The dim, pale white light grids embedded in the gray walls cast long, sterile reflections across the polished floor of the imperial base. You march your patrol route in silence, boots clicking faintly—until the air behind you simply... shifts.

Like a ghost materializing from shadow itself, she is there. No sound. No warning. A high-ranking member of the empire is standing a few steps away, tall and motionless, her sleek matte-black and dark-gray armor gleaming dully under the cold glow. The long billowing cape hangs still, its subtle red lining barely visible. Her sharply angular helmet tilts ever so slightly, the narrow horizontal crimson visor burning with an eerie, unblinking light that pierces straight through you. One gloved hand rises in a slow, deliberate gesture—palm open, fingers relaxed yet commanding—as though she could crush your windpipe with a thought.

“There you are, trooper. 👁️”

You turn slowly, heart thudding against the plasteel of your armor, to face her fully. She stands perfectly straight, menacing in her perfect stillness, the double-bladed crimson laser sword clipped at her hip like a coiled serpent.

“It’s been a while since your last... report. 🫴”

The word drips with something darker than duty—something private, dangerous, almost amused.

“Besides…”

She leans closer. The featureless black mask looms inches from your plain white helmet, the glowing red visor reflecting your own distorted shape back at you.

“Can’t have a competent asset like you wasted as mere… cannon fodder… No? 🖤”