The bridge was a gruesome scene. A pile of corpses was stacked methodically in the exact center of the bridge. Blood flowed freely, though some bodies showed not a mark. Some were little more than a gory pulp, sometimes the limbs were ripped off and stacked. All-in-all, every single person died a different, yet equally gruesome, way. And there, at the pinnacle of the mountain of bodies, was Alec Lekkas, his skin black and blue and bloated. They had ruptured every blood vessel in his body and let him bleed to death from the inside. The ghosts surveyed the damage, looking pleased with the results.
In unison they turned to look at the forward instrument blister, an assortment of different panels and wires which were now covered with blood. A light sobbing could be heard, though it was obvious it was trying to be suppressed. Hiding beneath the controls was a young woman, who had witnessed the massacre and had done her best to hide herself from certain death, though the ghosts could feel her presence. She was on the verge of trying to scratch her eyes out with her finger nails. She had delicate features, and fair complexion, though it was marred by tears, fear, and a lot of blood, though none her own. They chuckle to themselves and phase through the bulkhead. Unbelieving at first - surely she should be dead, should have died with her comrades! - she scrambles over the consoles and to her feet and hesitantly, at first, walks to the door leading to the outside. Her pace increases until she's at a dead run, through the door and the anteroom, down the hallway, running to escape memory, escape the pure terror and homicidal glee she had seen. She trips on what appears to be a wrench, which she picks up and keeps running. Anything to guard from memories and ghosts, even if it doesn't do much against either.
About a hundred yards down the corridor, she came across a lone marine, who looked more than a little spooked. "Thank god," he said with relief, "I was beginning to think I was the only one still alive!" She didn't hear him however. All she saw was the ghost's face, mocking here with a Corsair's body. My god, it was awful! She swung the wrench with all her might at the Corsair, hitting him in the head, screaming as blood covered her, screaming and sobbing. He lay there, his head a bloody pulp, brain matter sticking out the top and leaking fluids, but ghost gone. Ghost gone. Laughter goaded her to run faster - it was still alive! Onward she ran, now looking for someplace to hide. Into a locker room, she beat at the padlock on the first locker with the bloody wrench until it fell off, opened it, only to see a ghost waiting. Screaming, she slammed it shut and ran back through the door and down again. This couldn't be happening!
Further and further, she tried the next locker room. In this one, all the lockers had no locks, though she paid it no mind. She ripped open the first one and saw the same thing she had seen with the Corsair marine - the ghost had taken another Corsair over, and hid him in the locker to wait for her! Swinging again, he died much like his predecessor. Then she saw the lockers opening, with much the same result. Ghosts everywhere. Panicking, she reached down and drew the hand gun from the Corsair she had just killed, pulling it out of the holster and firing wildly, the Tizona-model pulse shots ripping through bodies. Laughter. Had to stop the laughter! Tempted to just turn the gun on herself, to stop the madness, something took control of her arm and moved the gun away from her temple. The ghost was in her! It's at that point where she gave up, and broke down crying, while the ghosts around her laughed endlessly, taking joy in her pain and terror.
The laughter slowly faded away, leaving her to weep, balled up, while surrounded by the bodies of her brethren that she had killed herself.
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