Do yosu rsdfsun, orsgdsgfuff?adsfsaf

I watch in awe as the IKS P'Rong pushed itself into the surface of the unnamed moon, retrorockets glaring futilely, doing nothing more but adding to the fireball.  It crumples into the moon, becoming another large mushroom cloud obscuring the horizon.  The glassing will burn the atmosphere clean off this poor world.  The natives flee, running as fast as their elephantine legs will propel them.  Some fall to their knees, praying.  Others are engulfed in flame.  Among my final thoughts is a recollection of the past three hours.  I remember everything so vividly... The ambush, the anomaly, Jesus... Then the portal.  They poured out like hornets out of a nest.  

 

It started as every good ambush does, with a distress signal.  I was just another redshirt on the bridge when the Klingons hailed us and spouted their usual bullshit.  "You have no honor, we are the best in the universe, prepare to die something something".  We raised our shields and downed three war-birds with ease. Our ship was a Soyuz class.  /The/ Soyuz class.  NCC-1930.  Not just a heavy destroyer, it was damn near the heaviest destroyer in the fleet.  It was the old prototype refit to modern specifications, but they left the testbed paint on for luck.  The saucer was clad in white and orange checkers, and the nacelles and hull were a flat black, with yellow lines running vertically, like a bee's thorax.  This was the standard coloration for prototypes and testbeds, and considering the circumstances, it was very surprising they allowed the Captain to leave the paint on.  I guess he wanted his ship to be a special snowflake.  Which, I guess we are now, given that we single-handedly destroyed a small Klingon fleet and started a war between the Federation, and something that I can only describe as "Bizarro-world Federation", or "Terrans" as they called themselves.  The Klingons we half-expected.  The Terrans we only heard about in bar tales and through word of mouth, but we never really believed in them.  

 

We fully expected a fight, after all, our Starbase, Starbase 11 sent their resident dreadnought there, so we all knew that we might have to throw down.  And throw down we did.  Six war-birds, glistening in juxtaposition with the moon's bright red atmosphere uncloaked and engaged us.  The lowest our shields got was 60%, and they only lasted for four minutes.  It was a righteous massacre at the hands of the Federation.  After all, what's a few thousand dead if they're Klingons?  

 

Almost immediately after the carnage, we were hailed by a Vor'cha class dreadnaught that peaked out from behind the moon, with three other Vor'chas in tow.  They told us that a whole Klingon fleet is heading here.  We called them out on their shit, we all knew the Klingon war machine was stretched thin.  They've been losing the war, and we all knew it.      

 

A half an hour of leisurely combat left us with no shields, a compromised hull, six destroyed war-birds, three husks that used to be Vor'chas, and one ship of cowards.  A ship, the IKS P'Rong, surrendered after we destroyed their main impulse engines and forced them to eject their warp core.  All they could do was use their puffers to hobble around the wreckage.  After they surrendered and let us transport their weapons into our cargo bay, we knew something was up.  Their captain seemed too jovial for a broken Klingon.  He acted as if he didn't just see several thousand of his kind die, and renounce his honor in front of his whole crew.  Then we

FAGOT

The question was, do we run, or bluff?  The captain chose bluff, and the Terrans saw right through it.  The next thing I saw were a cloud of torpedoes rushing towards the bridge, the light from which eventually filled the screen, illuminating the room in a bright orange haze. The screen went dark, cracked, and bled black fluid onto the floor.  The lights burst, spraying everything with sparks and broken glass.  A perforated beam fell from the ceiling and crushed the Yeoman,