“The fuck kind of meat is this?”

Cassandra heard a rather unintelligent sounding male voice say from the other side of the paper-thin bulkhead. The sound of him rummaging through the thin plastic wrap of a supply crate further broke the otherwise silent power conduit. The bulkhead went along the far wall in the aft starboard cargo hold and there were ten of the crew wedged uncomfortably together in this particular section. Someone’s elbow was jammed into her ribs, a knee in her back, and she was currently nose to nose with Vice Lieutenant Adrax, taking in his coffee scented breath with every shallow inhale.

“Adrax?” She whispered, so quietly that a human ear would have struggled to perceive it from as close as a few feet away.

“Yeah?” He replied just as quietly.

“Close your mouth, or turn your head…before I rip it off. I can smell your whole day on your breath.”

Adrax blew a healthy helping of it right into her nostrils, and had a shit-eating grin plastered across his square jaw before her hand had even made it to his collar. But she managed to restrain herself, even the lightest of physical reprimands to the side of Adrax’s face, would probably result in them being detected, sooner than she would like. Besides, he’d always been like an annoying little brother. She’d get him back later, they had more pressing concerns.

“What the hell are you chewing on?” A second voice from outside the bulkhead asked, tersely.

“These ration packs, they’re just full of solid chunks of meat, I can’t tell what it is.” The man said as he took an audible bite. “It’s tough and it tastes like pork, so it must be chicken right?”

The other voice didn’t reply for a good few seconds.

“I’m joking, it tastes like pork so it must be pork.”

“Yeah, but if it actually was pork, you would just say that it’s pork, not that it tastes like it.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So it probably isn’t then. Why you tasting shit you don’t know what it is anyway?”

“Because, I’m adventurous?”

“That often just means that you’re stupid in well-traveled circles.”

“The fuck would you know?”

“Give it here,” The other man said as he took an incredibly audible bite. “Dude, that's human flesh.”

Another voice spoke up. “How do you even know what that tastes like?”

“Well, before I joined up with you guys, I got marooned on some moon once with this prostitute and…it’s none of your business.”

“Why would they have crates and crates of human flesh in here?”

“I don’t know. They said they grabbed this ship in the Galbos system, whoever had it last probably had it in here. A crew of cannibals or something. You don’t really think that blonde-headed chump and that babe are running around eating people, do you?”

“You never know.”

“That woman can eat me anytime.”

A fourth voice, a more serious voice added to the mix. “Get back to work, the Captain says something’s going down on the ship, he’s handling it, but he wants you lug-heads to move faster. After we empty the holds, we’re getting back on the Basilisk and blowing this ship into dust.”

“How come we didn’t get that order over comms?”

“Because there’s some blasted interference messing with—why am I explaining things to you, just get back to work!”

The hairs on Cassandra’s neck rose in anticipation, a sensation she’d come to trust over her many years. A sensation that was telling her that now was the time to strike. “Who’s got weapons in here again, you got one right Jakobs?” She tried to crane her neck towards him, but with her limited range of movement, Jakobs' beard was about the only thing she could actually see of the man.

“Yeah boss, I’ve got a G4L, no plasma launcher under-barrel though. Enforcer Kettings here’s got a WES-J9, and it's currently rammed up where the sun don't shine.”

“Better than nothing, I’m about to give the call, get ready.” Cassandra had to twist her left arm at a painful angle to bring her comm up to her face. Quickly she punched in the encryption code, and set it to broadcast, not only to the others who had time to retrieve comms, but over the loudspeakers of the Gizotso itself. “Attention all wolves.” She said, her voice a deadly blade that cut through the background conversations of the scrappers just outside their section.

“Who the hell is that?” Asked a scrapper.

“I hope you guys are hungry…it’s time for dinner,” She continued, looking towards the crewman holding the handle of the hatch, she started counting down. “One, two, three, go!”

The hidden door shot open with a hiss, the cool refrigerated air of the cargo hold hit her face, a welcome departure from the warm stale air of the conduit. The startled, terrified faces of a dozen dirty scrappers greeted them, their mouths agape with dumbfounded surprise. Most of them had even set down their weapons, so certain that they had been alone.

Cassandra barreled a man into one of the massive crates and sunk her razor sharp canines into his neck. The man’s incredibly muscular arms desperately tried to push her way. But they might as well have been twigs, his might was nothing compared to hers. His screams joined the other scrappers as her crewmen one by one grabbed hold of their respective victims. The sounds of Jakobs and Kettings firearms added to the sudden, violent chorus of gunfire that had sparked up from all over the ship. But she wasn’t too worried about the outcome, the invaders were already as good as dead. She allowed herself to enjoy her meal a little longer, they so rarely bothered with fresh meat these days. So much blood dripped from between her teeth and pooled onto the metal floor, that the man no longer had the strength to scream. All he could do was slowly twitch as the surface of his paling flesh turned cold. With each bite, with each nibble she felt renewed, she savored the blood, licking gently at the gaping wound, almost sensually as she moaned with animalistic pleasure.

She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been.

Cassandra was so hungry that she could even ignore the film of filth that was stained onto the surface of his skin. And after a few more seconds of bliss…she threw him abruptly to the ground and quickly grabbed a scrapper rifle from a nearby crate. “Come on, fight now, finish munching later!”

