The hold of the cavernous black ship is stuffed full of people, creating an immense body heat that permeates everything. Despite the psykic shielding stopping any of the dangerous and unstable cargo from lashing out with their minds and hurting the others around them, a psykic sense of depression permeates the entire ship. The thousands of helpless men and women shoved into the cargo hold like farm animals. Most of them are dirty, unwashed and smelly. All of them are underfed. One man dangerously close by his coughing into a bloody rag, sending goblets of red flying across the room near him. Servo skulls and cherubrim hover over their heads, keeping the human cargo calm and making sure that order is kept. On the gantries above storm troopers move, looking down at them. They are to small to truly see at this distance and in the darkness of the high ceiling, but the lights on their guns shine from the gloom.
A man is looking closely at Fallin, he is big and unwashed and ugly, just like everyone else around her. He looks like he just really wants to hurt someone, the frustration that these people feel as they are shipped sometimes for decades at a time through the void is immense.