"W-w-wait, that wasn't a dream? That happened?!"

"Sure did greenbeard, what, you think we can just fly recruits into this hellhole every time one of your morons die? They flash-extract your brain just as you die and imprint it into a clone waiting in the medbay."

My casual comment freezes the boy in place, and I cut him off as he opens his mouth to speak again-

"Not now kid, I'm mourning my friend, your predecessor's retirement, and nursing a hell of a hangover." My tone of finality seems to shut him up as he gulps, catching sight of Driller sauntering up the catwalk.

"Ohohoho! I see the break-legs put on his quitter Slippers!" The yellowed, crusted boots of the madman tap the sides of the Scout's boots; I guess he learned from last time, I didn't even notice.

The driller takes a seat as gunner ducks under the hatch of the drop pod, hefting his Hurricane Rocket Launcher like a lover into the alcove above his chair.

Red lights wash over us as the hatches close, the sirens wail as a countdown ticks down in the upper part of my helmet's HUD.

"Drop sequence initiated.". The bored monotone drawl of our manager trickles through my earpiece.

I glance back at the Scout, his hyperventilating coming through despite the rattling of docking clasps disengaging and engines firing up.

"W-why are we doing this- what are we fighting for!" The young greenbeard stutters out, and as one, the three of us scream out:

"We fight, for ROCK AND STONE!"

The timer hits zero, and the world erupts in a cacaphony of noise as sixteen G's of acceleration push our express elevator to hell towards Hoxxes.

"Attention miner!"

The chipper, robotic voice drives into my now painfully awake eardrums.

"Your allotted sleep period of four hours is concluded! Get excited for your next mission on Hoxxes!"

Groaning, I feel my tongue peel off the roof of my mouth, lips cracking and head pounding as i test my vision as the thinnest of slits; still overwhelmed by the sterile humming glare of the florescent bulbs above my sleeping pod

"Rosie, remind me to punch the guy that programmed you at my next shore leave" I say, as I swing my legs over the metallic hard surface I was blessedly asleep on moments ago.

"Sure thing -MINER 0000002, DESIGNATION ENGI, I'll pen that right in! Now head over to the bar for a debrief of -GENERATING MISSION NAME....KARL'S GRUNDLE."

I sigh, smacking my lips together, trying to recall how many beers I had downed last night.

"Tell Lloyd to get an oily oaf ready for me, I need something to douse this damned hangover."

I hop off the pod, landing in my half dismantled armor, donning it in a familiar ritual despite half my brain not being awake yet.

We lost yet another greenbeard Scout... I still hear his tinny scream as he fell from the highest damn point in the cave system going for an Aquarq.

"I told that moron he was missing his body hover boots at mission brief but nooooo-" I slap in the rectangular clip of my Lok-1 rifle with a metallic click "He called em Quitter Slippers and blew me off!"

The door of my quarters opens up; I can hear the pneumatics struggling due to the corrosion in the... Well, everything on orbital space rig.

A familiar face greets me as I sling the rifle across my back and begin dragging out the repurposed mining equipment that I have come to rely on.

"Morning ENGI! You get a good sleep?". Yellow teeth crack in a loose grin as the yellow-armoured dwarf in front me me plants his knuckles on his hips; back straight as if striking a pose.

"Kiss my warty arse driller, you know damn well I'm not in the mood." I slam home the cartridge into the OSHA banned Breach Cutter; the whirr of electricity arcing and lighting up my face with a dangerous glow.

Unfortunately, I was trying to intimidate a man who wades into the thick of Hoxxes' hostile wildlife with an axe, a tank of flammable fuel, and a mad smile. My hostile visage falters as I get a whiff of the crusted gunk that remains on the armored dwarf's boots; recoiling and steering myself around the fat bastard.

"Hyehhh Hyehh! Relaaaax ENGI! It was just a break-legs greenbeard. We've already got another one waiting in the pod; legs shakin and piss runnin down his britches!"

Laughter echoes after me as a trudge to the Abyss Bar, mag-boots clanging as I round the corner with the subtle pull towards the metal floors I installed into them last week...I wasn't taking another chance after the gravity reset while I was taking a dump.

A green armored mass sits at the bar stool, head obscured by the fact that the poor bastard is slumped face-down on the bar in a puddle of what I hope it's just spit.

"Bloody hell gunner, did ya even get to your room?" My crimson-gauntled hand strikes the snoring dwarf's back; waking him with a shout of suprise follow by a groan of pain as the light hits his sensitive eyeballs.

"Argh, for Karl's sake ENGI can you let a man grieve!" The gunner covers his head in both hands, armor creaking as he staggers to his feet, leaning down to grab the hundred-and-twelve pound "Lead Storm" minigun before heading to the equipment table to tune his weapons.

I shrug, taking the seat beside the what-i-hope-is-sweat stained chair the gunner just hefted himself off of. A friendly red glowing eye pops up above the counter. The rectangular chassis of Lloyd, the orbital's bartender, glistens with fresh wax as he adjusts his clip-on bow tie.

"Round of oafs Lloyd, cold as you can make em." The panel of the bar in front of me slide open, a liquid Nitrogen chilled glass gleams with frost and fog as Lloyd happily beeps and leans over with a dispenser, filling the mug with the familiar brown stout of our union-mandated corporate beverage; many lawsuits were filed and fought to ensure any DRG operation had beer available for the humble workers.

"Cheers Lloyd." I slap a few credits into the tip slot bolted to the counter, I small spray of confetti popping out of a launcher hidden behind the counter. "To the fallen." I whisper, as I tilt the frigid beverage down my throat, it's foamy froth washing away the thick phlegm of my gullet.

"Ayyy thanks ENGI!". The yellow armored asshole brushes past me as he strides towards the counter for his brew, as Lloyd finishes dispensing another.

I grunt in indifference as I turn away from the driller and the bar towards the mission information desk in the middle of the rig.

KARL'S GRUNDLE -EXTRACT 400 UNITS MORKITE -GATHER 12 GUNK SEEDS

"Crap, just what I needed, a mission where I gotta rely on the greenbeard.". I mutter under my breath as I turn around, grabbing a half-dozen plasma burst grenades off the coffee table before taking a step onto the drop -pod ladder.

Gears whirr and generators hum to life; the grinding of misaligned metal cinching into place as the bright orange cylinder looms in front of me. The perforated steel ramp clanks as I hear the comforting hum of the radiation shielding spring to life as I approach the pod.

"My home away from home, hope Gunner remembered to take a shite this time before settling in for a two hour drop." I proclaim loudly as I spy the shaking blue-armored form already in his assigned seat.

The new Scout does manage to have an impressive red beard despite being fresh-out-of-the-mountain. He cradles a shiny new GK2 submachine gun; If I could see his hands beneath his armor, I know it would be white knuckled around the grip.

"Bet you thought the company would give some seats with suspension, eh greenbeard?". I try my best to not sound condescending as I take the seat beside the terrified dwarf, clapping him on the shoulder

He starts, as if noticing me for the first time, eyes dilated completely as he reaches out to grab my arm.

"I.. I'm too young to die!"

His words stumble out over one another, his armor rattling against the vast amount of seat whose cushioning has rubbed, rotted, dissolved, or burned away.

"What, you mean again?" I say, locking my weapons into place above my seat alcove.

"A-again?". The Scout stutters, letting go of my arm

"Sure, again, just like five and a half hours ago when you ate shit after a sixty foot fall."

(Continued below)