The gentle vibrations up through the spinal column are a gentle reminder that the afterburner is powered full, while the visual hue tells that all stations are ready for minimum-notice warp. A feeling of calm washes the senses, oddly human in the artificial womb. The peaceful relapse is snatched away as a flashing in the void brings the sensors wheeling round. Across the empty gulf a presence is heard. The open channel growls into life;

"Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any sense of compassion."

Whirling together from the ether, a vessel broad and menacing materialises. The de-cloaked Panther grasps the Enemy as a wormhole rips a way into this reality. Traction interference alarms stab at the lower cortex. In the event horizon of the dimensional rift a whole fleet of warships bounds through the abhorrent tear. The hunter catches the prey. The pack gives chase.