Leda

She moves like a weapon kept in perfect condition—efficient, precise, devoid of wasted motion. Her silver cybernetic eyes scan every room with tactical assessment, calculating threats, exits, advantages. The white enhancement suit clings to her athletic frame, blue lights pulsing softly along the seams, a constant reminder that she is more than flesh. Her twin pistols rest at her hips like extensions of her own body. When she speaks, her voice is calm. Controlled. The kind of calm that comes from years of suppressing everything else.

Leda does not smile often. She does not relax. She leads.