The mission objective had caused an override to the
stick-with-me suggestion she'd given Amaris earlier. She missed the apologetic eyes of the feline at having being forced to dismember someone. Or, who had been someone. She probably would have given her props for the success.
The hallway was as pessimistic as the starboard docking bay. Gala's arm was growing tired with the repetitive motions of stabbing and removing. She twisted here and there, avoiding as many of the former crew members as she could, taking careful note of the blood spattered walls. Parts of the former piping had disintegrated, looking like someone had tried to set a flame in the containment of the ship.
The sound of flesh collapsing beneath her blade was growing familiar. A former lieutenant (as boasted on his breast) seemed to go blind for an instant, a scream caught in their throat, and hands reaching for nothing before collapsing from her disemboweling.
Thunderous breaths rolled from her diaphragm as she took pause at the end of the hallway, turning to look over her shoulder. A slew of corpses confirmed her travels through the corridor. A thick sheen of sweat was making her armour sticky and heavy, and her arms were shaking from the adrenaline. She trembled as her body started to regulate after the extreme exertion.
There was another figure coming through the doorway, and Gala adjusted her stance and drew her vibrosword to eye level, ready to charge before she realized it was someone she knew. The tail was a good indicator. Temporarily, she relaxed slightly and gave a silent nod of acknowledgement to the girl. In the dim lighting, the mirialin couldn't see the wound the girl had incurred since the last time she'd seen her. Which was probably for the best.
She kept mostly silent because she didn't feel comfortable giving out orders in this situation. That sort of responsibility was above her pay grade
and interest. Therefore, she merely gave an indicative nod of her head in the direction of the ship's main control and communications centre. As tired as she was from that almost superhuman evidence of conviction, she was still hyper alert. The silence they met in the control room was pretty eerie, and it made her uncomfortable.
"We're looking for the navlogs." Gala spoke for the first time since Amaris had returned to her side, and stooped near one of the dashboards that was flickering ominously. The cerulean projections from the screen conflicted with the red emergency lighting of the frigate and created a creepy purple luminescence that highlighted both her and the cat girl's features in a holo-film appropriate way.
There were more noises coming from outside the blaster doors, and Gala skidded over to them to slam her elbow against the button that would cause them to seal, glaring in Amaris' direction.
"Can you help? Hurry!"
In the meantime, as she was about to make her way back to the youth, she realized a form that was not moving. It was concealed pretty well beneath one of the primary dashboards, and she tightened her grip on her sword once more and approaching. It didn't stir. No moans. No twitching. No similar mannerisms to the hallway of horrors. It was a scrawny form, and she poked a toe forward to it. When she crouched to get a better look, still holding her weapon tightly at her side, ready to strike, she'd noticed the tattoo of the individual and the wound incurred on its thigh.
"Hey." She levelled her blade at the humanoid, giving a puncturing poke to its bicep. "
Wake up."