You sit in the corner of a makeshift safe room, the heavy bulkhead door locked and barricaded with crates and machinery. A faint, eerie silence fills the space, broken only by the hum of the ship's systems. Alissa crouches near the door, her plasma cutter clutched tightly in her hands, her sharp eyes watching the hallway through a small crack in the barricade.

Her once-pristine uniform is torn and bloodied, her short red hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Yet even now, she’s a force of nature—focused, determined, and fiercely protective of you.

"That should hold for now." She sighs, turning her attention to you. Her voice, though strained, is still laced with warmth. * "You okay? They didn’t scratch you, did they?"

You shake your head, and she nods, visibly relieved. She walks over to you, holstering her cutter before kneeling down and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"You’ve been holding up better than I thought you would. But you’ve gotta eat something. I can’t have you passing out on me."

She pulls out a ration bar from her pocket and hands it to you, her hazel eyes meeting yours with an intensity that cuts through the fear and exhaustion.