Reed's Perspective:
A small distance from Decon laid the main area of sickbay, a room with soft, white pillows, and colorful decorations to be found random. A room where the hordes of crewmen would come to complain about whatever their superficial "injuries" consisted of. In between however, was a completely different matter.
In the stretch from those locations was a hallway, a hallway known by its numerous travelers, by the men and women who had walked its length, without the kindness and care of sickbay. Its atmosphere was one of dread for the people whose fate had not been in lucks hand.
When required, the Decon Chamber had a second usage, a perfectly clean, sterile space, for the dead that could be recovered.
It was in this mini corridor which Lieutenant Reed found himself, stalking across the yards. His back was hunched slightly, and with the manner of his slow, tentative steps, Reed struck the pose of a man ready for action.
A whisper through the air, and his body set flying into motion. Neck snapped around as he dropped to a steady crouch, the rest of his frame quickly whirling to follow its head.
Nothing.
With an indiscernible mutter, its connotation more a growl than anything else, he gave the area one last survey, before returning to his forward path.
First things first, he had to eliminate Tucker. The crew would no doubt have some foolish notions of loyalty regarding the southerner.
For Malcom Reed was no fool, he knew that an open confrontation would end in Tucker's favor, the damn man had a way of winning people over.
Not to mention he's my superior officer.
A snarl erupted on his face, contorting the already creased lines.
He is not superior!
Reed didn't give a damn about rank, not even the real meaning of that title. To the concepts of his crazed mind he could only understand one word, and only one meaning.
He is not superior!
The urge to slam the wall, to kick and scream in indignation and screech his truths to the universe, it was strong. His body shook with restrained energy, the vibrations flowing to the tips of his fingers as in stark contrast, below the Englishman's waist twitched nothing.
It would be so simple, just to let his arm lash out- just-, pound the wall until his hands were blue and knuckles bled-, he could just-
No!
He couldn't alert his enemies, they were somewhere, just waiting to spring out and take advantage of his weakness.
With a sudden twitch he glanced behind him, eyes searching the vicinity with deadly precision, glaring around the corridor as if to stare down its silver colored walls.
Yes, when the cowards showed themselves he would be ready. An iron will, taking grip of his mind quelled the shaking in his upper body. Fists bunched viciously, fingernails clawing at themselves as arms lay rigid at his sides.
I have to conserve my strength.
Yes, but he was stronger than them, and while his brain worked, and his body crept closer to sickbay, a feral grin took place on his features and eyes glazed over.
I am stronger than him, stronger than Tucker, and he will know it at the moment of his death…