Bad Day in Hell
Biting your tongue, you buckle yourself in and take a deep breath.
Sarge, meanwhile, fastens himself into place across from you and glowers in your direction. He begins reciting the mission parameters for the thousandth time since the Starprowler left drydock.
"Our job is simple, ladies. We drop, we babysit. The labcoats have forty-eight hours to grab their samples, then we pull our asses off this God-forsaken planet and head home. You get your pay, I don't have to look at your ugly mugs another day. That clear?"
"SIR, YESSIR!"
"Good," Sarge growls, "and remember: screw this up for me in any way and I'll feed your shriveled dicks to the Capetoads."
What the fuck is a Capetoad? you wonder. Before you can think to verbalize such a stupid question, the Dropship jolts as the restraints spring loose and the vessel begins its long plummet to the jungle-planet below.
You catch a glimpse through a viewport of the scientist's dropship as it maneuvers to follow.
Sarge, meanwhile, fastens himself into place across from you and glowers in your direction. He begins reciting the mission parameters for the thousandth time since the Starprowler left drydock.
"Our job is simple, ladies. We drop, we babysit. The labcoats have forty-eight hours to grab their samples, then we pull our asses off this God-forsaken planet and head home. You get your pay, I don't have to look at your ugly mugs another day. That clear?"
"SIR, YESSIR!"
"Good," Sarge growls, "and remember: screw this up for me in any way and I'll feed your shriveled dicks to the Capetoads."
What the fuck is a Capetoad? you wonder. Before you can think to verbalize such a stupid question, the Dropship jolts as the restraints spring loose and the vessel begins its long plummet to the jungle-planet below.
You catch a glimpse through a viewport of the scientist's dropship as it maneuvers to follow.