It’s 06:50, the sun has begun to rise over LV-624. Encino man, with his large mongoloid gait strode onto dropship Alamo after a successful mission on the colony.
“Damn, that was a rough one.”
His splinted ribcage glistens as the bandages flecked with dry blood barely contain the rippled musculature of his bare, hairy, chiseled, barrel chest like the canvas of a Frazetta painting.
He cracks his trunk neck and wipes sweat off his tyrian purple headband (the color of royalty).
“Tyrian…the color of royalty.” He mutters, under his breath as he begins counting the scars on his arms.
He stands there, Herculean physique, as the dropship readies for take off. Then, a grenade falls out of his armor, lodging itself between two dropship seats.
He sighs and leans down to pick up the grenade, facing the wall, he grabs it with both hands and attempts to pull with all his might, but it keeps slipping as his greasy sweaty hands have already oiled up the grenade.
“I could use some help.”
As soon as Uriel’s words left his mouth, he felt an overwhelmingly masculine, powerful presence behind him. A familiar hand firmly gripped his shoulder. “Don’t worry lil bro. Im here now.”
Uriel quickly re-adjusted his posture to face the voice, abashed that he’d been caught in such a compromising position by his aSL.
It was Samson in the flesh- Lifelong battle buddy. Friend. Confidante.
He smelled of acrid sweat and pure testosterone. Uriel couldn’t help but notice his eyes wandering over to Samson’s bulging biceps as he caressed Annabelle, his M56B Smartgun softly- tenderly. He couldn’t help but wish Samson would do the same to his painful, battle-weary chest fractures and sore shoulders.
“No!” Uriel thought to himself. How could he be thinking such things?! He had to concentrate on the pressing task at hand- The greasy grenade that was eluding his grasp.
“Careful, brother. Turning your back- that goes against rule number one in boot camp. You never know when the CLF might launch a deadly ambush from behind.” Samson smirked.
“I-I-I-“ Uriel stammered. He blushed, not knowing why.
“I’m just playing, man. What’s got you so flustered? Let your big bad SG fix your problem, eh?”
“W-well, it’s just- My M15, it fell between the cracks of the Alamo seats, a-and I just can’t seem to get it up!”
Samson nodded. He flexed both his arms in a grandiose show of male strength, striking several poses in quick succession before kissing his guns. He flicked his eyes to Uriel, who was sweating profusely at the sheer display of peak male performance he would never achieve. Samson’s blood-red headband was soaked. Crimson, the colour of passion.
Samson held out his hand.
“Don’t worry- I won’t steal all the glory. Why don’t we do it together? Marines are a team, right?”
Uriel accepted.
Both marines, with their imposing, towering physiques- Bent over and tried to clasp their hands around the evasive M15, which continuously eluded them over and over. Each time, their hands met with one another, instead of the annoyingly slick sphere of high-explosives.
Uriel and Samson gave up, and stared into one another’s eyes, sweating and tired from the workout.
“You know, I think we both could use some help.” they blurted out simultaneously.
Command Announcement
Hi, John here.
Signed by,
Captain John R. Public
Senior Command Announcement
Hi, John.
Signed by,
Chief of the Colonial Marine Corp John Marine
Brrrrrrt, beno ded. What is roleplay?
Nigel Godfrey on deck.
Why did you patrice react me I literally did everything you wanted Uriel 
THE BETRAYAL…
Do better.
I’m in awe, really. 
Who saw this coming?
I’ll believe this when you heart react me instead >:(
Friendship achieved.