you suppose? He seems rather grateful for whatever it is that you seem to be doing, at any rate.
There is also a headline that worries you a little.