JG Niklas emerges from the sleeping bay, spotlessly dressed and clean-shaven, yet with that vacant look of just not caring. The commotion and the explosions seem to have done little to jolt him. Who cares? It's not like anything is going to end well anyway, is it?
Standing silently in the background for a while, surveying the situation, he notices with non-curiosity the mind-baffling scene unfolding in front of him. Democratically electing a Captain? What is this, some happy-clappy Democrats-infestation taking over the military? No wonder someone is trying to sabotage. Well, who cares. But habits are habits after all.
Methos for Captain, sirs, if that's what you've decided. Who are we to question? Let him take the gun and the key as well.
Do we finally get a legitimate chance to clean out the idiots? choxorn, go drown yourself.
Niklas scans the crowd quickly, then turns back to where he came from. Nothing to do for him at this point anyway, so who cares?