The bundle of rockets- intrepid scouts all, an octet of stars- buzzes to itself on the pad. They are the odd little dream of an odd little company, who in the future will claim the right to sell merchandise for fake star names- but that, for now, is ahead of them. They are out of money, but this is their victory- it will assure them continued funding, at least. The motors, simple as they are, burn well... and buzz gently. It steers to compensate, running its hydraulic fluid lower and lower, until- decision point. Motors spiral off into the distance as the rocket comes apart.
Specifically, discorporate.