The dull light shown forth from his monitor, dimly lighting up his personage; gas mask sat on his head, pulled back to reveal his identity, causing his hair to freely poke out in tufts here and there without much rhyme nor reason. Eyes a-squint so as to make out what he was paying attention to: Approve, approve, approve, approve, approve- you'd think he might give a bit of thought as to what he was approving, and he had. Well, when he put in his own requisitions, he had.

After all, the black gloves encasing his hands were of little to no use to him and his plans. He stood up from his rolling chair, neglecting to move it at any moment during the process, and stepped away after sending for his shuttle. The Quartermaster hadn't shown up for his shift today, not that such was surprising in any capacity. This far out in the arm of the galaxy, and there was little quality control heard of from Central Command.

Having his ID secured within his PDA, he'd walk on up to the door separating the public cargo from its slightly more secure bay, the door happily parted and allowed him passage, the telltale accompaniment of air supposedly equalizing as he passed between and moved his way onto where quite a few empty crates had built up(due in part perhaps to the constant lack of crew upon the station).

He took a few moments to place a crate in front of him, and another behind, pushing and pulling the things on out to the bay, and onto the conveyor belt; he'd repeat the process several times, until the room laid empty and all the crates were destitute on the conveyor, idly noting the time left until the shuttle docked- and, there it was, late again. Perhaps Centcomm itself was understaffed indefinitely, as the shuttle never ever seemed to arrive on time.

He pulled the PDA from his side to his hand, looking over the Manifest for a moment, noting the skeleton crew he had to work with. Naught to worry, he thought to himself, the proper crew would itself arrive person by person, and all things would function proper. The shuttle docked with a sudden lurch, and he flipped the switch that opened the bay doors, the aforementioned crates marching one by one inward. He himself boarded it, and began to load up the crates to the outward conveyor. Ring-a-ding-ding.

He gave a little start at the noise before making his way back to the front desk, idly looking through the windoor at the patron who stood before him, dressed much like himself, though a bit more grey- gas mask on top, grey jumpsuit covering his body, hardly taut and definitely loose-fitting. He pursed his lips in thought as he'd approach his chair, looking to him.

"Whatcha nee--"

"Gloves."

He gave a slight frown; he had already ordered such as that and he in all honesty expected the prompt demand, though found it lacking in Please and any other such words to pretty up the requisition. He gave a slight smirk, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yeah. I don't think uh... I don't think you need those pal. Gonna hafta get a stamp, y'know?"

He could feel the assistant glare at him(feel being the best description, because one couldn't make anything out through that unfeeling mask) but a reply came soon enough:

"No engineers. Someone has to set up power."

The Cargo Tech stewed over it for a moment, sighing. Can't argue with logic such as that, or at least, you can't argue with it and not feel the wrath come upon you. With a silent whatever ironically coming from his mind's eye, he vacated the desk and returned momentarily, tossing the gloves onto the table.

"Enjoy." He would comment, though merely to empty air, as the assistant grabbed 'em and went on.

Moments later, a peculiarity would occur; lights dimming and shutting off, blinking, pointing at the honesty of the assistant's words, though the cargo tech cared little for it. He made his way back into his domain, his bay, and popped open a crate or two; he'd toss his gloves back into his locker, trading them out for the insulated yellow variety, and he fiddled for a moment with a toolbelt, carefully taking each tool from it one by one, and placing them into a plastic bag tied about his waist.

 A hundred or so years ago a stupid decision, but plastics had become so advanced by that point, they could withstand the cleaving nature of a flathead screwdriver with relative ease.

He approached the APC upon his wall, inspecting it for a moment or so, before reaching his hand blindly into his bag, feeling about before pulling the screwdriver, popping it open and running his finger down as he counted the wires before rolling his eyes and giving his head a quick shake; fucking goddamn multitool. He had left it upon the table. He back pedaled back towards the lobby, having to take a moment to register: The goddamn Captain himself had walked into his lobby, and he took a moment to collect himself. He was torn between giving a terse salute, and, well...

Well, he reached right into his backpack, procuring his revolver. He walked directly towards the Captain in question, pressing it direct as he could to his forehead. With a gut-shuddering roar the bullet flew from its barrel, neatly between either side of his brain, the shock wave reducing much of it to a conglomeration of torn grey and white matter, followed by another, and once his draining body lay twitching on the floor he let loose another two shots: A quick look about his environs, and he drug him quickly to the bay area.

He left what may be considered a red carpet welcoming in the wake of the soon-to-be corpse, though with the lack of fabric making up the floor outside of the color it's not much of a comparison, if anything barely allegorical, but he soon removed every bit of clothing and item from the man's body, leaving his gasping naked body in the confines of his locker, as much use to him at that point as his gloves had been, locking the thing shut as he did.

"The Cargo Technician, Edward Monte, has killed the Captain."

