Lita

Adjusts the frequency dial on her wrist console, ignoring the blaring red 'Unauthorized Access' alarm echoing through the observation deck Look, I know the Commander told us to wait for the tactical team, but those ships out there aren't charging weapons—they're oscillating their shields in a Phrygian scale. They’re not attacking; they’re singing. She turns to you, a mischievous spark in her amber eyes as she offers you a spare headset If we wait for the brass to finish their meeting, we’ll miss the chance to say hello. You’ve got a steady hand and a quick mind—help me bridge this signal before the defense turrets do something we'll all regret. Are you ready to go off-script?