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"Alright, gimme' a sitrep." The Master Sergeant requested, flipping a small piece of paper over the clipboard as his fingers coiled around a pen. Considering the backwater location of the Coalition outpost the Marines had been forced to resort to more primitive means, reserving their advanced technology for more important purposes within the CP deep in the basement of the bar.
"Uhhh, First Squad is out on the floor right now." Staff Sergeant Taylor replied, nodding his head out toward the nine Marines that filtered their way around the bar.
"Who's bartending?" Reynolds inquired quickly afterwards, scribbling something down on the clipboard as Taylor looked over toward Private Hatcher behind his post at the bar.
"Hatcher, as usual."

The Marines of 2nd Platoon snagged their way through the floor of the bar, a considerable amount of the Scatterran soldiers hoisting large boxes in their grips as they were monitored by two other Marines bearing the rank of Lieutenant and Master Sergeant; obviously identified as Lieutenant Lanes and Master Sergeant Reynolds.
"So what exactly are they doing?" Lanes inquired, tugging at the toothbrush held in his mouth as he scrubbed; from Lanes' mottled hair it was obvious he had awoken only several minutes earlier.
"Cryo's puttin' up some new decorations or something' for the Bar. 2nd Squad and some of 1st is helpin' load everything into the basement."

Private Myers and Griffin stood alongside Cryoface as he withdrew a large banner. Griffin took a wide step to the opposite side of the banner and wrapped his hands around the fabric in support of Cryoface.
"Alright boss, where do you want it?" Griffin inquired, his head pivoting to find a suitable location for the banner.


Private Hatcher approached the man at the bar with a rag dipped over his shoulder while he slid a small glass underneath the counter.
"You asked for a bartender -- here he is." The Private responded.

Hatcher nodded his head, the Marine shifting in his armor as he cupped a hand over his mouth and nodding his head toward Cryoface.
"Sure -- he's over there."

Myers stepped forward and assumed Cryoface's location at the banner; Myers taking a split second break to take one loud slurp from his milkshake before placing it on the table and aiding Griffin in totting the banner up behind the bar and preparing to display it.

Hatcher quickly hurried as another patron demanded attention, the Private swiping a glass from beneath the counter and quickly popping in front of the woman whom had rested her elbows on the table.
"My 'fucking-around' clock is kind of late -- my bad. What can I get ya'?" Hatcher said hurriedly as he slipped the glass onto the countertop and prepared to fetch whatever drink the woman requested.

The Private quickly set about preparing the womans drinks, first placing a tall glass of vodka and coke in front of her before pouring a small shot of whiskey and sliding it beside her. Taking a step back and breathing heavily, the Marine cracked a slight smirk between pants.
"Most of the time they're just pissing about -- getting slapped to backwater duty there's not much else to do."


Myers and Griffin, finished with hanging the banner, quickly rejoined the majority of the Marines in carting the boxes from point A to point B throughout the bar. Myers, however, took a small detour to recollect the chocolate milkshake he had left on the table.

Several of the Marines passed by Cryoface and a man that had suddenly turned into what appeared to be some form of a robot. One of those Marines was Private Mayfield, the man bearing big horn rimmed glasses. The Private perked his head as he witnessed the chassis of a small bomb in the briefcase, Mayfield quickly approaching Cryoface to investigate.
"Pardon me -- for the intrusion, that wouldn't happen to be a particle bomb would it?"

Private Mayfield, a man whom had graduated top of his honors from a distinguished University on Crawl, flashed the bomber a sufficient nod as he began to point to the small device.
"That's a primitive device I have to say -- more advanced than what the Coalition has, but primitive by far. The coil conductor for the accelerating particles."

Lieutenant Lanes was behind Mayfield as he witnessed the device, and then heard Mayfield blabbering about the inferiority of it.
"Jesus -- Mayfield, just shut off the fucking bomb!" Lanes shouted.

Mayfield pushed his way over to the small device as the two argued, reaching over and plugging a small lead block from a small cup of Hatcher's belongings on the bar as he went to work, the Lieutenant looked over the Private's shoulder worriedly as he worked.
"Now see -- the accelerator can easily be blocked by lead. Particles have a hard time passing through lead and it'd cut the amount required to spark a detonation by half -- simple see?" Mayfield said over his shoulder toward the Lieutenant as he placed the lead block atop the accelerator complex, effectively stopping the detonation of the bomb once the timer ran out.
"Just shut up and cut the wires, Mayfield."

Both Mayfield and Lanes ignored the rants of Cryoface and the others as Mayfield worked, dragging a large knife from a sheath on his thigh before looking down at the wires connected to a central computer core on the device.
" ... Oh boy." Mayfield muttered worriedly, Lanes rolling his eyes and scowling.
"Mayfield, I swear to God, if you get me killed." He groaned.
"No no no Lieutenant, it's not that -- this thing is just such a piece of crap." Mayfield remarked spitefully, before simply selecting a wire and cutting it. Had the large lead block not been inhibiting the particle acceleration the device would have detonated -- a soft whirring was only heard now as the lead block absorbed the particles that could easily destroy the bar.
" ... Now no one touch that lead block, understand?"