Evelyn clung to the weapon, locking the Doctor with a wild-eyed, terrified stare as she stumbled back a few steps, the soles of her sneakers echoing hollowly on the metal grating beneath her feet. Everything was metal here on this broken down ship that drifted a slow, silent wake across the galaxy– but it wasn’t a clean, sleek, futuristic metal. It was twisted, gnarled, curling and branching creeping veins along the walls in almost organic ways, like something from H.R. Giger’s most horrific nightmares. Her hands, her shirt, her face were smeared with blood, a congealing gore that clung to her skin and pulsed with the residual echoes of the dying in her mind, of pain and terror and the impossible, dawning realization that descended on the victims that life was ending right here and right now– cut short, curtain call, ready or not, finis. None of the blood was hers.
“No. No! I saw you. Saw what you did… to those people…!” She had not thought him capable of such a thing, not in her brief span of knowing him, but she could not, however much she wanted to, deny what her own eyes had seen. The weapon jerked up to level at him in shaking hands. “Stay back!”