[Charlie Fox - Transporter Room 2, Deck 5 -> The Killing Floor, Jupiter Star]

Charlie spared a grin that looked a shade rueful when the Commander spoke, but remained silent. It was a first for her too, but she had no doubt in her mind that the amount of people on the Mac who could appreciate that could be counted on one hand. Subconsciously she sucked in a breath and held it as the Transporter Chief energised their transport.

She should have kept a hold of her breath. Breathing in the stench of the scene that met them upon their arrival was worse than the sight itself. 

Behind her, Olsen's white spotlight clicked on, illuminating the three mutilated people with even more clarity. "F**kin' 'ell." Her lips then pressed together as she scanned the remains, unable to stop herself or look away, as she tried and failed to assign names to these poor unfortunates. There was nothing clean about these kills, in fact there was nothing ordinary about them, at all. She couldn't discern a possible cause of death by glance alone, but any number of their injuries could have been responsible. She thought she was holding it together quite well, until she caught a glimpse of what could only be a humanoid's intestine, flopping out of a jagged hole in someone's torso.

"Excuse me," she blurted out, before stepping to the side and losing some of her breakfast.

Charlie loved to eat. What she loved even more was eating small portions of lots of things; that way she felt she never missed out. And so that morning, in a bid to take advantage of limitless replicator access, she'd had all the components of a Full English, separated, with tea, a pancake, a slice of French toast with berries and maple syrup and a mushroom and cheese omelette. Thanks to her buffet breakfast, there was plenty in her stomach to upchuck all over the Star's bulkheads. Though luckily, she managed to keep a lid on some of the meal. "Oh hi, portobellos." They had been the last thing she'd ate, and the general rule was last in, first out... 

A cold sweat had broken out on her forehead and her skin turned a deathly shade of pale when she noticed where exactly she'd managed to aim. Inwardly she groaned, missing the exchange about splitting up entirely as she stared at the splatter on the shiny, polished boots. Then her eyes traveled upward, slowly, her face twisted into a cringe as her gaze came to a stop when it met Ensign Lieutenant Niles' face.

"I am so, so sorry," she ground out from her hunched-over position, and actually meant it. A little. Meanwhile, her hovering holorecorder was buzzing around, dutifully cataloguing all of the horror.