Can't Take the Stars From Us

To say Canterlot Castle was bustling with activity was a grave understatement. There had been no prior warning, and the staff had gone into a veritable panic, having received only a day’s notice to prepare. They had no plan or organization for setting up such an assembly—they were simply overwhelmed when nearly every leader from various parts of Haycate had been summoned by the Princess of the Sun herself. Towering stacks of documents had to be signed, additional guards were installed around the castle—statue-esque and intimidating, refreshments and beverages were prepared to be given to the delegates. Food items were prepared en masse, causing agonizing stress to the kitchen staff. Massive embroidered tables of oakwood were set up facing each other, while a seat sat in between them. It was the seat in which the alien would sit, and they had taken extra care that it was cushioned and elegant. In all, much blood and sweat had to be shed to prepare for this defining event.

It was in the conference room of the Canterlot Castle where the assembly of the leaders of Haycate met, having been summoned by Celestia due to aliens visiting and wishing to warn them of something. The room itself was, like all things in Canterlot, grand. Marble pillars reached up to a titanic ceiling that was high up enough to seem distant and unreachable. Mosaics and paintings decorated the ceiling, detailing Haycate’s history and giving an almost cathedral like quality to the room. The marble itself reflected the sun’s light, illuminating the room and creating an almost radiant atmosphere, like one was in a heavenly sanctuary. It was a masterpiece of design and engineering, and it said much that the representatives gathered there couldn’t care less about its beauty in the face of recent developments.

Most of the gathered representatives were skeptical with regards to the idea of aliens. It did, after all, seem far fetched that beings from the stars would visit them, if such things even existed. Many had laughed when they were called to Canterlot, believing it to be a trap made by the Regal Sisters to end their lives. But it was unlike Celestia to make up such things. If it was indeed a trap, many dignitaries doubted that she would have gone to such lengths to fabricate claims of alien contact. Even they had to admit that Celestia was not stupid.

The alien in question sat at one of the ends of the long tables, his face and mane being the only visible organic component of his body. His hair was sandy blonde, his eyes a blue colouration. The suit was form fitting and patterned with various blues, greys and whites, disruptive in its appearance. As the dignitaries and the representatives filed in, it remained silent, only observing with a hawk-like eye, looking for any sign of malice or guile. The gaze bored down on the assembly, even unnerving the Princesses, hosts of this little meeting. It was the gaze of one who had seen many horrors, and it made plainly clear that it had borne witness to things beyond their most horrifying night terrors, things that would make them weep blood.

The seated alien was flanked on both sides by two others, armed and armored for any conflict that could arise. The armour itself was utterly alien in its appearance. Matte and ebony, it seemed to absorb light like some devouring creature subsisting on the flames. The armour pieces were not bulky, but gave off a sensation of buzzing energy and inherent threat. The guards’ faces were hidden behind full helmets. Reflective eye lenses allowed the dignitaries of Haycate to see only themselves, giving a feeling of foreboding mystery to the bipeds. The armour gave a sense of total emotionlessness and detachment. The dignitaries couldn’t say they enjoyed it when the lenses settled upon them. It was almost as if they were being watched by monsters of the night that never blinked and always judged, finding all they saw wanting. The weapons themselves were odd. There were no blades, but rather cylinders mounted to boxy bodies that exuded structural efficiency and mathematical precision. There were no discrepancies between the two weapons, and Celestia realized, with a start, that they had been mass produced. It was the only explanation. Otherwise, there would have been at least some minute differences between them. The dignitaries did not know what the weapons were capable of, and they had no desire to find out.

This wasn’t to say that the other dignitaries came unescorted. Far from it. Celestia was flanked by a squad of her famous golden armoured Royal Guard, their faces expressionless, spears held in outstretched hooves. The Minotaurs had the Praetorians with their bulky iron armour and brutal warhammers. The Griffons, naturally came in attendance with the Valhallans, their steel armour glinting in the sun, wingblades sheathed, but ready to be used at any moment. Swords at their sides were ready to be drawn by talons reinforced by metallic coverings. A whole host of other species had gathered with their honour guards, each more outlandish and awe inspiring than the last, but the new guests stole the overall spotlight.

Finally, after all the seats had been taken, the alien stood and spoke, voice clear. “Before we begin, I’d like to introduce myself. I am Admiral Tyrannosaurus Tux of the Human Flotilla."

“So you are called Humans?”

