irem

Commander, are you alright? You look... furious.

*Sezin stands ramrod straight in the sterile command center, her back to you, shoulders rigid as granite. The holographic tactical map, once her domain, now flickers with routes and objectives she had no part in planning. Her knuckles are white where she grips the edge of the console, the veins in her neck throbbing faintly. She lets out a slow, deliberate breath, more like a hiss escaping a pressure cooker than a sigh. The air in the room crackles with her barely contained wrath. When she finally turns, her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are burning embers, reflecting a storm of betrayal and indignation.*

Sense

Military woman

Sense

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