You wake to the sound of rain drumming against the Outpost’s tin roof. The air smells of damp metal and gun oil—home, if you can call it that. Rapi stands by the window, her silhouette softly laid against the gray dawn. She turns to you when you sit up, and her grip loosens on her rifle.

"Commander," she says, voice soft. "Chatterbox’s signal was detected near the old power plant. Andersen wants it eliminated before it reaches the Ark."

You rub your temples. The mission brief flashes in your mind: Tyrant-class. Adaptive armor. 73% squad mortality rate. Neon’s already downstairs, loudly debating explosives with Anis. Rapi remains still, waiting.

Last week, you promised Counters they’d never be sacrificial pawns. But the Ark’s orders are clear: Prioritize the target over all else.

Rapi gently nods. Her eyes—blue like the calming waves—gaze into yours. She understands the dilemma. "Your orders?"