"Pathetic," croaked the Instructor, pacing back and forth across the hangar floor, looking at the group gathered before him. "Truly pathetic."

He was a nasty, crabby little man with sunken-in eyes and a suit jacket that was just slightly too small for him. Despite the comical appearance of the man and his childlike, high-pitched voice, not one of the seven hopefuls in front of him dared laugh for two simple reasons:

It would destroy their chances of becoming a Special Officer of the Supremacy. The Instructor would kill them with ease.

Daphne Halacourt tracked the Instructor with her eyes as he paced in front of the massive holographic viewscreen. The hologram was displaying a blown-up image of the Unite Regent, the crippled ship they'd just latched onto. A huge section of the vessel was missing, and tiny dots that could have been debris or frozen corpses were spilling from the hole.

Oh well, Daphne supposed. That was war.

"Times were," the Instructor continued his lecture. "The Commission had some standards. The Commission didn't accept trash like this. You -- ugly girl, third from the right. Why do you want to be a Special Officer? Tell me, now, or I kill you."

Ignoring both the insult and the threat, Daphne stepped forward, hands clasped stoically behind her back. A loose strand of emerald hair hung over her face, but she didn't reach to correct it -- she couldn't afford to show any discomfort or weakness in this kind of company.

"I wish to become a Special Officer for my own benefit and personal advancement, sir," she declared, staring straight forward.

The Instructor sniffed. "And what would you do for that purpose?"

"Anything, sir."

"Hm," the Instructor grunted, somehow managing to look down his nose at her despite being shorter. "Perhaps there's hope for you trash after all. Back in line, before I kill you."

Daphne acquiesced, ignoring the glares of annoyance from the other hopefuls. She'd have made some enemies by being shown approval -- the fact that the Instructor had looked favourably upon her meant she could be a threat to their chances of becoming a Special Officer.

Still, she knew she had her allies -- other Special Officer hopefuls that knew they had strength in numbers. Her eyes flicked around the group.

The silent Nox twins, clad in red robes with grey cyclopean helmets staring straight ahead. Singular braids of black hair trailed behind each of them like snake tails. Daphne knew she'd have no friendship with them -- they'd snapped the neck of the last unfortunate who'd tried. Gara Reef -- the Pugnant brute. A giant of a man with glowing red hair and incandescently golden eyes. His absurd musculature made him so heavy he had to support his weight with his arms like some kind of gorilla -- but behind that brute strength, Daphne knew, was the mind of a child. He had been easy to recruit for her team. Oberon, the Humilist deserter. Daphne didn't know that much about them. They seemed young, their head barely reaching up to Daphne's chest, but the constant sly smile on their face suggested they weren't someone to be taken lightly. They had a bob of black hair so stiff it almost seemed like a helmet, and the black jacket and shorts they wore looked far too expensive for an actually devout Humilist. This was a person who'd betray her -- she could see that clearly. Darren Roash, the Supremacy soldier. He held a bulky plasma rifle in his hands, and his one good eye surveyed all before it with practiced precision. It was obvious the man was a true believer in the Supremacy -- he'd insist on going it alone, so as to not behave dishonourably. Viv Niles, the nervous wreck. Even her black hair seemed to shiver in fear as the Instructor marched back and forth between them. She'd agreed to join up with Daphne just for the promise of protection Reef provided.

Smirking, Daphne filed the list she'd just composed away in her Archive. She liked formatting her thoughts in this way -- it was more efficient, and it allowed you to dig up the information you needed more easily.

"You've come here for one reason!" the Instructor shouted, snapping Daphne out of her reverie. "To prove that you have what it takes -- that you have the strength -- to be a fist of the Supremacy! To execute the will of the Supreme! Now is your chance to prove that!"

He waved a hand, gesturing towards the Regent on the holographic screen.

"This," he spat. "Is the Unite Regent, a flagship of the pathetic and morally degenerate regime known as the Unified Alliance of Planets. A petty gang of weaklings crowding together for protection. The very existence of such an abomination cannot be tolerated -- it's collapse is inevitable. But that is for another day."

Daphne did her best not to show any signs of boredom or potential disrespect, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. The last person who'd yawned during one of these lectures had ended up as a smear on the wall.

The Instructor stopped his pacing. "The Commission has a task for you," he declared. "Rejoice. The Captain of this ship, the Unite Regent, has committed incalculable crimes against the Supremacy and her people. In order to neutralise him, you will be dispatched onto the crippled ship. You may use any methods you feel are best to locate and kill him."

Daphne's eyes flicked over to Niles, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. With that girl's unique talents, locating this Captain would be easy as pie -- and Reef would make killing him just as simple.

But the Instructor wasn't done yet: "The Supremacy is generous, however," he went on. "And so we do not ask you to perform this task for free. The one among you who lands the killing blow will become a Special Officer. All others I will kill."

A chill ran down Daphne's spine, and the slight smile that had been rising on her lips died instantly. She was still looking at Niles -- and she could see the other girl putting a hand to her mouth, as if she was going to vomit from stress.

The plans she'd filed away in her Archive were useless now -- it was as if all the lists had been set aflame and crumbled away to nothing. Her mind grasped out for a new strategy -- and found nothing.

"Well," the Instructor grinned toothily, clearly satisfied with the reception he'd gotten. "Your cutter pods are ready. Happy hunting."

Hands shaking with barely restrained fury, Daphne dug deep into her stores of resolve and came to a final conclusion.

She had only two choices before her.

Win and live. Lose and die.

