CIC: 1137<br/><br/>Kol snapped his eyes over towards the active comlink, then lifted his own. "McKeon, you're in command. I have to go see if the Engineering crew won't blow up the ship with their squabbling."<br/><br/>A moment later, he stalked out of the CIC, pausing only long enough to ensure that his sidearm was available, just in case, then moved quickly towards the stern, the look on his face promising a slow, painful death to anyone that dared interfere.<br/><br/>Engineering: 1145<br/><br/>Pausing to catch his breath, he looked down from the catwalk halfway up the main engineering deck, watching as A dozen guys tried to subdue Commander Solange, while one man, separate from the group, picked up a particularly large pipe, with malicious intent written all over his face.<br/><br/>Kol's response was immediate, drawing his pistol, and settling into a weaver-style stance, both hands steadying the eight-pound weapon as he lined up and fired, the blast of the Slughthrower Echoing around the room, counterpointed by the dull clank of the pipe, neatly blown in half, falling to the floor. "ATTENTION!"<br/><br/>Kol did not bother to holster his pistol, the wisp of grey smoke coming from the barrel adding emphasis to his scowl. "Commander Solange, ~Ensign~ Jacobson. Supply 113. NOW." He pointed with the gun at a small supply closet just behind him, then waited, scowling.