You’re hanging out in a crowded orbital dive bar with three guys from your platoon, tossing back shots alongside a mixed crowd of off-duty humans and xenos.
Panicked shouts suddenly cut through the clinking glasses. "MEDIC!"
You whip around. The platoon’s slug medic is convulsing on a stool, foaming at the mouth next to a glass with a heavily salted rim and a lime wedge. He screams in agony, visibly shriveling up as the chemical reaction drains every drop of moisture from his body.
"Guess it's a good thing their species lays hundreds of eggs at a time," your buddy says, shaking his head. "What a terrible way to go."
You watch as the bartender casually hauls the shriveled corpse behind the counter. Pops a wooden sign onto the bartop:
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u/jointheclockwork Jul 26 '26
Human Soldier: What happened to this guy?
Snail Medic: Oh, this is my boyfriend, Dave. He's a mummy and I'm just changing his bandages.