Snippet #1388242

The station was in a hurry. Everyone, everywhere, had been working overtime for the last 3 cycles. The moon had finally shifted in it's pitiful orbit out of the path of the latest storm caused by the nebula. Systems were back up and running and manpower was called for to breathe some life back into the machinery. It was a tough life out here, the company was more of a means to an end than anything else. It operated at short notice when time was of the essence and mostly in unstable environments that would compromise automated machinery. As result, a surprising amount of work was performed by the sweat of the common worker's brow and every now and then fuelled by blood. Low gravity manual mining was hazardous work and Grant Lyson had seen his fair share of brutality; limbs lost, lives cut short and, worst of all, jobs lost because of it. Just finishing his long shift, Grant was heading to the mess hall to grab some food before he turned in for the night. Different cycles of day and night didn't affect him anymore, day could pass into night and back to day again and he would remain unaffected. But it had been a long one. And setting everything up again was just about the toughest thing he'd had to do since coming here but it was becoming more and more of a frequent task. Everyone knew that the station wasn't going to be able to last much longer out here but no one said it.

The large man didn't walk through the hallways, he simply grabbed the handholds set into the rock walls around him and pulled himself through the faint gravity that held down so little here, some workers clearing out of his way, others bumping into him. It wasn't in Grant's nature to take this to heart; he knew only too well what his species was to most others. A pest. A last resort. They were to other species what this wretched company was to the mining industry: A means to and end. But there wasn't a living being on base that would work harder than him and that earned what little merit was reserved for humans.

Moving now through the cafeteria, which was in his opinion a little overenthusiastic with the naming, at a swift pace, he reached the counter and started helping himself to the gruel that passed as a meal out here, his other hand idly scratching his backside through his worn, dirty, grey work overalls. He often thought it was a bad life out here but then he reminded himself that he was getting paid a fitting wage and got back to worrying about his next shift. He rarely planned ahead, but he took precautions each and every day. After taking a seat, giving a quick slap to the back of the head of a short, hairy humanoid that got in his way, his grizzled features began to work in tandem, eyes and brow furrowed further than usual in thought and mishapen jaw chomping away at a particularly tough lump of who knew what in his slops. The dirt and grime that was plastered across his face was like a mask; thick and obscuring, and his hair, short though it was, glimmered with specks of ore that caught the light. Barely a minute later his thoughts were interrupted by a slim fellow who looked instantly out of place amongst the trundling, filthy workforce that he was almost proud to be a part of.

"Excuse me.Are you Grant Lyson? My name is Kane Ryasi, may I have a word?"

Grant seemed to mull this over for a few seconds. He didn't know the man, never seen him before in his life and was damned sure of that. What he could possibly want was beyond him. He clearly wasn't management, they wouldn't talk to him directly because he was just a grunt. So his natural conclusion was that he was a visitor, a visitor for him. For Grant Lyson? A stranger? He was instantly wary and fixed the man with a steely gaze. Nonetheless, he kicked out a chair on the other side of the table and gestured with his fork. "Sure" was his simple reply in a low, gruff voice. Through a mouthful of 'food' an accent was impossible to place.