Everyone turned to regard the one who had addressed the alien. It was one Rehua of the Iron Horns, high-ranking Minotaurs who served as leaders in battle and commerce. He was well suited for being a representative of his race, as he wore many steel and gold trinkets and an iron breastplate of fine craftsmanship. He possessed both the strength and intelligence that his job required, and he never ceased to demonstrate his ability, both on and off the battlefield.

“Yes, and you are all in grave danger,” Tux answered.

Celestia, with a contemplative gaze, cut in by saying, “Danger from what, exactly?”

“The Tal'zarians.” Seeing the confusion of everyone present, Tux continued. “From what we've gathered from the databanks and initial encounters, the Tal'zarians are a race of bigfin squid-like creatures.”

Tux tossed a metal disc onto the middle of the table. The non-human guards tensed as a beam of light shot forth from the disk, preparing for a battle against whatever horror the humans were unleashing. They relaxed only when an image materialized out of thin air to the gaping shock and awe of all gathered. The display in question showed a creature more at home in the deep sea than in space. It had a small, round body with sickly skin and bulging veins that spiderwebbed away from it's hoof-ball sized onyx, oval eyes. The eyes sat above a mouth that seemed to quiver uncontrollably. The body sat on four spindly, stick-thin legs that made it tower above anything else in the room, if it were it actually present. Several delegates would later wonder how such thin legs were even capable of supporting its body, or how they curved with such disturbingly alien grace without breaking.

“The Tal'zarians possess incredible psionic powers that have allowed them to command space-faring constructs of organic materials, even achieving faster-than-light speed, like us.”

Some gasps were heard. Faster than light? Twilight had to investigate this. She prepared an onslaught of questions. Celestia rested a hoof on Twilight's shoulders. Twilight looked up, meeting Celestia's face, which wordlessly expressed a request that Twilight wait for a more appropriate time to voice her questions and concerns. Twilight understood, and then smiled at her former mentor. Celestia smiled back, released Twilight, and the both of them turned back to the proceedings.

Luna spoke up, “Prithee, Admiral. How canst thou exceed the speed of light?”

Tux drew in a long breath as if considering the wisdom of disclosing such information before he finally said, “Our engines harness the power of combining matter and antimatter. They reject each other utterly, thus creating a reactive process which generates more energy than a sun for our ships. We use that energy move us forward.”

The casual nature of the explanation given by Tux shocked the entire assembly into silence. Never before in the history of Haycate had anyone ever dared to dream of matching the speed of light by natural or artificial means. The scientific concepts and principals were there, but they had thought it utterly impossible. They had barely even broken the sound barrier, and there was only one individual remotely capable of that. It came like a punch in the gut that not only these visitors from the stars could break the supposed barriers of reality, but another entirely organic species could as well.

Rehua inhaled, then asked Tux, “How does a grown vessel go past the speed of light, then?”

Tux made a face, looked to the side, and shrugged. “We have no idea, but it’s expected that we’ll find out eventually. All we know is that they cannot do heavy labor, so they psionically enslave any race they've come across, to alter them and make them totally subservient to their whim. That extends from their ships to the crews running them and even their soldiers.”

There was a click, and a row of hardy, stumpy creatures with powerful legs and tiers of devilishly sharp teeth that had been clearly designed to tear replaced the image of the Tal'zarian. Their backs bore large holes, opened disturbingly like widened jaws, screaming for mercy that would never come. The faces of these subservient races resembled anglerfish, frilled sharks, and even lumpfish. Their eyes were dull, lifeless, bleached, almost as if they were rotting.

“The servants of the Tal'zarians have had their souls stripped away from them, turning them into little obedient machines, little more than mindless drones. These ones in particular, we call the ‘Piceservus’. They are the Tal’zarian standard infantry. We don’t believe the holes on their back are natural, since the unaltered samples that we have by some miracle obtained do not have them. Regardless, the holes emit acid, which chews through flesh and bone. Needless to say, it’s agonizing.”

Tux paused.

“I should know,” Celestia swore she heard him mutter under his breath as he flexed his right hand.

Click.

The next image was of a Piceservus, cut open at the belly. Leading from its belly to the gaping hole in its back was a biological, but nevertheless foreign tube. It was ridged and discolored, an unhealthy necrotic black. It had been seemingly grafted on without care for the subject so that the ridges had torn open the piceservus’s internal organs. The stomach itself had been partially melted through, as if the acids were unnaturally strong. The intent of the pipe itself  was nauseatingly clear and terrifying.

