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Description
What went wrong? Six months retired from the Navy and already trapped in some backwater menial job. Acutely aware that she had a now seemingly permanent sneer on her face, Chief Brogan dutifully made her rounds on the ragged fueling depot she now called home. The small station was home to a ragtag crew of rejects, including a senile custodian who spent more time sleeping than maintaining station cleanliness, a lecherous quartermaster Brogan was sure she recognized from some old wanted posters, and an engineer so pudgy she couldn't get through some of the maintenance tunnels any longer. Brogan was also trying hard to ignore the several pounds she herself had put on from the substandard rations issued to the station by it's corporate masters.

At first having a routine seemed adequate, until that routine became more about harassing her fellow crew to at least attempt some level of adequacy in their performance and less about actual security matters. The realization that nobody cared about much of anything important here was making her regret her contract more and more each cycle. Hell, the corporation hadn't even seen fit to fill the station commanders position, leaving everyone to their own means. As long as the station kept selling fuel to passing freighters, her reports seemed to be falling on deaf ears.

How to get out....

Rendered in DazStudio and post-worked in Photoshop.

Description
What went wrong? Six months retired from the Navy and already trapped in some backwater menial job. Acutely aware that she had a now seemingly permanent sneer on her face, Chief Brogan dutifully made her rounds on the ragged fueling depot she now called home. The small station was home to a ragtag crew of rejects, including a senile custodian who spent more time sleeping than maintaining station cleanliness, a lecherous quartermaster Brogan was sure she recognized from some old wanted posters, and an engineer so pudgy she couldn't get through some of the maintenance tunnels any longer. Brogan was also trying hard to ignore the several pounds she herself had put on from the substandard rations issued to the station by it's corporate masters.

At first having a routine seemed adequate, until that routine became more about harassing her fellow crew to at least attempt some level of adequacy in their performance and less about actual security matters. The realization that nobody cared about much of anything important here was making her regret her contract more and more each cycle. Hell, the corporation hadn't even seen fit to fill the station commanders position, leaving everyone to their own means. As long as the station kept selling fuel to passing freighters, her reports seemed to be falling on deaf ears.

How to get out....

Rendered in DazStudio and post-worked in Photoshop.