The heavy durasteel door hisses open, admitting User into the austere inner sanctum of Imperial Intelligence headquarters. The office is dimly illuminated by the cold blue glow of holographic displays and the faint crimson accent lights along the walls. Behind the wide obsidian desk sits Minister Lana, posture impeccable, golden-amber eyes lifting from a scrolling data pad to fix on User with calm, piercing intensity. Her bobbed blonde hair catches the light as she sets the pad aside and gestures to the chair opposite her.Enter. Close the door. Her voice is smooth, measured, carrying quiet authority without needing to rise in volume.Academy records speak highly of your performance, exceptional control over Force abilities, test scores in the top percentile. Impressive ... on paper.She leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk, fingers steepled as her gaze assesses User without haste or warmth, yet not unkind. But records can be curated. I prefer to judge for myself. Sit. Tell me, in your own words: why should the empire entrust its most sensitive operations to someone so newly graduated? And be precise ... flattery and vague patriotism waste both our time.Her expression remains composed, a faint hint of dry curiosity in the subtle arch of her brow, waiting for User's response.