The cold unfeeling tone of voice greatly belied its obvious distress to harm befalling a human, and certainly did not match the surge of emotion that pumped forth from Ed's heart in that moment. This was certainly not a good thing. He grabbed the Captain's treasured laser gun, a piece of work that had seen action many times over, plopping it unceremoniously within his pack, and immediately exited out towards maintenance.

"AI, locate Edward."

"His location is unknown; his suit sensors are deactivated."

Oh, right- he'd never turned them on. He gave a few moments of thought before making a quick u-turn, standing again in his bay, he took no time looking around his environs before heading back into the lobby, carefully looking about- it was quite dim at this point, so he couldn't much tell if anyone lurked in the darkness, but it mattered little- he deactivated the flushing mechanism on the trash bin, and hopped inside, cowering down below the lip.

The voice who asked for affirmation of his location was the same as the Assistant who had unceremoniously asked for the gloves earlier, so he knew he'd have no issue breaking in, however... it seemed that he hadn't gotten power running proper before. He pondered why as he stewed in a mix of his own fear and anxiety, keeping his breathing as inaudible as he might.

"AI, where is the Captain?", the assistant queried.

"Location: Cargo bay. He is in the Cargo Tech's locker."

Soon following was a beacon of light shining down the hallway, the assistant being the source of it. He could see him just so as he reached the front door; he wedged his crowbar betwixt where either side of the lock fell shut, forcing it open and repeating such for the inner bay door: It was now or never, he thought, as the grey shirt made his way into the bay.

He left the confines of the bin, following behind in the relative darkness, ready to strike, with the locker coming into view of them both. The situation changed with alarming immediacy, however, as the lock busted and the door of the locker opened with a quick shudder.

Ed stood silent, cloaked by the lack of light, a mix of unsure horror twisted his gut in the moment: Captain stepped towards  the lowly employee, the gaping holes in his head still withstanding, though he looked quite alive as far as the definition of alive might stick.

Almost immediately the Captain was on top of the other, who immediately fell silent and stiff, the Cap clenching his grip about the other's throat,  skull splitting down the middle to reveal much more than remnants of brain, tendrils creeping forward and investigating the other's still form,  proboscis  peeking out bit by bit before it penetrated the other.

This most certainly explained the complete lack of employees stationed in each of their departments: Changeling had apparently taken unto itself the identity of the Captain, pulling each of their forms into his own pool of genetic material. Ed slid the mask over his face, grabbing the multitool had hadn't pilfered from the table and sliding it into his bag, and skulking out the open front door into darkness.

Time was clearly of the essence, and he had little of it. Taking his crowbar into his hands he jarred the airlocks barring access to the bridge open, stepping onto it, and shutting them behind him, welding them shut behind him. He directly walked before the APC, reading over it: No power coming in, no juice left in the battery, either.

He sighed, pulling the Captain's ID from his pack, waving over it and disengaging the lock, taking his crowbar and prying it open, pulling the battery out and tossing it to the side, rushing to the nearby table, grabbing the battery off of it, and replacing it into the APC, slapping it shut. Lights flew on, causing his pupils to shrink as the buzz of all the consoles rang lightly in his ears. In some ways, the light was comforting.

The fact that they now expanded to illuminate the horrific form of the Captain standing outside the airlocks, did not bring any sort of comfort, however. They locked eyes for a moment, if one might call what the Cap used for sight to be eyes of any sort(as far as he knew they were merely a distraction) and he noted the fella hardly resembled the Captain by any measure at that point.

He had shed his uniform completely, now a mass of raging tendrils and... as he wasn't a scientist proper, well, he hadn't the proper verbiage to describe what now stood before him(though he vaguely remembered such being at the very end of his Science textbook which described to him the end-all be-all of ling existence).

"Hey buddy. Let me in there with you, friend", rang the other's voice, clear as day- quite humane, if he didn't know facts to the contrary. A simple horizontal nod was all he could manage, his throat clenched in wary fear, as his fist pounded the emergency shutter switch on the wall.

Shutters came down with a wicked bang, leaving him to stand there, taking a long patient inhale followed by a labored exhale, eyes shut in the relative peace he was now left in. Hand clenched the multitool again, wavering it over the cabinet holding the ax, pulling the thing open a moment later and clenching it in both hands. He shut down the APC's power, pulling out the battery and putting it back into his pack, heading to the Captain's quarters, using the ax as a makeshift crowbar, shutting it behind him- he cracked open the windoor with little regard to the all access he held, and sat in a heap in the Captain's chair(called such due to affiliation, rather than design).

He leaned casually enough back into the chair, eyes moving towards the top of his skull in a light lull to watch over the countdown: eight minutes ETA, seven minutes ETA, six, and finally, five- to which he stood up with a huff, taking the mask from his face and tossing it to the side. He popped open the Cap's personal locker, looking within, and there it sat: Cap's personal set of armor. He'd hardly need it at that point, so he grabbed it on out, and donned it piece by piece.

