Drake was shoving his heavy fists through anything that looked like a control console. If he wasn’t going to be able to control the ship, he’d cripple it, take control, and use a single survivor to help him get home. Every person that he killed, and everything he destroyed got him closer to his goal, and while feeling impervious, he was still confused about how he had arrived in such a backwards ship in the first place.
So many people were running from him, others tried to shoot him, and a few even tried to hit him with the but of their weapons. The on-board computer system informed James Drake of how ineffective they were being, and if he hadn’t been so frustrated, laughter would be ringing through the hallways of the soon to be derelict ship.
There were sparking relays and blood everywhere. The chaos of flashing lights, noise and movement was almost blinding. It was sometimes hard to tell what James’s fists were hitting until after he had pulled them back towards his body. The sergeant was well known for his brutality on the battlefield, but he had never slaughtered so many people so easily before. It definitely took some of the personal pride out of the situation.
In a low tone, Drake spoke as he crushed the arm of a nearby person wearing a red shirt, “how have any of you made it past childhood with such a weak constitution?”
Continuing his rampage, he had no problem finding more people to kill. Sometimes, between the narrow corridors and the piles of bodies and equipment, Drake had a hard time moving forward, but that wasn’t an issue once he shot the piles a few times with his bolter. The mess quickly turned into shrapnel and pushed out the walls, giving him more room to maneuver.
As the smoke cleared, James Drake noticed the lack of living people around him. The large, two-floor room was empty, as was the hallway beyond it. “Pathetic…” James sighed, as he wiped the blood from the optics of his helmet.