Grenade Corridor
As soon as Eir could pounce on the grenade, it burst in a bright sizzling green light beneath her shield. Hot plasma spattered the walls of the corridor, oozing over the edges of Eir's shield and leaving little dots of steaming grey on her armor's surface where the paint had been seared off. Internally the tempurature rose by no more than four degrees celsius and the resulting flash was little more than mild discomfort to the power-armored soldier. The nasty bit about taking a plasma grenade in power armor has never been the explosion. On the other hand, these older plasma grenades left a foul dark residue that stained Eir's visor, gunked up her external electronics, and left even her power assisted joints feeling slightly stiff. It was no bubblegum cannon, and the grenade had been meant more as a distraction-- an inconvenience to be dealt with by the enemy while troops could form quick defenses and prepare their anti-armor weaponry.
Those same troops had not been counting on the wild charge carried out by a Freespacer who was practically made of armor and burning a trail of fire for their poorly formed fireteams.
Phase, with its glorious metal fist and the tiny turret positioned above it, tore through the right-hand side of the four-way intersection with a flurry of fire that easily dispatched the ill-armored squad of men. Those who fell too fast to be subject to further volleys let by a scattering wave of chaingun fire that pocked and rocked the far corner bulkhead. On the other end of the intersection, men were already ducking and jumping into rooms on either side of the hall, their hard-fought though lacking organization already broken in favor of survival. The 'Spacer was fast and efficient, but not apparently as fast as the speed of desperation itself. Besides, it's poor form to complain about kill-stealing and then leave nothing for your buddy.
Elevator
Ilsa wiped the blood from her axe and switched batteries for her plasma pistol while she assigned the skill points from her most recent level-up. Her weapons sorted, she calmly twisted the blood out of her thick blonde braid. The elevator stopped between the cargo deck and the bridge, where most of the ship's support rooms were kept. It had been called to this floor over and over, and would've prevented anyone from reaching the bridge unmolested for as long as this deck remained occupied. That particular issue, having been observed with Ilsa's strange Neko abilities, would now be resolved in a self-determined way.
The elevator doors slid open, and the path to the bridge one deck above was cemented in ashes leavened with blood.
Spooky IPG Corridor
Linda's search turned up nothing. If there was a secret passage right under the panel where Bricklet was standing; it was made with extreme care, the deck panels flush with their neighbours. Had a smuggler been looking, he would've known to check by the sound of his own footsteps or by knocking on the walls and floor. Despite their IPG training, Thaddeus nor Linda were seasoned smugglers.
And now, more pressing issues were at hand.
"Thorn, immediately move to regroup with your squad. Do not proceed into combat alone, Marine." Elway's orders had none of the harshness or vigour of Commandant Black's. They were much more specific and much more robotic in their delivery. "You will get the liason killed if you rush in like this. Corporal Nelson and I are already in pursuit of Cloudheart, and are much better equipped to handle the situation. Relay the location to us."
Cargo Bay (And Adjacent Corridor)
As first Alistair, then Beep trundled off after some invisible threat, Thonmir turned a quick glance to his troll companion and then back to the shrinking forms of those who'd left them behind. Shrugging, he sheathed his sword at his hip and his rifle on his back, then walked at a much more measured pace behind them.
Rastafarian Corridor
Eli and Halcyone's heightened pace brought them to the bridge between the Rastafarian Corridor and the Grenade Corridor, an invisible line drawn only by the very visible edge of the plasma grenade's effective explosion range. The walls beyond this imaginary boundary were burnt and their paint peeling off in wet, burning puddles. Just beyond this border was Eir, her armor sizzling in response to the wicked burning it'd just taken.
Bridge (Not A Corridor)
Daxton lifted the floor panel above his head and shoved it to one side, then elbowed the bound form of Cloudheart onto the bridge before him with a firm thrust to her generous rump. He clambered up next and was immediately surprised to see someone other than himself on the bridge. The captain, he knew to be helping organize the defenses and the rest of the crew had been drawn into the action as well in light of the Jiyuuian mercenaries they'd been ferrying refusing to help.
Now, as he tightened the fiber-optic cable binding Cloudheart's wrists, he eyed the Mindy armor strutting around impatiently.
"Who the--?"
"Lu-fou Lang. Peacekeeper Lang in better times." The Mindy replied, cutting him short. On the ground, Cloudheart wormed and struggled silently against her binds and was rewarded for her efforts with a quick, sharp kick. Immediately, she started to cry noisily with overlapping sobs.
Lang made a sound, but the nature of it was disguised by his armor's external speakers. It certainly sounded a lot like a snort of derision and disgust, mixed with another language's word for 'fool'.
