M4-11, 12.2 light-days from the Human Colonized planet Hemera, was roughly the size of Mars but contained aspects of Earth that made it possible to be inhabited by Terrans. Because of this it was the second Planet in the Ares System that they planned to colonise, but currently they were running tests to see if it was suitable in all aspects.

Although it contained Oxygen, it lacked the plants needed to continue to produce it, as well as the water needed to sustain life. The Scientists had deduced from this the fact that there was no life on the planet and, therefore, it was free to be altered to suit Human lifestyles. Unfortunately, their hypothesis was unjustly found.

-x-

Grif sighed, unclipping his holster and depositing his gun on his table. The room was small, and mostly decorated in gun-metal grey. There was one small cot, hidden behind a divider to provide more privacy from the 'main' section of the room where the table was located. That, too, was small, and only had two chairs—both uncomfortable and cold, even in the heat that made the room stifling most hours of the day. There were no windows, as the majority of the 'base' was located bellow ground.

The base itself was in the middle of a lifeless desert, subject to the star which the Ares System circulated. It was hot, a star much larger than Earth's own sun, and was 14 light-minutes away. Despite its distance, its rays and heat only managed to almost boil blood at its highest point in the 43 hour long days, instead of outright toasting them. Hence why Grif was presently inside, hoping that the ground above and around him would soak up the worst of the heat. 53° Celsius was simply too much for him in this MJOLNIR, despite its acclimatisers.

Sighing again Grif unclasped his chest piece, setting it heavily down beside the table. He continued to remove most of his armour, leaving only his lower half covered. Sitting, he rubbed his stubbled chin, staring uncaringly at the opposite wall, not four metres far from him. Every day was the same here—they'd keep watch, change shifts, attempt to socialise all while the Scientists did their research. But every day they'd be more and more unstable; emotions liable to wreak havoc over their carefully made, delicate friendships. If only—if only he was on Hemera. At least there it was Earth-like; water, forests, weather—cool, comfortable weather. And... and who cared if that was where Simmons was, or were Lopez was—it didn't affect his desire to be there! No, the weather was his only reason...

Grif slammed his fist down onto the table, shaking his head and glaring beyond measure at—nothing. He stood.

"Might as well see if they've got some Oreos in... It's the only bloody reason I'm saving those ration chips and God am I fucking starved..."

-x-

There were Oreos, but he only had enough chips for a single packet (another reason he wished he was on Hemera; at least there they had a fuck load of them—or so he heard). He decided to spend what he had left on a deck of cigarettes, and he could already feel the longing looks of those who chose survival over creature-comforts. Cigarettes were survival, last time Grif checked, and he could only smile smugly at their jealous glares. Suck on that, he'd silently remark. Suck. On. That.

Grif left the Rations Room, a smug lilt to his step as he walked through the dramatically cooler hallways; loathe to return to his rooms. He shrugged, though, and entered the 'leisure' room. Basically, the only things it occupied where chess boards and tables, as well as grates in the roof that absorbed any smoke that might be exhaled. It was reasonably large; sixteen metres by seventeen metres, and was decorated in ferns, causing the room to become damp with condensation. The ferns were always being replaced—it was hard enough keeping people sane out here, and keeping plants alive was a chore to many. The room was mostly empty, save for a burly looking man in the corner, puffing away at a cigar. Grif made his way over.

"Grif. Pleasant surprise." The man's voice matched his appearance; rough and grave, but with a distinct, broad Australian accent. Grif sat, opening his cigarettes and tearing off the paper. He lit one.

"Yep. Certainly is." He paused, taking a drag. "Do you ever leave this room, Nicolson?" The man gave a wide grin, exposing his smoke yellowed teeth. The obvious answer was no, and probably would've been had the intercom not broken their conversation. They both paused, tilting their heads in the direction of the crackling box.

"All Personnel to the Docking Chamber. All Personnel to the Docking Chamber." Grif sighed, taking one last drag before putting out the cigarette, keeping what he hadn't finished and shoving the deck inside his lower armour.

"Probably should go put the rest of it on first, don't you think?" Nicolson's grin had disappeared, replaced with the seriousness everyone relied upon him for. Grif nodded.

"Yep. S'pose I'll see you there in five."