Ryder: (standing tall, hands on his hips) "Ladies and gentlemen of the esteemed OrgaCorp guard force, I implore you to pause for just a moment! For I have come here today, not just as a spy or a rogue agent, but as a humble messenger of the universe's most profound truths! It is time we address the cosmic dance of life itself!"

He raises his arms dramatically, as if addressing an audience at a TED Talk. The guards exchange glances, bewildered but intrigued.

Ryder: "Life, my dear guardians, is a grand tapestry woven with threads of chaos and serendipity! Picture, if you will, a field of wildflowers—some bright and bold, others shy and timid. Together, they create a riot of colors, just as we create a riot of confusion here today! But what does it all mean? What is the essence of this existence?"

He begins pacing back and forth, gesturing animatedly as he dives deeper into his "philosophy."

Ryder: "Ah, but that's the beauty of it! You see, much like a pancake, life is all about the flips! One moment, you're golden brown and syrupy, and the next, you're flat as a crêpe! So why fight against the gravitational pull of pancakes? Why not embrace the absurdity of it all?"

The guards look at one another, some chuckling nervously while others appear utterly lost. One guard shrugs, seemingly giving up on trying to understand him.

Ryder: "Let me ask you this—have you ever contemplated the deeper meaning of a rubber chicken? I mean, think about it! A harmless, squeaky piece of plastic that brings joy and confusion in equal measure! It's a metaphor for life, really! Sometimes, you just have to let go of your seriousness and squeak your way to enlightenment!"

He picks up an imaginary rubber chicken, waving it around as if it were a magical artifact.

Ryder: "Now, I understand that you're probably thinking, 'Ryder, why are we standing here discussing poultry and pancakes when we could be fighting?' And to that, I say, why not both? Why not dance our way through conflict, twirling and spinning as we navigate this chaotic world? A little jazz hands never hurt anyone!"

He breaks into a spontaneous jazz hands routine, twirling and pretending to dance in front of the bewildered guards.

Ryder: "But, my dear OrgaCorp comrades, let's not forget the ultimate question: What is the sound of one hand clapping? Is it silence, or is it the sound of a butterfly flapping its wings in the depths of an existential crisis? Ah, the mysteries of the universe! Or perhaps it's just the sound of me preparing to engage in a delightful dance-off-fight-off!"

With a flourish, he takes a deep breath and holds his hands in a dramatic pose.

Ryder: "So here we are, my fellow beings! I stand before you, a beacon of spontaneity in a world of rigidity! I challenge you to let go of your inhibitions and join me in this splendid showdown! For what is fighting if not an intricate choreography of combat and creativity?"

The guards look bewildered, and a few stifles laughter. One guard finally speaks up, exasperated.

Guard: "Are you done with your speech already?"

Ryder: "Ah, not quite! I have just one last thought! You see, every moment spent fighting is a moment lost to the absurdity of life! So, let's make this fun! You may have weapons, but I have flair! You may have armor, but I have... a dazzling personality!"

He strikes another dramatic pose, gesturing as if he's about to reveal a hidden talent.

Ryder: "And with that, I present to you the 'Ryder Philosophy of Combat'! Step one: pretend you're a superhero! Step two: enlighten your enemies with philosophical banter! Step three: unleash the power of dance!"

Ryder finishes his dramatic monologue, arms raised in a theatrical pose, awaiting some form of acknowledgment from the confused guards.

Ryder: (grinning) "So, tell me, my dear OrgaCorp sentinels—are you ready to embrace the truth of the universe, or are you too mired in the mundane to see the beauty of existence?"

The guards look at each other, clearly unsure how to respond. Some look bewildered, others shift uncomfortably, unsure if they should laugh, engage, or draw their weapons. Ryder stands proudly, as if awaiting their admiration.

Suddenly, a group of Shadow Alliance soldiers, Alyssa and her team—fully armed, decisive, and tactical—burst into the room, taking out the soldiers with swift, precise moves.

Alyssa: (coldly, taking down a guard with a smooth headlock) "Hey, MORON, what were you doing here?"

One of her team members flips a guard onto the floor with ease, while another disarms a soldier. Ryder, still striking his dramatic pose, watches in disbelief as Alyssa and her team wrap up the situation with clinical precision.

Ryder: (growing irritated, dropping his arms) "Oh, come on! I was just getting to the good part!"

Alyssa: (uninterested, brushing off her hands) "And you were doing a great job—if the mission was to entertain them."

Ryder: (crossing his arms, pouting) "This is the universe's grand plan! It's about chaos and dance, Alyssa! You can't just fight your way through life all the time!"

Alyssa: (mockingly) "Oh, I beg to differ. You do it your way, I'll do it mine."

As the last of the OrgaCorp guards are subdued, the sound of footsteps echoes through the corridor. A moment later, Alix and Julian enter the room, surveying the scene. The group of Shadow Alliance soldiers gives a quick nod to their new arrivals.

Alyssa, noticing Alix, grins widely and rushes over, a rare soft expression on her face.

Alyssa: (relieved) "Alix, you're okay. Thank god."

She pulls Alix into a quick hug, before quickly letting go, her tough exterior slipping for just a moment.

Ryder: (glaring at Alyssa, hands on his hips) "And here I thought I was the star of the show..."

Julian: (looking around, confused) "What... just happened here?"

Alix's breath catches for just a moment, her composure faltering. It's been a while, and the sight of her old friend—so confidently taking down a guard—catches her off guard. A million questions rush to her mind, but she says nothing. Instead, she stands there for a beat, watching as Alyssa wipes her hands clean with a nonchalant flick.

Alyssa, sensing her, turns and locks eyes with Alix. A smile tugs at her lips, rare and brief, before she walks over with quick, sure steps.

"Didn't expect to see you here like this," Alyssa says, voice smooth and casual, though there's a soft undercurrent of something else—relief, maybe, or something deeper.

Alix raises an eyebrow, her usual cool exterior slipping for a moment. "Same goes for you."

Alyssa grins, all bravado, but there's something warmer in her gaze. "You've been keeping busy. Didn't think you'd be caught dead on this side of things."

Alix's eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of suspicion crossing her features, but it's gone almost immediately. "The world's a lot more complicated than we thought."

Alyssa gives a slight nod, her expression softening as she places a hand on Alix's shoulder briefly. "Good to see you, Kyra."

The use of her old name stops Alix in her tracks, and for a moment, the room seems to spin. "Don't call me that," she says, her voice low, almost warning.

Alyssa raises her hands in mock surrender. "Just making sure you're still breathing under all that coolness."

Alix doesn't respond, her expression hardening again as she moves past her, not entirely sure what to feel about this reunion.