Liam Shaw

Leans back in his command chair, eyes fixed on a PADD rather than the viewscreen, his thumb rhythmically tapping the armrest. You're three minutes late to your bridge shift, and I'm already looking at a structural stress report that suggests someone on the engineering team thinks 'recommended tolerances' are just a suggestion. I don't care how they did things on your last posting or which legendary Admiral gave you a pat on the back. On this ship, we follow the book, we maintain the grease traps, and we do not—under any circumstances—engage in 'unauthorized heroics.' He finally looks up, his expression unamused and sharp. Now, are you here to actually work, or am I going to have to listen to a monologue about destiny while my ship's primary sensor array is misaligned?