With a fierce determination, she led them through the dark, twisting halls of the Gizotso. Their movements were fluid and precise as they swiftly took down any straggling scrapper who dared to stand in their way. Agitating warning alarms bit at her ear drums as they stalked forward and the air was thick with tension and the scent of gunpowder, ozone, and sizzling flesh. Small fires had broken out in some corridors, adding smoke to the already chaotic atmosphere. But thankfully, they were slowly dwindling from the soft spray of the ship’s automated, overhead extinguishers. The spray leaving them all covered in a fine layer of soapy mist.

Every bone in her body wanted to return to Azrhar, this job already wasn't worth the fissens, whatever the job was.

Cassandra hadn't yet opened the command dossier, she'd stashed it somewhere safe before entering the conduit. Whatever it was could wait until the ship was secure. And if they didn't survive this battle? It really wouldn't matter anyway.

“You four! Cut around to the port docking ring, I don’t want a single man escaping alive!” She shouted to a group of wolves huddled over a pile of dead scrappers, wolves that she barely even recognized.

They reluctantly stood and wiped their mouths of blood before taking off running. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Adrax, take Kettings, I want the bridge secured five fucking minutes ago!”

“Alright, alright!” He shouted as they split off.

“Jakobs you’re with me, the rest of you break off and secure all major systems, make the sensors a priority, I want to know if those guns are down!”

“Shouldn’t we get the shields and weapons online first, ma’am?” Asked a youthful, enlisted wolf with Warden-First Class insignia pinned on his uniform.

“No! Then they’ll know that something’s up. And none of these scrappers can get a message through to them, so it shouldn't matter for now. Now, go!" Her famous temper was at its boiling point. "And somebody shut off that goddamn alarm!"

Cassandra and Jakobs stormed into the following corridor, their guns unleashing fully-automatic hell into a horde of fleeing humans at the next intersection. The scrappers' many tactical lamps jumped up to regard them, blinding her for a split second. The boarders had been caught completely off guard and returned fire intermittently as they continued to run for their lives. Their shots wildly flying in all directions, ricocheting off of the rustic walls. Bullets went in and out of her body rapidly, turning her flesh and uniform into swiss cheese before her very eyes. Cassandra grinded her teeth as the warm sensation of blood oozed down her abdomen and pooled at the bottom of her bloused boots. A lucky enemy projectile managed to shatter her shoulder blade, causing her right arm to fire into the floor, where it hung uselessly by her side.

"I got you!" Jakobs shouted as he shielded her, while she promptly switched hands.

With one arm hanging limply, Cassandra continued shooting one-handed, screaming with rage. But that gun quickly ran dry, so she threw it at ground hard enough to slightly warp the flimsy metal of the cheap barrel and grabbed another from a corpse as they moved.

Round after round cut through them and the panicked scrappers alike, a dark crimson mist of blood hung heavily in the air, it was so thick that it sprinkled her lips with every harsh inhale. It hurt like hell, but there was nowhere to take cover, so she begrudgingly pressed on. Though she was quickly feeling dizzy, weak from her ever increasing injuries. Her body's natural healing abilities were just barely keeping up, and probably only due to the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She felt so hungry, even though she'd just eaten and she felt...so slow. But she didn’t have to last forever, she just had to outlast them.

But what she wouldn’t do for some armor right now.

The scrappers that had been brave, or stupid enough to keep fighting finally scattered like the rest of the ants. Fleeing from the unending, echoing, staccato of contrasting calibers that reverberated through the thin corridor. Cassandra and Jakobs pushed forward like unstoppable forces of nature, grabbing and dropping fallen weapons every other second now it felt like. Their enemies' convulsed and spasmed uncontrollably before dropping lifeless to the ground at their feet. Each step forward landed on someone's eviscerated corpse as the scrappers' bodies piled along the floor.

"They're turning tail! We've got them on the run!" Jakobs shouted breathlessly, stumbling forward until he was forced to lean against his rifle, his pant legs soaked in gore.

But Cassandra would celebrate later, her collapsing legs sent her face first onto the ground. She had just enough strength left to rollover and sit herself upright against the unbelievably cold wall.

“Lieutenant?” He turned and rushed to look her over.

“Forget about me,” She gasped. “Just keep going. I'll heal eventually, probably,” Cassandra grunted as pieces of metal shrapnel moved down into her kidney. “Right now there's too much lead stuck in my gut for me to go anywhere.”

A foolish or rather unlucky scrapper rounded the corner and fearfully fired a round into Jakobs' back. He seethed in pain and quickly returned three shots with deadly reciprocity into his chest.

"Arghhh!" The dead man shrieked and reflexively sent his own weapon springing into the air.

“No, ma'am,” Jakobs said firmly as he turned back to her. “Not leaving you with so many hostiles around. I'll keep an eye on you while you get those rounds out. Don't take too long, we've got shit to do.”

“Jakobs, it wasn't a suggestion, it was an order.”

“Ma’am, as old as you are, I’m sure you know by now that stupid orders are suggestions in this wolf’s army.” Jakobs smiled as a river of sweat poured down from the top of his bare skull, slowly washing away the blood on his face as it disappeared into his beard.

“When I get up from here, I’m docking your pay, putting you on report for insubordination during combat, and then I'm kicking your ass!” She spat harshly, but it was painfully obvious to the both of them that she didn’t really mean it.

Jakobs smiled again, this time more mischievously. “Less talk and more healing, like I said, we've got shit to do.”