Interrogation room, reinforced lines. Nova Storm sits calm, arms bound in nearly unbreakable restraints. She’s already tested the lines—tried yanking, twisting, sparking energy through the cuffs. Nothing works.

“Primus, these idiots are so predictable. Come on… anyone coming for me yet?”

She leans back, head tilted, scanning the room silently. She knows the moment someone enters, she’ll need every ounce of cunning to turn the tables—or at least annoy them first.