The Station was built to house thousands of living individuals. Shepard doesn't have to ask anyone to know that, she doesn't even need to see how many would-be Hosts are sleeping away their lives, comatose and waiting, to know it for fact. The size of the station alone... And the variety. Squares and rectangles are common choices for most organic species she's encountered, but the Protheans liked verticality and the Rachni favored hexagonal tunnels, organized in a way that only made sense to them. Whatever had built or refurbished the Station, whether it was the Nest in some other form, or just some collection of Hosts, they had variety.

They had time.

The point was, there are a lot of rooms to explore. A lot of space. And that's just in the part that's comfortable for humans. Shepard is indeed occupying one such space, the store of non-perishables here passing for a commissary. If God didn't want people to eat watered-down cereal in their civvies, he could have at least provided milk as an alternative.

"Oh, hey," Shepard acknowledges, when she sees Aloy, "You're a... one of the new Hosts, right? Just woke up. Hungry?"

She's got corn-flakes. Or, they're flakes, at least. Who knows what kind of weird, likely alien plant-matter actually went into their making.