It's been a long slog, the marines were tired, battered, and just tired of it all. They finally got the word, they were going home. One soldier said all he wanted was a nap, and his favorite snacks. Several havenworlder medics, and some level 1 and 2 deathworlder medics, asked the humans, what kind of snacks? -- Anon Guest
"Roasted, salted cashews," said Marine Blem, who had literally rolled out of her battle-rated livesuit and had yet to extract herself from the floor. "And a creamy soda float."
"I want a craft beer and a big-ass bowl of Jersey Caramels." sighed Marine Ark. "Just stuff them in me until I puke."
"That is pleasant for you?" squawked Medik Preen, attempting to lift Marine Zol by one armoured arm. Zol was far too heavy for Preen to try, but this was the Havenworlder variant of the Deathworlder Consciousness Test. If the Deathworlder was giggling, then they were conscious.
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