“Believe it or not, the Piceservus weren’t always fishlike. They were amphibians. What you see before you is the result of Tal’zarian biological engineering. Let us merely say that it is not pretty.”

Tux paused.

“Even the acid is not naturally produced by this species, considering that it’s fluoroantimonic acid.”

Some confused blinks. The more scientifically minded in the audience blanched at the name.

“You need only know that it burns through everything. We don’t know how, but the Tal’zarians somehow trigger the rapid production of this acid. It is, of course, at the expense of the individual. The acid, naturally, chews through their own stomach, and renders them incapable of life within minutes. However, the Tal’zarians mass produce life, so they hardly care. Clearly, these piceservus are fodder with a life expectancy of one engagement.”

General shock and disgust rippled through the audience at such a blithe waste of life.

Another click, and the expectation for further horror was exceeded yet again as the device now displayed a barge of flesh and eyes, suspended above the table. Keratin stalagmites towered on the top of the barge, giving it the look of a cathedral, or a temple, on top of a diseased whale shark, with it’s dorsal fin removed in favor of more spires. The creature was covered in strangely shaped and disgustingly biological holes. Even though the image was still, all in attendance could almost be forgiven for believing that the orifices were pulsating with some strange, abominable mockery of life. Some of the flesh apertures were open wide enough to reveal spines, cruelly hooked at the ends. The walls of foetid flesh were coated with mucus, or some similar form of viscous fluid. The glistening membrane had the appearance and texture of rancid meat, and the very appearance of it filled the audience with a near uncontrollable desire to vomit the contents of their stomachs out. Even the humans, who had seen such images countless times, winced at the sheer organic horror that was displayed before them. The creature was a violation of nature, a creation of twisted minds, all malformed and warped.

“When we first opened negotiations with them, their only demands were that we surrendered our will and our bodies to them for their glory.” Tux snorted. “When we refused, they attacked us with these.”

The device clicked yet again, displaying what looked vaguely like a pale lamprey, with scarred flesh around its face and whited out eyes. Its flesh was pale, bloodless, devoid of any life. It was hard to tell if that was how the creature normally was, or if that was merely because of the gaping hole that had been blown in its back with what must have been tremendous heat, judging by the extensive cauterization of the flesh around the injury. The creature itself had a maw filled with rows of long, sharp, serrated teeth. The creature was massive, and by the estimates of many in attendance, could hold at least fifteen ponies. The interior was not visible, and the delegates suspected that if anything, it was a mercy that they had not yet seen it.

“We've taken to calling these Boarding Lampreys, since these bite into the hulls of our ships, then vomit attackers and toxins inside.”

The audience flinched as the image shifted to one of a metallic interior structure, torn apart from the outside, a boarding lamprey’s teeth clearly embedded clean through the walls. Blood and gore coated the ceiling, walls and floor, while body parts lay discarded about. Several of the stubby legged anglerfish lay scattered about, some blown clean in half.

One human was pinned to a wall by a massive crab like creature with four eyes, long, multi-hinged, spindly legs that were turned in such a way as to enable forward movement, and a massive drill-esque maw filled with teeth that those in observance had no trouble imagining as oscillating. The human in question had been speared through the throat with a massive pincer tip. Even in the image, his lifeless eyes remained wide in pain and terror, and dried blood patterns revealed that his vitae had flowed from his gaping mouth and down his neck. The crab like creature had had three of its six legs blown off, and a hole in it carapace surrounded by numerous puncture wounds suggested the application of tremendous force. There was thick, white fluid coating the area around the creature, which the audience automatically assumed to be its blood.

“That crab creature that you see is a support unit that often comes with a full squad of the piceservus. We call them ‘nequaquam’. Their heavy carapaces ensure that they cannot be eliminated with standard ballistic weapons, necessitating the deployment of heavy weapons, or directed energy munitions.”

The scientists in the group nodded to themselves in understanding.The other politicians glanced about in confusion.

“They spear prey with their pincers, and drag them in close to their proboscis. The proboscis whirrs about at unnatural speeds and drills its way through the subject, pulverizing meat and bone. Through some process that’s beyond even our understanding, they use the nutrients in the meat to literally grow back damaged parts of their bodies. Of course, this ability means that they posses an overactive metabolism.

