The bridge of the ancient dreadnought became a chaotic deathtrap. The ancient, rusted defense turrets groaned to life, spitting out slow, heavy blasts of orange plasma.
Ilsa and her Iron Wolves were forced to scatter, using the broken consoles and fallen support beams as cover in the zero-gravity environment.
The Silent Watcher, his face calm and serene amidst the chaos, simply stood by the captain's chair, a silent conductor to a symphony of destruction.
"Take out those turrets!" Ilsa barked, her voice cutting through the noise of the plasma fire.
Her soldiers moved with a disciplined, deadly grace. They launched themselves from wall to wall, their magnetic boots giving them purchase on the twisted metal.
They fired their precision rifles, aiming for the joints and power conduits of the ancient, slow-moving turrets. One by one, the million-year-old guns exploded in showers of sparks and rusted metal.
