Bad Day in Hell
You find your pack right where you left it, dangling from a hook next to the head. It's stuffed to the gills with everything you need to survive, including vitamins and supplements which will keep you going for months in the unlikely event you're forced to turn to native flora and fauna for sustenance. Scurvy can be a very real and serious threat for the unprepared Away Team.
You sling the pack across your shoulder just as the hatch bursts open to emit a small wiry man. A small wiry man who could tear you and Winston both to shreds in a heartbeat.
Sarge fixes the two of you with a withering glare, his lips drawn back in a snarl. "What the FUCK are you ladies up to, powdering your fucking noses? Get your asses on the flight deck NOW."
You glance at your chronometer again. Son of a bitch must be running slow. Winston's already on his feet, kit in hand, and scrambling past Sarge.
You sling the pack across your shoulder just as the hatch bursts open to emit a small wiry man. A small wiry man who could tear you and Winston both to shreds in a heartbeat.
Sarge fixes the two of you with a withering glare, his lips drawn back in a snarl. "What the FUCK are you ladies up to, powdering your fucking noses? Get your asses on the flight deck NOW."
You glance at your chronometer again. Son of a bitch must be running slow. Winston's already on his feet, kit in hand, and scrambling past Sarge.