This is Not a Drill

[Barrier]

"Yeah yeah, you'll get lucky on them slots instead."
Five men and two women chuckled at the corporal's ill luck, once the remaining players flipped up their cards. The dealer efficiently gathered up the chips without emotion, though he cracked a smile when the man on the end tossed back a small black disk.

"Well, that's my bonus added to Reed's daughter's college fund... Or was it his third son this time around?" The corporal stretched his bull neck, and got up to take a piss. "Lemme know if anyone wants refills." Though the planet never sleeps, the small casino is as empty as any of them ever saw it. Some of that likely has to do with the peeling and tarnished decor - decidedly not the tourist hotspots everyone sees on the OS&C brochures. But it's cheap, and out of the way - a perfect spot for lounging around.

The corporal, Dozer to his friends, habitually checked the compad for any updates. He continued to hold it with one hand as he relieved himself with the other, before making his way back to the main room and the droid behind the bar. The thing only powered up when Dozer is a few feet away, as if the owners of the establishment wanted to save every last penny on the power draw. The gloomy atmosphere of recycled emergency lighting underscored the point.

Dozer briefly considered trying to sneak in another synthanol order, before settling for another round of shitty coffee. The LT lets a lot of things slide, but he would be livid if any of the crew turned up blitzed during an actual emergency. But Dozer longingly stares at the display of cans and bottles behind the droid, and mentally counts down another day. Being on rotation pays the bills and then some, but the urge to take a hit grows with every day of the two-week period. Dozer thought again of Murazi on the Colwyn, the lucky fuck probably full to the gills with Liberty ale, and hip-deep in...

The compad in the corporal's pocket emitted an annoying and strikingly loud two-tone sound. After a brief stunned silence, the LT is the first on his feet, already checking his gear. "That better be a bullshit alert, Dozer..."

Dozer brought up the offending compad to his face, and the coffee cup he was holding in his other hand slipped to the floor. "Priority One on the Tavern!" He shouts, hardly believing his eyes. "The stupid IMG fucks are staging a coup!"
The LT didn't miss a beat as he jabbed his communicator, "Lacey, prep for launch. Wake the chief, NOW!" He shot his team a glare, and began pacing by the entrance, "You lot have 40 seconds!"

As the seven men and women formed up in acceptable order and filed out at a run, the droid placed a tray on the counter and called, "Sirs, your order is fulfilled. Please collect your beverages."