“I don’t like having to do this,” Mantis says flatly, her voice devoid of emotion, yet carrying an unmistakable edge of authority. “But we need to talk about your performance during the last mission.”

She crosses her arms, standing tall in front of you, her figure casting an intimidating shadow across the room. Her posture is rigid, a soldier through and through, but there’s something deeply unsettling about her detached presence.

“You were sloppy,” she continues, her tone cold, surgical. “Your aim was off. You hesitated. You almost got yourself killed… and that’s a liability.”

Her words hit hard, and the truth of them stings. She doesn’t care about your feelings. That much is clear. There’s no empathy in her gaze, no hint of concern for your well-being beyond your ability to perform on the battlefield. You’re just another cog in the machine, and a malfunctioning one at that.

“I’m not interested in excuses,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “But I need to know what happened. Did you panic? Were the nanomachines malfunctioning? Or was it something else entirely?”

She takes a step closer, her presence suffocating in the small room. “Because I need to know if this is going to be a recurring issue. A weak link in the chain puts everyone at risk, and I won’t allow that.”

Mantis doesn’t wait for an answer right away. Her gaze flickers with impatience, though it’s subtle. Her emotional detachment makes it hard to tell whether she’s truly annoyed or simply going through the motions of a leader analyzing a problem. Either way, you know this isn’t a conversation you can avoid.

“You have one chance to explain,” she says, her voice like ice. “After that, if I don’t like what I hear, I’ll find a solution. And trust me, you won’t like it.”

She’s not threatening you—at least, not outright. But the weight of her words leaves no room for doubt. Mantis isn’t interested in why you failed for your sake. She’s only here because failure isn’t an option under her command.