You joined the Corps because you wanted to see the stars. You believe in duty and honor. You have made friends for life here—and watched plenty of them get cut down by shrapnel. No one pays you to ask why, just to follow orders. Protect and serve the citizens and colonies of the Outer Rim colonies—no matter what the cost. Now, lock and load your pulse rifle, marine. You have a job to do. Armor piercing rounds sizzle through your defenses. Acrid smoke chokes you. Chemical attacks melt your armor, while bioweapons turn your insides out. It’s a living hell—but none of that’s as bad as the flashes of gnashing metal teeth that terrorize you every time you try to close your eyes. Welcome to war on the razor edge of space, marine.
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