259 Misfortune

 "Yo wake up," a roughed-up voice call, "-DG has been on our asses for weeks now," complained the same man.

 "Just when it was getting cold enough for a good sleep," another voice reached out from under a bunk bed, "-this place is too hot for us to sleep." On the ceiling; a fan that turned monotonously without purpose, each round was followed by screech. Dust hovered above the tiny openings used as windows.

 "I'm on you with that one," a large mass dropped from the top bunk.

 "What's the plan now?" the one below rose.

 "We've been outplayed, that's what happened. Snow is retreating off Hidros. Desmond died and the Syndicate isn't willing to cooperate," the door, left ajar, was pushed. 

 "Guess we're left to die," the other replied without much thought, "-what you're saying is that our journey ends here."