Distress

Once Iain has set foot back on the Prowler, he wastes no time in striding onto the bridge. His first assumption is that everything is fine. After all, he can see sections of both Linda and Ville sat in their respective seats. It’s why he calls out to them saying, “I think there must be an issue with comms Captain. Interference of some sort seems the most likely cause.”

He could continue but knows there is little need to. Captain Jimenez is a smart woman, she can deduce for herself his reason for coming back here and that they couldn’t hear any orders, or anything else for that matter, that she may have been attempting to relay to the boarding party.

However, he gets no reply. Not that the lack of a response does anything to deter him from sidling up to Captain Jimenez only to quickly realise that she will never be able to reply as her throat has been slit.

Iain takes a step back, horrified, and then hurries over to Ville. He too is dead. His body bathed in blood from the seven stabs wounds that have been inflicted upon him.

Iain curses under his breath and is about to alert Francesca to the development, as he has concluded there is nothing wrong with the comms, when he feels a presence behind him.

His immediate reaction is to spin around, which he does, only to find himself face-to-face with a man. Well, to be honest the face he is staring into is all that remains of the face of a man. Sure, the figure has black hair and brown eyes, but his skin is heavily scarred. In places some it has even been peeled off. His ears are missing; the left entirely, the right only the upper fifth. The sight is disgusting, but Iain forces his repulsion aside as he begins to raise the shock pistol that he instinctively pulled from the holster on his right hip.

However, before he can bring the weapon to bear, the man before him drives a sliver of metal through Iain’s shoulder. Iain screams in response and finds, to his disbelief, that the attack has disabled his shoulder, preventing him from raising the pistol any higher than it already is.

 Unfortunately, that is barely more than a third of the way. Not that it matters as his fingers jolt with one last electrical pulse from his brain that sees them unfurl and the weapon drop from his grasp. The security chief’s eyes go wide as his mind whirls and screams for him to backpedal. He is inclined to agree, but as he goes to do so, the man withdraws the metal shard. Then, faster than should be possible, manages to spear it through Iain’s suit and into his throat as though a riposte is being performed.

Iain lets out a wet painful sound akin to what can only be described as a choking noise, as if he was trying to speak but can’t.

Then he feels a near equal burst of pain from his legs as his knees are kicked out from under him. They buckle and then fail in response to the heavy impact and all while he attempts to release his suits helmet.

If he can get it off then he’ll have a makeshift weapon which he will be able to use to hopefully fend off his attacker. Back he never succeeds as the man with the scarred and mutilated face rips the metal sliver from Iain’s throat.

The sudden release of pressure sends a spray of blood jetting out of Iain’s neck and into the helmet’s narrow transparent faceplate. The blood splatter obscuring the lower section of the security chief’s vision. Not that it matters as Iain desperately continues to fight to release his helmet, unable to because of the blood loss that is slowly shutting down mobility in his extremities. Not that such a thing is the worst of what Iain is facing.

Still, he continues to choke on the blood that is filling his throat and lungs. That is, until a couple minutes later, he is lying on his side dead.

Meanwhile, his killer stands over him, smiling. His jumpsuit, once brown, is stained with fresh, wet blood that had once belonged to Captain Linda Jimenez and Ville Welch.

He feels no remorse for the lives he has taken. Instead, he thirsts for more. Sweat beading down his left temple as his head twitches every so often while he stares down at his handiwork.