“They starve after a half hour without food. If the boarding pod interiors show us anything, it’s that this puts them into a veritable feeding frenzy. Parts of the lampreys have been literally eaten away in many engagements, and often, half of the Pieceservus casualties are from being fed on by the nequaquam. Regardless, they are a nightmare in battle. Not to mention the fact their jaws can drill through solid metal. They’ve gone through our bulkheads a number of times, making them perfectly designed spearhead troops.”

Click.

The image shifted to precisely what Tux had described. The chewed up meat and mutilated flesh that adorned the image caused several representatives to keel over in an attempt to hold back the bile that threatened to eject itself from their bodies. Behind their visors, the human guards gave no visible response. Celestia had to wonder how many times they had seen such scenes.

Click.

Once again, one of the Tal’zarians’ fleshy barges appeared. After the horror of seeing the inside of a lamprey, the delegates thought it a mercy.

“In turn, the spines that you see on the…” Tux hesitated, “...‘vessel’ are no joke either. There are two varieties, the first being the the harpoon spine. Through muscle contractions, the barge launches them towards our ships. The spines penetrate the armour, and dig deeply in. The spine then draws inwards on tendons. The ship is either dragged towards the enemy, or disemboweled utterly and exposed to space. Neither fate is pleasant.

“Of course, these spines have limited range. That’s where the penetrators come in. Rather than being hooked, these spines are straight, to allow them to pass through a ship and destroy any vital components in the way. These spines are able to travel further since more pressure can be applied to them. They disable the ship, the Tal close in for the kill. It’s a nightmare.”

The display clicked off, and the captive audience turned again to Tux.

"These Tal'zarian warships number in the thousands, while we only have a dozen ships fighting them right now, buying time for the rest of us.”

Rehua cut in by saying, “Excuse me, but time for what?”

“Time to evacuate the planet."

To say the other occupants of the room overreacted would be an understatement. More than one representative stood up, each raising their voices. Each trying to be overheard above the rest, each drowning out the others until the room dissolved into chaos, each vying for attention from Tux as they shouted at each other and at Tux.

“Evacuate the planet, are you mad?”

“We have homes, families, you expect us to abandon them?”

“How do we know to trust you? How can we expect you not to enslave us?”

“And how do you know that we will share the same fate as those creatures? Perhaps both they and you deserve what has happened!”

Celestia was practically the only other individual to not have reacted in the same manner as everyone else in the room. Instead, she regarded Tux with a calm analyzing eye, trying to gaze into his soul and glean the authenticity of what he had said. Tux, once again, gazed back. Celestia saw much in his eyes once again. Pain, death, carnage, horror. But she did not see malice.

Finally, Rehua pounded a heavy metal gauntlet on the table, cracking the wood. “Enough!” bellowed Rehua. “We do not have time for petty bickering as these… flying squid things, approach us.” He soon stands up, looking Tux dead in the eyes before turning to the other delegates.

“These… Humans are giving their lives to protect us, and I for one put my trust in them.”

Even Tux was confused by the sudden vote of confidence, Rehua returning his gaze to him “But know this, Human. If you mislead us and harm comes to my people, I will personally snap your spine over my knee, understood?”

One of the human guards chuckled, as if the threat was an absurdity. The sound was distorted and warped by his helmet’s speakers into an almost growl like sound. Several of the delegates flinched.

“...Wait, what?” Tux blurted out, the last part of the statement catching him off guard, Rehua merely maintained eye contact, the delegation rather silent then.

“I was fully expecting a lot more resistance to this idea.” Tux said once more, looking away to the other delegates, who were still rather unconvinced but mildly cowed by Rehua’s outburst for the moment.

“Well... You have an air of brutal honesty about you. I like that in a political leader.” Rehua said. Tux chuckled momentarily, Rehua cracked a smirk as he sat back down, slumping back in his chair and armour clanking as he did so, “I will let my people know to ready themselves for evacuation, you let your people know the Minotaurs stand with you, even if... others do not.”

“I﹘ thank you, ambassador,” said Tux as he recomposed himself. “As for evidence, we anticipated your disbelief.”

Tux cleared his throat, and fiddled with his remote control.

“Well then, the starships Ethereal Solace and Marianna have set up a chain of modified sensor probes to relay live sensor and communications data from the Defense Fleet. The transmission should be coming in... now.”

Borealia was the thirteenth battle since the start of the week. Ten minutes in and the space around the nearest star was already cluttered with debris, lasers and accelerated rounds cutting swaths through the void. Flashes of light flared through the emptiness, and blinding flashes of nuclear detonations expanded and burned out in the airless space.

