Rich is mostly trying to do the same thing. Fight. Protect garrison members. Avoid hitting the grim-looking guy in an even dumber-looking bucket.

But then the sound of giggling children echoes around them and his hair stands on end. Between the Lovecraft monsters and the space zombies back home, he's learned that the instincts carefully honed by years of watching horror movies are sometimes on point.

"Like hell there are," he says. "Just think for a second. Why would there be random kids in a fight like this? The only people here are us, the garrison, Catastrophists, and monsters."

The giggling is getting closer and starting to surround them.