I got too greedy. My clone marines had purged the xeno hive, taking minimal damage, and were ready to extract. But as a faceless desk jockey working for a corporation in a grim capitalist retro-future, I wouldn't let them. No, not when there was more loot to be found.
On the bulbous screen of my monitor, I could see some supplies that had gone unpilfered. I sent Hicks—yes, Xenopurge wears its love of Aliens proudly—inside the small room to snatch it, while Morse provided cover, tapping away at my hotkeys to swiftly give them their orders.
