Dust concentrated on his breathing for a moment. It was hard getting used to having so much oxygen available. They kept most people on the facility on a low O2 diet to keep them as weak and compliant as possible. He made it a habit to breath to live, and he found that habit a tough thing to break. The sounds all around him triggered pseudo-flash backs. Same bullpen. Same idiot trying to swing his cock around for the masses.<br/><br/>Was it all a part of the plan? He’d be a little depressed if it was, if only because it proved how damn foolish they all were. He took stock of the people around him and made his own mental projections. The shit talker was probably a damn coward, but cowards had good survival instincts and strong wills to live. If a ship was sinking, he’d be the rat Dust would follow to safety. He thought the mousey lady in the corner was familiar…then he realized he shared the ride with her here. Mousey…but not broken. That gives her some kind of chance, but not any he could put in numbers.<br/><br/>The woman who entered elicited the natural response from him, before she barely got the call for attention out. Dust was past male or female at his point in life. His eyes went straight to the shoulder pips and chest decorations. They told him everything about a person he needed to know in as little time allowed. It was safer, and sure as hell more efficient. His eyes remained forward even when she passed him, and her words slid off him like water on a duck. Old hat is the term that came to mind. When she was done, he sat back down at his bunk.<br/><br/><em>’In…out…In…out…’</em>He knew it would be a bit before he could breathe deep comfortably again, but even as he wondered about the survival rate of the group, he couldn’t but help including himself as well. Combat tested, but still the machine gunner and all around heavy weapons talent. That meant big shit poppin every time their boots touched the battlefield. He would be slow, and he would be awkward, even with the updated combat harness and Ammo pack. He supposed his own survival was linked to how well he passed out bullets to all the fine people unlucky enough to be on the wrong end of his gun.<br/><br/>“Helluva way to earn a livin’” was all he muttered before reclining in his bunk. He thought he overheard the start of a heated discussion. People would learn soon to cherish the times you could simply do nothing. They came few and far between.<br/>