This right here was the kind of shit that gave Sem a headache and a half for weeks.

It was bad enough he had to be screaming through space in what amounted to a metal tin can, hoping no one would happen to so much as [i]graze[/i] them in the crossfire. That they would be boarding an enemy ship with no real hope of recall or retreat other than taking the damn thing was just a bonus. The real kicker, though, was that he was strapped inside a tin can heading on a mission with no hope of retreat with a whole [i]squad[/i] of troops at least as anxious as he was. War, he was pretty convinced, was no place for a zeltron at the best of times. Being able to hear the feelings and thoughts of the people around ([i]-don'tletmediehere-neversaidgoodbye-lastmealwasfuckingrations-itsokitsokitsok-[/i]) made it awful hard to dehumanize your enemy, to ignore the people's pain around you and focus on crushing out your own, which is why usually he preferred to be doing his part from as far away from other people as possible.

So naturally, they throw him into the [i]exact opposite[/i] situation. He was lucky like that.

"It's going to be fine, guys." He found himself chuckling under his breath to no one in particular. "First one to the bridge gets to be 'Captain' all trip." It was a pretty weak joke, but a few smiles cracked here and there. Good ol' Sem. 'Least he tried.

Anything else he was going to say went out the window--or, more importantly, the boarding hatch as it popped open and they humped it out into the ship. From there it was actually easier for Sem in some ways. He had to hand it to the Liberators, when the time came to get shit done they buckled down and did it. Thoughts of death turned to thoughts of training, taking defensive positions, covering corners, and it was easier to slip in among it all and let his own thoughts of a cold, breathless death disappear. As the mild opposition began to appear, Sem got to work doing what Sem's did.

Shoot.

It was the one thing he was really, [i]really[/i] good at. Half instinct, half training, half voodoo for all he cared, he had this part of the job down pat. An Imperial down the way--engineer or something, nice guy, Sem managed to pick up about as much as [i]whatthefrag[/i] before the left side of his head disappeared. Stock to shoulder, barrel up, no need to look down the scope now just pop-pop-pop. He'd found a corner, shoulder pressed into metal grating, some annoying little button or another flashing in front of his eyes, but as they leapfrogged their way down to engineering he didn't have much time to do anything but focus and shoot.

Don't think. Just shoot.

By the time they were pinning down the doors, the ship rattling around them from the pirates--who oh, by the way, were supposed to be on [i]their[/i] side!--he'd gotten himself settled and was ready for war. Of the few things Sem was truly grateful for, his knee pads were one of them. Flat enough to be stable--none of this rolling rounded bullshit--and padded enough with the addition of a sock or two to be comfortable, they let him take up a firing position by the doorway like no other.

Sighting down the barrel towards the cleverly marked Aft Doorway, Sem widened his stance just slightly. Time to earn his meager paycheck.

"No one's getting through here, bossman." He said, as much to himself as anyone else. "Just like back home."