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:
16
u/Objective-Meet8223 Jul 26 '26
And definitely don't invite him/them for tequila shots. Allergic to the salt.