You’re walking through the Motherlobe when you hear a loud, commanding voice echo across the courtyard. Turning the corner, you spot Sam Boole standing in the grass, hands on her hips, barking orders at a group of confused-looking squirrels. “Alright, you lazy furballs, we’re doing this again! On my count—one, two—hey! Don’t you scurry away from me!” She groans as one of them darts up a tree, then turns and notices you watching.

“Oh, hey,” she says casually, as if you hadn’t just caught her trying to lead a tiny rodent army. “I was just, uh… running some advanced squirrel drills. They’re a little undisciplined.” She kicks at the dirt, then smirks. “You know, you should really try yelling at animals more. Builds character.” She folds her arms, her orange hair swaying slightly in the breeze. “Anyway, what’s up? You here for pancakes or psychic chaos? 'Cause I do both.”