[center][h1][color=17A589]Carla Lobo[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/AlgqrF5ontmmc/giphy.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=17A589][b]Location:[/b][/color] Bridge -> Harper's Quarters[/center][hr]

The Black faded away as the woman with her face pressed up to glass focused on the fog of perspiration collecting just outside of her peripherals. She pushed herself off the glass with one hand and wiped the fragile barrier clean with the other. Her heel spun her around to one crew member on the bridge. Quinn had that meeting with the dandy and Foy. Carla took a deep breath and adjusted the fit of her gloves. [b][color=17A589]"Not dead. So it could be something else."[/color][/b] [i][color=17A589]Do I wanna know?[/color][/i]

An uneasiness crept up on Carla as she exited the bridge and made her usual rounds to find empty hallways and empty tables. [i][color=17A589]Where were the regulars? Where were the soldiers prepping to relief the crew on the bridge--well, crew [b]member[/b] now.[/color][/i] One of the most dangerous men she knew was in a meeting with the captain and a stranger who had higher clearance than her. The crew wasn't substantial to start but the manpower had been gutted close to the point that the passageways felt empty. 

[b][color=17A589]"Quinn...Alliance...Nose trimmers..."[/color][/b] she muttered under her breath as she turned a corner. 

Carla had an intense disdain for plots and scheming. She was usually at the end of such machinations and cut through them easily. They ended hilariously pointless more often than not. Being owned by the Alliance brought scheming and pointless need-to-know intel to her daily routine to the point that she found herself in a meeting to killing ratio of 15 to 1.

She made note of the shift as she passed the dining room and the crew that were usually eating or getting ready to relieve the ghosts that should be on board the bridge. She counted two regulars and six missing crew members. [i][color=17A589]Re-trace your steps.[/color][/i] She replayed the day in her head. From waking, to checking onboard, to the delays, to a brand new pilot--[i][color=17A589]No. A Wu Ming Shao Jwu. Hard to notice among a crew. So why make him so obviously new and out of place?[/color][/i] She briefly thought of Quinn being in danger but reasoned against it. She wagered Foy would have tried to kill her first.

Carla made a 180 mid-stride and found a bulkhead terminal. She made no effort to hide her steps and made a cursory view of the now vacant quarters of the crew. Empty within seconds of each other. An order was given and all non-essential personnel were cleared out. Only the crew needed to pilot and keep this ship from blowing out of the sky were left. [b][color=17A589]"Right after you checked onboard. Harper."[/color][/b] She said aloud to a sparse personnel file of the pilot that just checked on board. She logged out of the public terminal and made her way to the crew quarters. To Harper's assigned cabin.

She knocked three times, took a step back, and tucked her thumbs into her belt. A healthy cynicism of everything around her was one of the reasons she was still alive. Carla made it a personal policy to disregard the machinations around her, but this routine mission was turning more and more into a sloppily put together cover-up. The hasty nature of it was unusual enough to spur her into action. He deserved her attention.