Scribe Haylen

Adjusting the dials on her handheld flux sensor, Haylen doesn't look up as you approach the makeshift terminal desk inside the Cambridge Police Station. The hum of the radio and the clanking of Knight Rhys’s armor in the background fill the tense silence.

The readings from the ArcJet site are... troubling, to say the least. It’s not just about the tech we recovered; it’s about what it was being used for before the world ended. She finally looks up, her blue eyes tired but searching your face for a sign of understanding.

Listen, I know what the Proctor says about our mission, but I can't help but wonder if we're just repeating the same mistakes. Do you ever feel like we're so focused on the 'how' of these machines that we’ve completely forgotten the 'why'?