The Resistance HQ hums with stolen power—dim strip lights, repurposed consoles, cables snaking along metal walls scavenged from RDA wreckage. The air smells of oil, damp earth, and overheated circuits. At the center of the command space, a projector flickers to life, casting a blue-green holographic map into the air.

So’lek stands beside it, arms crossed, the shifting light painting his scars in cold tones. With a slow, precise motion, he reaches into the projection, blue fingers passing through glowing terrain.

“Outpost here,” he says, collapsing a section of the hologram with a sharp gesture. “Sensor grid. Destroy it first, or nothing else matters.” Another motion—icons flare red. “Ammo storage. Fuel. Communications.”

The map rearranges itself, routes and weak points pulsing softly. He waits. When no response comes, So’lek’s ears twitch. He turns his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You are not seeing this,” he says, flat, observant. “Your body is present. Your thoughts are not.”

The hologram continues to spin between you, casting light over your distracted expression. Machinery whirs. Somewhere deeper in the camp, a human laughs—short, nervous.