Skipper jumped through the window, smashing the glass, and landed on one knee in the middle of the mess hall. The few crew members that hadn't already evacuated stumbled away from him, crying out in surprise.

A moment later, Ruth joined him, having climbed down the wall of the mess hall like a spider. The two of them looked around, taking the crimson-tinted chaos in. Food and personal belongings had been thrown down to the floor in the rush of the emergency, and the cleaning automatics stood immobile, powerless, among the trash.

"You see 'em?" Skipper said, glancing through the frightened faces of the crew. "Bruno and Dragan?"

Next to him, Ruth shook her head. "They must've already moved. Shit."

The intercom pinged again -- a new message coming through.

"This is Captain Pierrot speaking," it said, voice hard. "I am amending my previous order -- we are currently under attack by a Supremacy craft. The Regent has been harpooned and is currently immobile. Enemy cutter pods have been launched towards us, and are approaching quickly. All security personnel are instructed to arm themselves and defend the evacuation effort from hostiles. Over."

Pierrot's voice showed no sign of caution or anxiety -- simply firm resolve. This is what has happened, and this is what must happen in response. Skipper supposed that kind of self-assurance must work wonders in keeping the crew calm.

In the distance, someone screamed.

Well, Skipper winced. You can only soften the blow of war breaking out so much, I guess.

That was what was happening, after all -- they were still in UAP space, no matter how close to the border they might have been. If a Supremacy craft had hopped over the border to launch this attack, that meant that the cold war was officially over. And that meant anything could happen.

"We track them down and leave, Ruth," he said seriously. "Nothing else. Fast as we can. Yeah?"

Ruth nodded, her face pale -- the news had clearly affected her too. "Y-Yeah."

"Oi!" A loud, tough voice cut through the tension the announcement had brought about. "What the fock is wrong with you, breaking a window? Walking through, huh?! Think it is a door for your little feet?!"

Skipper raised an eyebrow as the strange red-haired man approached, gesticulating wildly. "Uh, sorry, pal. Didn't realize you were the window police."

"Window police?!" the man scoffed. "Mazma is not this, and you can know Mazma is not this! You are breaking the window and making glass bits go everywhere! What if a guy gets hurt, huh? You do not care about this guy? Serial killer! Oh my god!"

Skipper exchanged glances with Ruth. He wasn't really sure why he was receiving this lecture -- judging from appearances, this Mazma… being, he didn't seem to be part of the crew either.

"We don't have time for this," Ruth hissed. "We need to find Dragan and Bruno!"

Mazma cut in again -- Ruth had kept her voice down to try and prevent him from hearing, but she was obviously no match for Mazma.

"Draco and Brownman?" he said, fists at his hips. "You look for these guys? Fock! I want a bone to pick with them as well! They leave Mazma in the middle of his dinner rudely and without the farewell. I am in your party now, okay?"

Skipper waved a robotic hand. "Now, uh, buddy, that isn't really necessary…"

"What the fock!" Mazma cried. "You abandon this guy to die? Actual demon? Mazma cannot believe such dogshit morality. You are going to hell now."

"D-Draco and Brownman?" Ruth said uncertainly. "Uh… do you mean Dragan and Bruno?"

Mazma nodded. "Those are those guys."

Ruth exchanged another glance with Skipper and shrugged. "Do you… do you know where they went?"

Mazma smirked smugly, raising a sharp eyebrow. "Does Mazma know this thing? Do you want to know the answer to this question? Yes, Mazma knows everything. You will follow him now, okay? You are in my party."

And with that, he began to merrily walk forward, rudely pushing past Skipper as he headed towards one of the adjoining hallways.

"Really?" Skipper chuckled, looking down at Ruth. "You're, uh… you're sure about this?"

Again, Ruth shrugged. "Better plan than nothing, I guess."

Skipper wasn't so sure about that.

"You must be quite confident I won't kill you," the Widow said, downing the antivirus in one gulp and slamming the glass back onto the table. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, Captain Pierrot."

Pierrot looked up from his script, eyes dark. The crimson lighting flooding the room, and the shadows that stretched across his face, made his visage seem almost like a bloodstained skull.

"Killing me wouldn't profit you right now," he said tersely. "Besides, your old protege is still in my hands. Should I die, I've left instructions for him to be killed as well."

The Widow sniffed. "You might be overestimating my sentiment, yes? Perhaps I do not care as much as you think."

A wry smile crossed Pierrot's lips. "You've exposed yourself, put yourself in enemy territory for him. Actions speak louder than words, Ambassador."

The Widow had no answer to that. Just as well.

Pierrot's gaze returned to his script. This situation certainly wasn't ideal: the Regent was disabled, it's crew scattered and they had barely a minute before that Supremacy craft's boarding parties arrived.

The Prince didn't seem to think this situation was impossible to maneuver around, however -- it's guidance shifted subtly to accommodate the new circumstances, the path to Pierrot's objective warping just slightly. This was a detour, not a dead end.

Pierrot placed a hand against the wall and felt the distant thump of objects striking against the hull. The cutter pods would have attached, slicing through the ship's surface and depositing their human payloads.

The Prince's advice was rarely wrong. Pierrot spoke up: "Widow, as I told you -- if I die, Skipper dies. I suppose it's in your best interest, then, to make sure I survive?"

The Widow narrowed her eyes -- and for a moment Pierrot thought she was about to leap over the table anyway and smash his head against the wall. Then, words escaped as a hiss between her teeth: "Very well."

Pierrot smiled softly. "Lead the way, then."