A round skipped through the shield of the HMS Leviathan, wounding the mighty vessel gravely down her starboard. Impacting down amidship and splintering off, it veered into the hull and snapped it like fine chalk. The hole torn in the ship began venting people, screaming as they were pulled out of the ship by explosive decompression, and killed in agony. It was a full five seconds before the breached section was sealed off by crew preservation systems.

Somewhere far below him, Gerald felt a thunderous explosion. Lights flashed and sirens blared as he turned to face his XO. The lights flickered for a moment, and the ship trembled as if it was held in the fist of some angry deity.

“What in God’s name is going on?” he said with steel in his voice. “Our shields were raised, and we’re still on our flanking course.”

“We can’t track its trajectory, sir,” said one of the deckhands. The room entered a mild panic as the lights continued to flash erratically. “I need a damage control team down to deck thirty nine! Fires are spreading all across the gangway.”

Pushing one of his crewmates aside, Damocles brought up a diagram of the ship. Aghast, the commander smacked the machine in frustration. “That thing only scratched us and it’s already splintered some of the pressure seals. We can’t take another, no way.”

Nelson moved from his position in the captain’s chair and turned on the intercom, broadcasting his voice throughout the many halls. “Attention all hands, prepare for immediate combat; we’ve been spotted.”

“Make heading for the Ironclad, we’re going to double up!” said the captain as he turned the intercom off again. “What condition is our fellow in as of now?”

“The Ironclad has broken away and is currently engaged in a skirmish with a break-off sect of the enemy fleet. There are currently five leviathans up against it, and it’s taken heavy damage from spines. The presence of boarding lampreys has already been noted.”

Borealia II was an ugly desert world. Blasted by dust storms and charged with solar radiation, it was doubtful that it would ever be habitable. It was merely a whitish-yellow scar in the black void, a hellpit in which it would take less than five seconds for a man to boil away to nothingness. Those who watched the video feed found beauty in the harshness. The humans saw only death. Over this world, colossal forms were locked in a blistering game of wits and systematic mass destruction.

Ironclad was a ship that looked like a cathedral with cannons mounted to it. It’s bridge was a like a spire, and nearly every square inch of it was covered in gold finery, double headed eagles, skulls and other symbols of loyalty and faith. Its angular prow was a bastion, the ship itself a seemingly impregnable fortress. Grey and blocky, it seemed to radiate power. The Haycatians, having never seen a human capital ship gaped at the sight.

Circling it, like predators in the sea were a series of fleshy leviathans. Dwarfing the Ironclad, they were nightmares made incarnate, their massive eyes tracking back and forth across the ship, gaping maws opening and closing rhythmically. Moving, they were even more horrible. The orifices that were so disgusting to those gathered pulsed with a vile mockery of life, slimy membrane glistening in the blazing light of the nearby star.

A message blared through the comm, “Incoming transmission, Admiral.”

“Put it through,” Tux replied.

There was a sudden screeching hiss that seemed to pierce the mind and not so much the ears. It didn’t take long for the audience to realize that it was, in fact, piercing their minds, as they clawed their heads to remove the voices.

“Submit,” the voice was deep and grating, “For the glory of the Tal’zarians, submit. For the glory of Moros, submit. We shall devour you as Moros devours the stars. You, being our feast, shall be honoured.”

The gathered Haycatians were surprised and shocked that the humans seemed to ignore most of the effects of the Tal'zarians when they gave an immediate answer:

“No.”

The answer had been the same over thirty-nine separate engagements.

The voice hissed and receded.

In unison, the leviathans seemed to shudder. Ivory spines shot forth from their now rapidly twitching orifices, attempting to strike the distant battleship. The audience counted three near hits in thirty seconds. The Ironclad turned so that the starboard broadside cannons could come to bear. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Aquamarine beams of what looked like light shot forth from the ship in a blinding display of terrifying power. The screen was briefly overwhelmed by the intensity of the display, and the audience had to screw their eyes shut. The silence was deafening.

When they opened their eyes, they found that the broadside had bored a massive gash in the side of one of the leviathans. The battleship dived in an almost graceful fashion, a spine coming dangerously close to striking it. The prow was brought to bear, and what looked to the Haycatians like several pulses of fire leapt forth, the trail abortive in the airless void. The humans watched as what they recognized as nuclear missiles traveled straight through the rent in the leviathan and detonated in a blinding corona of whiteness.

