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by Morag

There were only 4 figures left, ranged in a semi-circle around the woman in black.

No one moved, no one breathed, their hearts beating as one with the music.

A trickle of sweat ran down the forehead of the man standing at the extreme right, pausing on its way to caress the tattoo it found there.

The time had come.

‘Tom?’

The woman’s voice rang out, clear and loud, commanding them to answer.

‘Seven’

‘Doctor?’

‘Chakotay’

‘Seven?’

‘Tom’

‘Chakotay?’

The man hesitated for only a moment, his eyes never leaving the woman standing before him

‘Seven.’

The woman turned, her eyes seeking out those of her protégé

‘With 3 votes, you ARE the weakest link. Goodbye.’

With that she took aim and fired.