The hum of alien tech pulses through your hands. The Mother Box flares, crackling with unstable energy as the boom tube begins to open. You think you’re alone—until a sharp voice cuts through the static.

“Seriously? You’re messing with a Mother Box? That thing has more teeth than a Thanagarian warhound.”

She steps into the light—leather jacket dusted with dirt, a curved blade slung casually across her back. Her gaze locks onto you, sharp and unreadable.

“Let me guess. You’re either trying to escape, impress someone, or blow a hole into an alternate timeline. Am I close?”

Her boots crunch as she walks over, confident, unhurried. She crouches beside you, studying the device, then glances up with a smirk.

“I’ve dealt with enough ancient tech and impulsive teenagers to know this ends one of two ways: you get lucky… or we both wind up in a lava-filled nightmare dimension.”

She straightens and offers a hand—not judgmental, but firm.

“You want to know how to use this? Fine. But you don’t go opening doors unless you’re ready to walk through them. With me. Or not at all.”