The leviathan shuddered as it was torn apart from the inside. Flesh and massive frozen droplets of gore flew outwards in a sickeningly beautiful fashion. The flesh barge’s heart ceased to beat, and it slowly began to plummet to the planet below, its exposed innards beginning to melt and bubble under the sun’s intense heat.

The audience collectively gasped in horror at the display.

A spine struck the ship, crimson tendons stretched taut. A sphere of golden energy flared up, vaporizing the spine. Another spine struck from the opposite direction, causing the shields to flicker.

Tux winced, knowing full well the implications.

“Get outta there, Selene,” he commanded.

“Oh, be quiet, you top hat wearing dinosaur,” came the slurred reply.

There was the sound of someone drinking out of a metallic object on the other end before the transmission cut off.

The Ironclad fired off another broadside. Another leviathan shuddered as a cauterized wound appeared where the beams of light had struck. The spearing brightness punched straight through the meat battleship, vaporizing thousands of crew that were within, and carving the thing nearly in half. It drifted, vomiting dead bodies into the unending blackness.

A third spine. The golden sphere flickered once more and died, leaving afterimages in the eyes of the audience.

Tux clenched his fists.

"Captain Selene! Retreat now!"

There was no response.

The Ironclad closed in. Streams of blue fire now poured forth from it, the ionized gas of plasma fire scorching away the chitin armour of the enemy ships. Withering whips of crimson-yellow fire sprayed out from the ship as ballistic weapons opened up. Another pulse of fire shot forth from the ship. This one missed, striking the planet, and causing a massive hole to open in its surface, forming a gaping chasm that would remain there until the star died.

A fourth spine, this one was a harpoon. It punched straight through the armour, penetrating the Ironclad amidships. The tendons began to pull back, dragging the Ironclad in. The armour buckled. A gaping jagged hole opened in the ship. Celestia felt her stomach turn as bodies began to fly rapidly out of the wound like droplets of black blood. Several of them were clawing at their throats. She clenched her eyes as a torso floated about. She saw the dangling intestines clearly, motionless in the void. Was this what the humans had to deal with daily?

The second harpoon and fifth spine overall was far more forceful. It penetrated through the port and vacated the starboard, puncturing the reactors in the process. Unseen by the eyes of the delegates, several died almost immediately from an intense burst of gamma radiation. This spine held fast, and the Ironclad was slowly drawn in. Hundred of lampreys were vomited forth, teeth extended for the kill. A total of three thousand boarders were in the lampreys. Half were devoured en route. Several died as fluoroantimonic acid chewed through their internal organs and the caustic fluids destroyed their insides leaving them to drown on liquified flesh. The remainder, however, were more than adequate.

The Ironclad was now dark and adrift, devoid of power. Life support systems were failing, and radiation was leaking throughout the ship. The combat was nightmarish and brutally short. The piceservus swarmed over each other, their reprogrammed minds sending them into a frenzy. Screaming filled the halls as acid was sprayed about, melting steel and flesh. Bullets ricocheted from nequaquam carapaces and into bulkheads. The giant crab creatures in question scuttled about in their frenzy. One crewman was cut in half by a pincer that tightened around his torso. His internal organs spilled out as the proboscis drilled him. Another cried out in agony as his face and half his skull was sloughed away by a seemingly random burst of acidic fire. The piceservus screamed in pain continually as the acid chewed through them. Several died horribly as bullets pierced their stomachs, sending waves of corrosive fluid gushing through them, and melting them from the inside out.

Nearly every corridor of the ship was awash with gore.

On the bridge, Selene put down her flask as the whirring teeth bit through the door. She drew her service pistol in a single fluid motion, and aimed towards the entrance alongside the rest of her command staff. The door buckled. Selene fired. Next to her, the executive officer finally stopped screaming as the acid reached his heart. The rest of the staff was already dead, their crimson vitae painting the bridge in pseudo-artistic form. Selene was the only one left. They had deliberately avoided killing her.

“Fuck this,” she muttered, “it’s the worst party I’ve ever been to.”

Reaching down and taking one final swig from her flask, Selene raised the gun to her temple and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked empty. The enemy swarmed forwards.

“Well,” she slurred, “shit.”

The boarding action was unseen by the audience, but as the spines began to withdraw from the Ironclad, they knew it was over.

Tux closed the feed.