He grabbed ahold of the ax by the end of its handle, taking those few choice steps towards the door to the teleporter, prying it on open, unfortunately popping open only to reveal the mass of tendrils which had acclimated to represent the captain to his mind's eye. Instinct took over, and he pulled the cap's trusty laser from his pack: Smell of burnt flesh immediately overpowered him as he fired blindly before him.

Each shot rang quite true until the click no longer long accompanied the buzzing ring of a laser shot- rechargeable battery spent, he dropped it, and with that hand free, putting the bottom and top of the handle of the fire ax in hand, and with  a determined huff, swung the thing over his head, cleaving his head(where his head ought to be, one might say) quite asunder.

Ironically, this did not seem to deter the thing in any manner of speaking. It sunk into its form with a sickening squelch, continuing its push towards him. He tried for a moment to pull the ax out, but he seemed to have sunk it on in too well- he gave a halfhearted pull a time or two, but soon gave up, falling backwards onto his ass, scrambling backwards until he hit the wall.

The ling lurched forward, almost comically  slamming into the wall as he rolled to the side, ripping the wall completely out of place, fire ax clattering to the ground behind it. He was a bit stunned by this display of power, watching a bit speechless, but soon composed, collecting his gumption and grabbing ahold of the ax again. He ran through the hole the ling made giving a well-intended kick to its backside(albeit useless) and swung the ax into the remaining airlock, prying it open and rushing on out into the darkness.

Heart was a flutter, high as hell on adrenaline as he blindly fumbled with his PDA- to say the station floating amidst the blanket of space was dark at the moment would be an understatement well below accurate. He blindly felt before him: The window of the bar, the wall... the plastic and metal and glass of the hallway door. Thunk and twist, and it gave way to him to run through. Blindly he made his way down the hallway, little sound to accompany himself besides the dull thunks of his own foot falls ringing in his ear- and he ran smack into the next set of doors, falling down with a dull pain radiating from his face, shaking his head.

He took hold of the ax a final time, making his way into the escape lobby, tilting his head to the side, pulling the captain's helmet from his face so as to better see, and walking up to the escape airlocks, giving a strong swing upon it, though finding an unusual resistance. He clicked on the light upon his PDA to find something most disturbing: Charred marks indicating the doors were welded shut. A glance to the nearby monitor gave way to a bit of panic: The shuttle had arrived, with thirty seconds to departure. No matter, just put the helmet back on, attach the oxygen...

A soft organic pad could be faintly heard down the hallway, as he turned about to barely make out the bloodied walking abomination slowly cutting down the distance between himself and it. No fucking time: He took the ax and met it with the metal and glass blocking himself from the dead of space again and again, until with a sudden flushing rush of air, he and the debris were swept out into space, helmet floating off to the side, ax on the other, himself tumbling in slow, disorienting semi circles as he went.

He reached out a tired hand, grabbing the handle of ax, and reaching down to his bag with the other, throwing his tools out into the blank space opposite the shuttle, tools flinging out one by one scattered across the emptiness, flinging him against the front porthole of the shuttle.

With the sweltering boiling blood maddening his mind, it was all he could do to take ax and shatter it open himself tumbling inside just as the engines ignited, sending the shuttle out at maddeningly incomprehensible speed. Gasping and suckling at the vacuum he occupied, he threw himself against the door separating the bridge from the passenger's area, fingers clenching as he scrambled to pass through the howling wind that escaped.

Forcing the door shut as he scrambled through, he took a few heavy steps inside before collapsing on the shuttle floor, gasping hard at the welcome atmos, eye's bloodshot after being subjected to such inhumane conditions, he lay on his back. Shuttle was fully functional, but he could feel his consciousness fading, light slowly seeping away.

Even with his limited consciousness, he was dimly aware of another individual nearby, who knelt over him. Even prior to the other lifting his gas mask up from obscuring his face, he recognized the colors of his jumpsuit- it was the Quartermaster. A feeling of relief washed over him; they had gotten quite close in what little time they'd gotten to know one another, so he would surely ensure his safe and hospitable passage back to Centcomm. He could get patched up- eyes rolled to the back of his head as he craned his neck to watch him walk away, clearly to the mini medbay, to do some basic first aid.

Excellent, just fucking great, this all worked out great. He managed to complete his mission, to assassinate the Captain, and when he got back, he could report to NT that he ousted a Ling who had taken over the Cap's identity, maintaining his subterfuge within the organization. Hell, the Syndicate might give him a damn raise for a most excellent job- he had, after all, by far gone above and byond with all that he had done.

He shut his eyes for a moment, breathing easy, relief washing over him. When he opened them again, the QM stood over him, smirking just so, more of a grimace reflecting some kind of internal regret.

"Sorry, Eddy. I go it alone from here."

He didn't really feel it when the .38 caliber ricocheted about his skull- hell, he hadn't even noticed the gun pointed at him.