Cinematic sci-fi comedy, golden hour lighting, humorous tone. Starts medium low-angle shot on a colorful miniature golf course, where two Imperial Officers—a severe, older male and an intense younger female—both wearing IMPOFFF uniform—crisp olive-gray tunic and IMPOFFF uniform hat, are staring critically at a small, red wooden windmill with spinning blades. The female Officer is crouching low to the artificial turf, squinting one eye to line up a shot with a purple golf ball, while the male Officer stands over her, holding a tiny pencil and scorecard like a datapad. The female Officer says, with icy precision, the exact words "The rotating blades of this power generator are timed to intercept the sphere. It is a formidable defense grid." The male Officer checks the wind by licking a gloved finger. He replies, the exact words "Calculations suggest a ricochet off the orange brick is our only option. However, the astroturf friction is inconsistent." The female Officer tightens her grip on the putter. She states, the exact words "I am commencing the attack run. We must sink the projectile into the thermal exhaust port before we exceed par."