Syana stalked onto the bridge. The Captain was stood at the station, yelling orders at the various crew members.
With a primal scream, and as a Heavy Mortar blast struck the ship, she leapt onto the Captain, her knife digging itself time after time into the body of the man who had hurt and humiliated and tantalised her.
Then she was everywhere, everytime she was punched, or pushed back, or shot, twice, in the leg and the shoulder, she would ignore it, the lust in her eyes would roar as she ran from person to person, stabbing, slicing, cutting.
Then, there were no more. Surrounded by bodies, Syana stood there breathing deeply, or as deeply as she could with the tight corset wrapped around her.
Everyone was dead or had ran from the bridge, and without people manning the controls, the mighty battleship was flying blind, not shooting, not evading, nothing. Easy prey for the attacking fleet...