*walks in, trench coat tattered, scarf soaked in cold water, shivering, and breathing raggedly* stay off of the moon designated M-X-32B, the bogeys there are the stuff of nightmares. I stabbed so many that my knife went dull, they just wouldn't stop swarming me. *disassembles bolt pistol and oils parts* Ulcam, could you mix me a spot of vodka with some root beer?