>>6295945
>>6295947
>>6295963
>>6295997
>>6296123

>88 clutch.

The locker hatch opens with a heavy clunk, hinges groaning from disuse as you strain it open. Inside: neatly ordered emergency supplies sealed in sterile, airtight packaging. Packs of water, medkits, oxygen canisters, MREs and more – everything you’d expect, everything neat meant and ready for the eight people this pod would have carried.

It’s too much. Too generous. At the sight of such abundance, the fact that you are the sole beneficiary makes your stomach churn uneasily.

You mind races to catalogue them all, almost lurching into the same cascading informational overload you’d suffered upon awakening. But you reign it in, adjusting your breath and clenching your fist tight to ground yourself in the moment.

One item at a time, and at your own conscious pace – not your mind’s.

>>Locker Notables:
>Emergency Distress Beacon – a small, blinking red diode waiting for a signal cycle to activate; effective both above and underwater.
>Medkit – neatly packed with bandages, coagulant sprays, hypoderms, and a portable autos-suture, a staple of every professional-grade medkit of the 25th century.
>Ration Bricks – tasteless calorie-dense blocks of onions protein, supposedly enhanced with vitamins and nutrients, manufactured according to the Terran Commonwealth’s Daily Nutritional Allowance (DNA) standards.

The guard’s grab-bag is encrusted with dried blood. It’s only a tender mercy that none of its recent, having dried some indeterminate long time ago. But you struggle not to gag as you undo zippers and latches, every movement sending dried flakes of unthinkable composition across the floor and your plugsuit.

The smell alone is enough to make bile rise in your throat – coppery and stale, mingled with the sour tang of body odor and old sweat soaked into the nylon and canvas. Every pocket feels sticky, every latch begrudging its opening as if the bag itself resents being touched.

But it appears that you’re lucky. The contamination is only surface-level. There’s an odor, but one that’s more bearable than gore as you gingerly extract each item for inspection.

>>Grab Bag Notables:
>Ammunition Boxes – 50-round boxes of extra ammunition for your M1911.
>Guard’s Personal Datapad – spiderweb cracks across the screen, its OS flickering to life with great effort.
>Survival Kit – a catch-all for the various bits and bobs such as multitools, matches, paracord, soap, and MREs.
>Vibroknife – a smaller, more compact version of the commercial vibrosword.

>>For rolling not only a high number, but doubles as well…
>Immuno-suppressants (20) – a heavily-regulated drug that prevents a person’s body from rejecting their cybernetics. Can be diluted or taken straight depending on the extensiveness of their augmentations. You don't think you need these...but others might.


(cont.)