You grab the nearest plasma rifle and scurry down the partially darkened halls. It's quiet without the usual hum of the ship; you feel like you could hear anything. That's how you feel, but you don't hear a thing until it's too late. The beam of white hot light eats through your torso in a milisecond. You don't die right away; you do get a moment to see the tentacle-encrusted face of your attacker. If he has a mouth, it might be smiling, but you can't be too sure. Whatever face it's making is the last thing you ever see.