Surrounded. They hate her, but it's an empty hate, driven by an instinctual, quantum state.

She knows, because that hate is a part of her too.

She approaches them head on, presenting as wide of a target as she can, her pauldrons shining in a sea of undulating mouths.

The nearest takes the bait, unable to ignore its hunger.

That hunger is a part of her too. She empathizes as she turns slightly, and a dark, barbed appendage flicks past her cheek, causing sparks to chime off her armored shoulder.

The Taken Thrall can't recover before her Roderic-C tears its approximation of a leg to pieces, dropping its writhing skull directly in line with her muzzle.

Its death wail echoes in tandem with her sidearm, while its hunger for her lingers as its body shreds away at an atomic level. The shadows around her are equally starved. She knows, because she's starved too.

Unlike them, she controls it. For every shadow around her, beckoning her to join them, her muzzle cracks. She slips, she ducks, and everywhere she sees an opening, her will hardens. She throws her bones, wrapped in unrelenting plasteel, into the fray. She puts bullets in conjured brainstems, facts dispersing feelings.

Resolve got Sloane through Titan. Resolve will get her, and everyone still alive, through this. It's too late for Eris. It might be too late for Drifter, run off for the last time to who knows where, in the bowels of this living beast of a ship.

She turns slowly, looking for targets. Detecting no sentient shadows, she keys a switch on her armored gauntlet.

"Landing zone is clear. Keep the Dreadnaught patrols coming. We'll take it inch by inch if we have to."