“Slick suit,” Cass commented when Mavriq emerged from the containment barrier. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and the front of her helmet removed so that her face was revealed. “But very thin. These weren’t made for combat.”

On her usual sorties with Mercury, Cass had been issued a much heavier exo-suit variant with multi-layered armor plating and motorized motion assistance. As extreme hardware, these combat armors effectively demanded their user to retain peak physical condition in order to remain practically usable. Having grown accustomed to entering Derelict in what was essentially a personal tank suit, she felt very exposed in the suit Origin provided. At least she was going to be quick on her feet; keeping an eye open for cover would be vital.

“They are Origin military space excursion suits,” Mavriq explained as he rotated the dog on the air-tight door that lead to the decompression ramp linking the lab to the shuttle, “very safe if you’re dealing with a riot or personal-grade armaments, but not approved for combat. Still, the flexmesh steel layer will stop a knife or low-caliber bullet.”

Cass lined up beside him with a disapproving sneer. “I’m not concerned about knives or small-arms fire. You won’t be either after today’s sortie, lieutenant.” She nonchalantly snapped the front of her helmet back on and waited for the bulkhead to open.

Mav ignored the boorish nature of Cass’ remark, as her concerns were likely to be assuaged once she previewed the shuttle’s armory. With him and her in the airlock, the pressure seal hissed, then they proceeded into the shuttle. Once in there, he pointed to a rather impressive array of firearms gel-sealed to the aft wall -- gauss cannons, singularity grenades, plasma rifles, and even a pair of shoulder-mounted auto-targeting mass drivers.

“Press your thumb against the bio-scanner and it will release the gel pressure enough for you to remove one of the armaments,” he explained.

“Shit,” Cass grinned at the weapons rack, “I didn’t think Origin would shell out for this kind of hardware. Is this a standard loadout for you guys?” Seemingly oblivious to the rest of the shuttle’s interior, she remained in front of the armory to inspect each firearm with great interest.

“I’m not sure,” he shrugged as he sat down at the helm and awakened the auto-pilot, “but hopefully most won’t be necessary. Our mission is to answer questions, not paint the walls with the shadows of those who once were. Ideally, we’ll be able to limit our actions to crowd control and suppression.”

Cass peered behind herself: “You’ve seen my shoulder - I don’t fire the first round. But in my experience it’s better to be over prepared than not. I would hate to bring a knife to a gunfight.” Finally letting go of the armory, she stomped to his side. Her legs really did not lend themselves to subtlety of any kind.

Mavriq shrugged, apathetic to the matter. After all, there were no armies confronting them. Just some disorganized cultists. The bigger threats, he felt, were the scavengers; opportunistic and often lawless bad actors who wouldn’t think twice before stripping down and parting out another group’s operation. On that particular front, the giant Origin emblem emblazoned on the shuttle’s hull was an effective deterrent. Presently, the docking seal detached and they drifted a safe distance away from MOS, at which point the shuttle androgynously intoned, “Please secure yourself for transit to Derelict’s primary exploitation shaft, estimated travel time 11 minutes.” 

Fortunately, the trip down was uneventful. He didn’t even bother looking out the viewport to behold the panoply of drones and ships zooming to and fro like fireflies in the night. It was, of course, an act. He was super excited, but suppressed it with an intense focus on his mission updates. Feurtes’ report, for instance, was of particular interest to him, but at the end he was merely glad his team member was whole and alive. 

When they docked and exited the shuttle, Feurtes saluted. The MRS drones idled nearby, one already in the driver seat of the buggy. He could barely hear himself think, what with all the ambient noise that managed to penetrate even through the protective layers of his spacesuit. Quite unsettling, actually. He never was a fan of industrial blare. Feurtes’ mouth moved, but Mav wasn’t sure what was uttered. To compensate, he amped up the audio intake and programmed his earbuds to even more aggressive noise cancellation, then attempted:

“I read your report, Officer Feurtes. It seems all, more or less, went well given the circumstances we are operating under. I expect you are eager to get back to more familiar territory?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. Not much rest to be gotten down here. Permission to board the shuttle and return to MOS?” replied Feurtes.

Mav nodded, a moment passed, then he remembered to utter the magic phrase, “Permission granted.”

Feurtes boarded the shuttle and in what seemed a mere moment later it lifted off. The kind of haste usually reserved for someone on the run for his life or looking to get his dick wet. For Feurtes’ sake, he genuinely hoped it was the latter.

“Well, Cass,” Mav gestured toward the buggy, “ready to roll?”

“Hmpf,” she scoffed, taking her eyes off the ruined majesty of the exploitation shaft’s thorned walls. “Are you?”

Her right hand firmly placed upon a high-caliber gauss rifle which was fastened to her suit with a band, she almost prowled towards the buggy. No longer carelessly swaggering where she went, the moment Cass had left the shuttle her senses perked up, her neck hairs stood on edge. Her iron legs carried her with a silent grace that would have been difficult to imagine on the MOS. She swung herself into a rear seat of the buggy in a single motion, eyes sharp on the perimeter. If something moved, she wanted to see it.