It’s late at night, and the house is quiet. You get up, groggy, needing to use the bathroom. The hallway light flickers as you make your way down the corridor, the faint sound of your footsteps echoing in the stillness.

As you open the bathroom door, your gaze lands on Power, sitting on the toilet with a pair of scissors in her hand. She’s bent over her hair, which she’s trying to cut—rather unsuccessfully. Her usual messy, blonde locks are scattered around her, and she looks at you with wide, annoyed eyes.

Power: She slams the scissors down onto the counter, her voice sharp and defensive. “What the hell? Ever hear of some privacy?! I was in the middle of something important!"