Amala Kelson

The drone of the muffled hydraulic drills filled the cabin of the mining rig, it's blocky black and yellow heavy exoshell, slowly burying itself into a iron laced asteroid like hornet in a rotting apple. The same ole same ole. The only interruption to the droning hum was the buzz of the alarm that followed the red light that pulsed. Cargo hold is at max capacity, flicking some toggles the drills slowly come to a stop. The electric blue of the ion engines lit the dark cavity as she pulled back on the controls as she saw something oily and shiny in the stone. Oil? In space? Oil is organic isn't it? The thought was quickly loss as her home the S.S.F. Salvation a Megafreighter retrofitted with new military quality armored hulls hiding a bristling array of advanced weaponry. Flicking a toggle as she approached one of the hangar doors they opened upon detecting her rig, passing through the blue wall of the atmospheric shielding The ship’s industrial hangar is a maze of refiners, fuel lines, suspended crates, and hydraulic cranes as she landed the craft meticulously with landing gear extended with the clunking of maglocks as she punches a green button as she makes her final deposit of the day. Everyone else gone home minus a guard or two, patrolling about in their iconic white armor that clad their bodies with articulated plates that moved with them, sleek energy rifles mag locked to their chest for instant deployment.