Original Post — Direct link

Let's be real, he probably wakes up at 0500 from a beer and valium induced sleep so he doesn't have to dream about the same sh*t he endures Every. Single. Day.

Mission Control probably just wanted to be a numbers guy for the corporation. Simply responsible for the logistics of a couple of miners. I'd say there's a high chance he started off as a low level dweeb in accounting, tracking the gains and losses of morkite vs ammunition expenditures ("And For Corps Sake," he muses, "can they please cut down on the supply drops?"). He did that well enough until one day he finally got the call up to oversee an actual, real mining op. I bet his head flooded with the stories of stone-cold professionals, who with relentless determination, carry out deep dives to feed the corporate R&D machine.

So it was quite of a shock when his first day of operations, he knocks on the door to Operations Management and watches a somewhat haggard dwarf drag himself past with a single, solemn pat on the shoulder. Of course, saying that dwarf was 'somewhat haggard' would be like saying Hiroshima was 'somewhat windy' on August 6th, 1945. Confused and a little scared, but undeterred, new Mission Control entered, sat himself down, flipped on his screens, and donned his headset only to be met with the screeching sounds of some hellish polka cacophony while his scopes showed 2 dwarves in party hats dancing a jig while another was passed out on the ground in the...is that a pub? IN THE STAGING AREA?! Is that even allowed?

With a steadying breath, he remembered advice from the Mission Control Manual before keying his mic for the first time and politely reminding the mining team how their pay scale functions. Because they're professionals. And this is a fluke. Right? Except this apparently caused the 4th member to appear onscreen, draining a held tankard in a single, fowl breath before lobbing it at the incapacitated dwarf's head like inebriated shot-putter, shouting about someone named Karl, and jumping off into the barrel collection area. The two dancers then proceed to take up the Karl chant, and followed suit by repeatedly chucking the now noticed large volume of empty beer steins scattered about the floor at the incapacitated dwarf's head themselves. Finally they get him on his feet by...giving him another beer? What kind of Deep Rock Hell is going on? AND they're going right back to drinking? AND NOW EXPLODING?!

The manual covered none of this!

This is NOT what he was told to expect.

What follows is then Mission Control watched with dismay as these 4 gem-nabbers waddled around in a drunken stupor trying on new hats until one finally managed to plug a mission in for acceptance, most likely by accident as he was making lewd gestures with his pick. With the prompt, Mission Control dutifully fired up the insertion module as per instructions...and then proceeded to watch two members of this brew circus start kicking barrels into the launch bay. WHY?! It makes no sense! By the way, it's been 5 minutes and Mission Control literally cannot wrap his analytical mind around such verbal obsession with rock and stone. WHAT DOES IT MEAN?! They won't stop shouting it! And who in the Corp is Karl?!

Finally though, he manages to corral these slurring badgers and their literal arsenal into the expensively designed delivery vehicle. Except wait, one of them just can't stop themselves from dragging along a goddamn unsecured barrel into the drop ship for an orbital insertion. Incredulously, Mission Control warned them how bad of an idea it is to turn their transportation into 25 gee c*cktail shaker, but these fur-chinned hooligans couldn't hear him anyway during their incessant, ritualistic screaming about Karl, Rock, and Stone...which never stopped from the moment of tuning in, but did reach a fevered pitch during launch countdown. He can't imagine the cost from all the dents in the ceiling from smashing their picks in it during the aforementioned revelry.

Imagine being this guy, day in and day out, from Day 1. And let's not even talk about the mental clusterf*ck that is watching these brew-powered chuckleheads juggernaut their way through death and destruction with the grace of a tumbling cinder block.

I salute thee, Mission Control.

Rock and Stone.

External link →
almost 5 years ago - /u/Mike_GSG - Direct link

This is amazing, thank you for taking the time to write this.