[Skirill]
Sound-attack: M|O|O|N - Paris
Through the reinforced glass the moons and planets were visible, timelessly continuing their slow, celestial dance. As calm and serene as the great orbs looked, eerily suspended in nothingness, as frantic was the activity inside the Paris.
Perched on his seat near the controls, face drawn and pupils dilated by fear the crew's commander was issuing orders. Not only were they running dangerously low on hydrogen - making the safety of the nearby space station seem endlessly out of reach - but the Chaldeans had expertly destroyed their oxygen reserves with long-range precision fire and were now closing in to board.
Deep space close range combat was anybodies nightmare. Weapons were unwieldy and impractical: the risk of damaging crucial systems assured their use only by the galaxy's most desperate.
Instead, the Chaldean marines would swarm the control room and attempt to break any resistance using brute force alone.
As the Chaldean ship attached itself to the shuttle with a sound that reverberated through the entire structure, the frenetic activity of the commander's subordinates petered off as the screeching sounds of their hull being breached became audible.
"Take up defensive positions."
As the hull peeled backwards and the Chaldean sappers withdrew, the shuttles' crew beheld what some had heard rumours about through contacts in the Foreign Legion. The Chaldeans had a history of cybernetic modification, and it seemed that in their marines they had achieved the penultimate instance of man made machine.
The jagged marines swarmed forwards; falling upon faltering flesh and bone. A right hand swipe delivering 18000 newtons of alloyed impact caught the first on the jaw, erupting his skull in fragments of blood, brains and bone; spraying those standing back and dropping the headless man bodily to the floor. The next was grabbed, snapping his collarbone and stabbed through weightily as to the left another's knee bent sideways, the crack reverberating in his chest untill it's made to cave in.
As the mob withdraws, punctured with red flashes of gore bodies become mangled corpses and marines progress towards the elevated controls where the crew's commander stands watching powerlessly. As he’s subdued, one of the marines turns and signalls
"Paris secure."
