“The Company told you it was going to be a mop up operation. Quick and easy. Communications go down on remote frontier worlds all the time, and it should only take a few hours to fix it. Then back on the drop-ship for a boring ride home.
The Zen just got vaporized. The shot ticker on your pulse weapon reads ‘7.’ You’ve got one plasma grenade left, and your helmet HUD shows telltales for 50 unidentified signals closing in on your position. The Ram just charged out of the trench. As he exits the ditch, you can see the Orion has spray painted his armor day-glow orange. The Eridani Swordsaint is meditating. The Phentari is compulsively revving a chainsaw in one set of tentacles and clutching a flamethrower in the other set. The Chatilian empath is whining about how he hasn’t made anyone’s head explode in the last two days, and you have no idea where the Keen scout is because he’s damn near invisible when he changes color. Just another day at the office. Lock-n-Load.”