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59/421 (Dead Space. Now we're moving toward the gory stuff).
Ned Harrond, Low Private of the 376,234th Brigade, kicked open the entrance flap of his companion’s tent with excessive zest, yelling unnecessarily loud. His blue eyes echoed with distant worry over how much work every private in the SATH would be experiencing in the coming days, and his short brown hair was plastered to his forehead in the unusual heat of the day. He was of average height, a little taller than five foot eight, of no particularly notable stature, and he retained no level of handsomeness or attractiveness. He was just the average private.
‘Madura! MADURA! Wake up, we're forming up and moving out. News came in last night; The Elementals have escaped from Earth, tore it apart, and they are headed here. Damn those stupid, air headed humans! Anyway we gotta’ move to the parade ground, before we’re late... and found by a legionnaire.’
