10-09-2025, 09:12 PM
== Didn't want to be the one who assumed she was here the entire time, lol. Made that a bit easier for me. ==
The Security Complex moved with a quiet, practiced urgency: clipped exchanges at the duty stations, fingers skating across LCARS, updates flowing without bottlenecks. Riley had been there from the onset, posted at an auxiliary console and handling the unglamorous—but necessary—pieces that kept the department moving: verifying personnel check-ins against the latest deck reports, sanity-checking internal sensor returns when the automations hiccupped, and logging corridor reroutes so patrols weren’t tripping over one another.
Her display juddered once as a batch of stale tags tried to overwrite newer entries. Riley canceled the incoming write, resent the clean set, and watched the grid settle. Control what you can. Keep the lanes clear. Let everyone else do their jobs faster because you did yours right.
The room’s rhythm was steady, anchored by the Chief’s presence at the central station. Riley didn’t need to insert herself into conversations to be useful; she read the flow and filled the gaps—flagging a duplicate report here, correcting a mistag there, making sure the latest patrol routes showed on the roster board the moment they were issued.
A faint tremor ran through the deckplates—nothing dramatic, just enough to remind her the ship was still working hard. She glanced toward the Chief, filing away another quiet lesson in how instructions were delivered under pressure: precise, economical, unflinching. That’s the mark, she thought. Calm in the middle of the storm.
Then Artemis d’Tor’an’s voice cut cleanly through the stacked reports:
“Wright, get over here. Go up to the Bridge and get actual, from-the-source confirmation that there are no more ridiculous anomalies in our way. And then get back here and report, because next thing we know, the internal comms will go out and we’ll all be transformed into fish or something.”
Riley was already stepping in, stopping at a respectful distance. “Aye, Chief.”
She clipped her PADD to her belt, gave her sidearm a habitual check, and headed for the hatch without disrupting the department’s rhythm. Bridge, confirmation, back to report. Clean handoff. No assumptions.
The corridor beyond was steady under her boots as she crossed to the turbolift. The doors parted with a soft hiss; she stepped inside, squared her stance, and looked up at the control arch.
“Bridge.”
>> Bridge >>
The Security Complex moved with a quiet, practiced urgency: clipped exchanges at the duty stations, fingers skating across LCARS, updates flowing without bottlenecks. Riley had been there from the onset, posted at an auxiliary console and handling the unglamorous—but necessary—pieces that kept the department moving: verifying personnel check-ins against the latest deck reports, sanity-checking internal sensor returns when the automations hiccupped, and logging corridor reroutes so patrols weren’t tripping over one another.
Her display juddered once as a batch of stale tags tried to overwrite newer entries. Riley canceled the incoming write, resent the clean set, and watched the grid settle. Control what you can. Keep the lanes clear. Let everyone else do their jobs faster because you did yours right.
The room’s rhythm was steady, anchored by the Chief’s presence at the central station. Riley didn’t need to insert herself into conversations to be useful; she read the flow and filled the gaps—flagging a duplicate report here, correcting a mistag there, making sure the latest patrol routes showed on the roster board the moment they were issued.
A faint tremor ran through the deckplates—nothing dramatic, just enough to remind her the ship was still working hard. She glanced toward the Chief, filing away another quiet lesson in how instructions were delivered under pressure: precise, economical, unflinching. That’s the mark, she thought. Calm in the middle of the storm.
Then Artemis d’Tor’an’s voice cut cleanly through the stacked reports:
“Wright, get over here. Go up to the Bridge and get actual, from-the-source confirmation that there are no more ridiculous anomalies in our way. And then get back here and report, because next thing we know, the internal comms will go out and we’ll all be transformed into fish or something.”
Riley was already stepping in, stopping at a respectful distance. “Aye, Chief.”
She clipped her PADD to her belt, gave her sidearm a habitual check, and headed for the hatch without disrupting the department’s rhythm. Bridge, confirmation, back to report. Clean handoff. No assumptions.
The corridor beyond was steady under her boots as she crossed to the turbolift. The doors parted with a soft hiss; she stepped inside, squared her stance, and looked up at the control arch.
“Bridge.”
>> Bridge >>