Welcome to war on the razor edge of space, marine-where nukes are yesterday’s news, pulse rounds ar e cheap and a human life is only worth its weight in stock options. Chemical attacks melt your armor, simmer your eyeballs, and fuse your helmet to your skull, while bioweapons turn your insides out and pulp you into a quivering mound of black jelly. Acrid smoke chokes down your throat before you realize what’s burning is you. Armor piercing rounds sizzle through raw flesh as plasma beams sear swollen retinas.
