Extinction Event
Rated: Mature (Violence, Adult Situations, Adult Themes)
Notes: Un-beta read, and wrote for fun. Input and suggestions are welcome.
The dark metallic ship traveled through space toward new hunting grounds. The old hunting grounds had become too packed, too many out on the hunt at one time. What had been once plentiful and choice hunting quickly was becoming a clustered mess and all the best prey had been wiped out. It would not be long before pointless clan wars would follow.
A small group of Hish traveled for weeks in the deep part of space. Places where hunting parties had never gone. The Hish, like their parent race the Yautja, were about the song of blood and blade, of flesh and honor. But unlike their parent race, the Hish did not take the concept of honor and hunt to zealous levels that the Yautja did, the understood sometimes rules had to be broken. Yes, honor was the backbone of their society, but if no one saw you acting dishonorably then it never happened – the same could be said if you get rid of those who had evidence of such.
This belief was what broke what was once one race into two. That and the unnatural obsession that the Yautja had with a small mostly blue nameless planet, giving up on far better hunting grounds to stalk and make prey of the developing race that dwelt there. Yes, the Hish had respect of The Soft Meat but they were careful not to completely cull the herd, which seemed to be the trend happening in the old grounds.
A stray signal had been picked up on long range scanners, almost totally awash in background noise and radiation. The Unblooded Hunters almost ignored it, but the older and more wise recognized the orderliness to it, and the began to unfold it for what information it carried. The promise of new hunting.
The crew aboard the Battlestar Demeter didn't know in just one day that everything they knew and loved would be gone in a nuclear holocaust. They didn't know that an enemy mostly forgotten about would arrive with a great battle fleet and wipe out the colonies. That among the skeleton crew of the ship, the ones who would die in the next few hours would be the lucky ones.
"El-T on deck." Called out one of the swabbies. The four other men in the hanger snapped to attention. Batio studied them. "Good morning Lieutenant Baito, sir." They stood in frozen posture. These men weren't military hardened. They'd graduated from the class room and slid right into working. Batio could tell just by looking at them.
"At ease." He offered and watched their rigid posture drop to a more natural one. The oldest one of the four other men was probably in his early twenties, still a decade younger then Batio. He'd been like that once before, joining up shortly after the Cylon War. Then shortly after that near countless inter-colony conflict. Fighting machines may have been physically harder, but psychologically fighting other humans passed that mark. Once after he had joined while fighting a insurrection group during some small unimportant battle, what it would have been like if the Cylon forces had been human. Would be fighting them been easier? Probably yes, probably no.
Looking among the group, "Go about your business." He offers putting his arms behind his back and walks off toward one of the passage ways. The stark gray of the inner halls of the battlestar met him. A majority of the staff on this old ship had been dismissed to attend the decommission of the Galactica, or to take shore leave. It'd been well over due. The Demeter had been trolling around pointlessly along the Cylon/Colony Boarder. Nothing had come that way, nothing ever would come that way.
He began to think of old times. His friend Bill and Saul, both ahead of him in their careers but still willing to pal around with a young nugget. And how Saul's wife was willing to sleep with anyone in the service at anytime. This brought a grin to his face, he'd never tell Saul but it was one of his favorite secrets. He walked through the deck on the way to CIC, unaware of the presence following him as he made his way.
A presence that had been following him for sometime now, even as he spoke to the swabbies in the hanger. He was unaware of it, right up to the point where the two blades broke through his body with quick and brutal ease, unaware of it as he already was two feet off the ground, unaware of it until right before he died.\
The young Unblooded lowered his cloak. The human male hanging from his blades, hot wet liquid, it's blood, pouring out onto the ground. This would be his first trophy, this is what would earn him his name: Quick-Blade. He emitted a wet chattering sound in pleasure as his mandibles worked against one another.
Removing the skull was easy, this Soft Meat was like all others of its kind. With his natural heat vision, he watched hot spill out all over the deck. Re-initializing his cloak Quick-Blade faded easily into the shadows and went off into the deeper darker parts of the battlestar.
Brown, the senior swabby suppressed a shudder. "Hey Flywheel, you and Pork-chop get to cleaning those Vipers yet?" He asks returning to his mop and bucket and swabbing the flight deck. "We got to be tip top shape by next week. Someone from the Picon shipyards is coming to do a spot inspection. And I don't mean half ass it Flywheel, I want you and guys to at least to spend half of your work shift actually working.."
Pork-chop just smirked and Flywheel responded with his ever present, "Frak you." And like always Mouse was left in the background not really saying anything to anyone or interacting much. It was almost to the point where the three had all but forgotten about him. He'd been there longer then any of the other swabbies but not made any real friends, he was the short that just showed up and did his job and left when it was done.
Somewhere further away in the depths of the ship there was a dull thud which echoed around the flight deck. The four men stopped what they were doing. That cold feeling returned in Brown's stomach, and his hands started to shake.