In a tight corridor of the cruiser, a woman tosses a trophy knife repeatedly, a glass of whiskey in her other hand. Her face is rugged, withered, obviously been through hell; her hair raises high, ashen, swirling in prickling strands perverted by dust and dirt; her metal battle armor glints under the florescent lights. Tied to her waist band is a magnum, as big as the woman's head, a snake carved into the side sliding up the barrel. There is also a broadsword, an electric transmitter tied to its leather-bound hilt, the blade double-sided, chipped, and yellow like the sun. She is fixated on the knife, hypnotized, watching it repeatedly pass through the air.