>>5536652>>5536571>>5536562>>5536521>>5536231>>5536645>>5536212The corridor ahead is dim, lit only intermittently by pulsing red emergency lighting and the occasional actinic flash of directed energy weapons. The deafening crack of firearms and hum-snap of DEWs echo tinnily down the metal hall, attenuated only by the bends in the passage and your wisely deployed helmets.
Cleo steps past you, baring her teeth and claws fiercely. “Playtime’s over boys. Let’s tear these unwelcome pests apart!” She growls, even her mismatched translator lowering its register to that of a somewhat grouchy schoolgirl.
Before La’afette can even begin to remind her that using her claws while in her hermetically sealed skinsuit would compromise its integrity, she races off - loping towards the sounds of action.
“Don’t get left behind, you two. That's an order.” You quip, jogging after Cleo’s rapidly disappearing tail.
“Sure, Cap.” “Sir.” They briefly acknowledge, following.
As you turn the bend you see a large double hatch stuck open, the source of the lights and sounds. In the threshold, crates and cases in various states of repair partially block access, their contents spilling out into the hallway. You can see Cleo has stopped short of the entrance to what you realise leads to the maintenance bay servicing one of the ship’s weapon banks. Despite her earlier enthusiasm, she stands motionless, staring at a silhouette slumped over the disorganised cargo.
You realise as you step up next to her, that what you had assumed was a wounded crew member was actually only half of one - clearly dead. A male Ulveng’s upper torso lays propped against a crate of spare parts, pistol spilling from a limp grip, evidently useless against what must have been a Megawatt range laser that left him bisected. There’s no blood, for which your stomach is grateful, the wound having been cauterised by whatever wyrm-begotten weapon sheared him in two.
“That could have been me.” You hear your navigation officer say in a small voice.
“It wasn’t. It won't be!” You reassure her quickly, punching the hulking woman’s arm lightly. “You’re indestructible, remember?”
“Right.” She shakes herself from head to tail. “Everyone got what they need?”
Your two male officers bringing up the rear look at each other and then more closely at the spilled items at Cleo’s feet. It seems that part of the security response to the boarding craft induced hull breach included a crate of riot gear and advanced weapons. You contemplate your crew’s current equipment and consider grabbing something of use before the battle.
