Commissar Larkson calmly retracts her bolt pistol and holsters it. Still holding the trooper by the scruff of the neck, she proceeds to draw her chainsword, and rest the unrevved blade against the soldier's kneecap, the unmoving but still razor-sharp teeth gently cutting through the fabric of his uniform.
"I believe I asked you a question, you traitorous bastard," she observes in a calm and dignified manner. "Now, you're either ignoring me because I am a woman, or you think the man with the big gun is scarier than I am. Either way, you are making a serious mistake. Now. Tell me. Did you get out a warning? Are reinforcements coming?" she asks calmly and professionally.
Her thumb is visibly resting on the ignition switch, her fingers already squeezing the throttle of the chainsword to full rev.