Heat Jack was still clinging to Xeon III with one hand, and with the other dealt destruction to anyone entering its optimal range.
Inside the cockpit Reb Mannings face was set on concentrated frown with beads of sweat forming upon his forehead. He had counted twenty takedowns so far. Those crablike unknowns were easy targets depending on numbers and rush tactics. Rebs plasma rifle cut trough them like warm knife trough butter. Pirates that had appeared mere moments after the assault were considerably tougher with advanced mechas and armaments. It almost made no sense to him as most pirate factions troughout known space mostly used crappy salvage mechas and ancient military surplus.

A sense of relief washed over him when he saw one of those crab thingies collide with a pirate mecha obliterating them both.
They were victims too it seemed, of this newly released madness. Reb tried several known pirate radio channels at once, not caring if resulting noise sounded like two sea elephants making out.
"[i]Wake up you fancy pants! Can´t we duke this out like men after these vermin have been dealt with??!![/i]"