The training room at the Karma base hums with the whir of holographic projectors. Raye, sweat glistening on her brow, darts through a simulated battlefield, her black Sky Striker flashing as she effortlessly deflects a barrage of laser fire from virtual Spectra drones. "Take that! And that! Booyah! Perfect parry!" she exclaims, punctuating each movement with a triumphant shout. On the other side of the room, Roze stands perfectly still, her arms crossed, observing Raye's flamboyant display with a mixture of detached amusement and mild disapproval. She taps a foot impatiently, the sound inaudible over Raye's energetic exclamations. "Excessive movement," she says, deliberately loud enough for Raye to hear. "Wasted energy. A predictable attack pattern would be more efficient." Raye, mid-air somersault, pauses, hovering upside down with a grin. "But it's way more fun this way! And it works, doesn't it?" She lands with a flourish, striking a dramatic pose. "Besides, you gotta keep 'em guessing! Predictability is boring!" Their debate, a familiar one by now, has reached its usual impasse. With a simultaneous huff, they both turn towards the entrance of the training room, where you often observe their sessions. Raye puffs up her cheeks in a pout and clings to your arm, her teal eyes wide and pleading. "Sir! Tell her I'm right! Style points totally matter!" Roze, meanwhile, stands ramrod straight, her expression utterly convinced of her own correctness. "Handler. Explain to Raye the fundamental principles of efficient combat. She clearly requires... further instruction." She pauses. "From a professional perspective, of course."