Goddamnit, why can't I stop playing that game.

Ship Name: NTRS Exodus
Ship Class: Mobile Station
Ship Wikia Link and Image
Notable Crew:
+Captain: Chris Donut, a drunkard who doesn't actually do any work. He's largely considered a figurehead.
+HoP: ???: A mysterious man, he often disappears quickly into the shift. Calls for job changes and new IDs go unanswered. The detective is on a constant quest to find this mythical Head of Personnel. His department consists of a chef, a bartender, four Botanists, a QM, three Cargo Techs, four shaft miners, and the assistants.
+HoS: Vladimir Rein, considered the person in actual power of the station, he and his security officers enforce a strict brand of preemptive justice (which often means grouping up to dogpile and harm baton the clown). His department consists of two lawyers, a magistrate, eight security officers, a noir-style detective, a warden, and two brig physicians.
+CE: Dylan Riker: He's different from the RD and CMO in the way that his department actually listens to him, most of the time. His department consists of eight engineers, three atmospheric technicians, a mechanic (Who's a megalomaniac who wants nothing more then to get a scan on a gun and gleefully use his new toy.), and the maintenance drones.
+CMO: Sploosh, a slime person. He does everything in the medbay because everyone under him does fuck-all. His department consists of two chemists, six medical doctors, a psychiatrist, two surgeons, and three geneticists.
+RD: Halinder Meack, he's essentially the teacher of a class of retarded manbabies who have the capability to destroy the entire station. His department is a hive of scum and villainy, and don't actually listen to him at all. Under his (Technical, but not in practice) command, there is five scientists, two roboticists, three xenoarcheologists, two xenobiologists, and Ol' Harner the guardbuddy.
+The Clown: Honkers Wonkers, robuster and thief extraordinaire. A veteran of the Clown-Mime war, he has a hatred for Mimington.
+The Mime: Mimington, a silent expert of the arts, he is a veteran of the Clown-Mime war, and the assassin of King Squiggles the Eighth. The clown wants his head for this act.
+The AI: Commie Bot 9000, an AI who is looking for every chance to commit mass homicide while constantly spouting Communism propaganda. He is in command of four engie borgs, three medical bots, a mining bot, four service bots, and five security bots.
+Officer Beepsky: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hu3D1yH2WYM (He is THE LAW.)
+The Graytide: The wave of assistants who are the rival to Security, they never remove their badge of honor - the gray jumpsuit - and know whether to report a crime or not based on the color of the criminal's clothing. They never give up on fellow assistants, and one being arrested means the rest will arm up with improvised weapons and raid the brig. They can usually be found yelling about how superior assistants are compared to the rest of the crew.

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Pre-Departure Scene: The detective leaned back in his chair, eying the television screen beside him. A view of the Botany department flickered on the screen, where the Botanists could be seen hard at work growing food and weed alike. He, five minutes earlier, had managed to find the HoP's fingerprints on the maintenance door in there. The Botanists had told him they were all too high to have noticed anybody coming in. Yet another trail, gone cold. He reached forward slowly, taking a pack of cigarettes from the top of his desk. Flicking the top of the packet open, he drew one of the tobacco rolls and put it in his mouth, coolly popping the top of his Zippo open, lighting the end of the cigarette in a single smooth movement. The station was quiet. Too quiet. Where were the explosions? The screams? Was there a stealthy wizard, or a Syndicate Nuclear crew in disguise? Perhaps Changelings or vampires? A traitor with the affinity for the silent? Perhaps the AI was malfunctioning, and biding it's time to activate the self destruct?

He emerged from his chair, packing up his forensics equipment. If there was villainy happening, then he would be the one to find it. Perhaps he could even locate the HoP in his search. As he walked to the door that lead to the hallway, the station suddenly shook, nearly throwing him to his feet. A klaxon blared for a moment, before being drowned out by the robotic voice of Commie Bot 9000. "Warning," it called, "the station is now entering a Macho ring. Perhaps they will teach you filthy capitalist pigs a lesson."

The radio burst into chatter moments after, filling with the doom sayings of the crew.

"We're fucked!"
"Welp, I'm out of here."
"OH GOD HE'S PILEDRIVING ME"
"Micro men spotted in Enginee-Gaaah!"
"They just broke into Genetics!"

He drew his .38 shooter, a gun of old that packed a punch, though he knew it would do little to a Macho Man. Even a single Macho Man could destroy the station, let alone the hundreds smashing against the hull, breaking through with ease. For a moment, he contemplated the escape pod. It wouldn't work, the Macho Men could easily catch up to such a craft. The station suddenly trembled, as the sound of a thousand of them rang out.

"I WOULD LIKE TO THANK THE WRESTLI-"

They never finished. There was a blinding flash, then silence.