Humans are space orks

At first glance, there is nothing special about those hairless, apelike bipedeals. They are not as strong as Gulldorians or as fast as S’kateels, nor do they have the psionic senses of the Thae’ruun. Their bodies look soft, oddly proportioned, and constantly leaking moisture. I once assumed they survived by clumsiness and luck. Then I observed them. At the Council Summit, the human delegation was offered Acronian fluid—purely ceremonial, since the fumes incapacitate most species. The humans drank entire glasses of it. Voluntarily. Their leader said it “packed a strong punch” and asked if there was a stronger version. On an expedition, a human received a deep laceration from a spined crawler. Our medics prepared for antitoxin treatment, but the human simply rinsed the wound with sterilizing foam that should have burned straight through their skin, wrapped it with torn fabric, and continued walking. It healed disturbingly fast. When asked how, the human said, “It's just a scratch.” I also witnessed a human repair a malfunctioning drone by repeatedly hitting it with a rock. No diagnostic tools—just determination and questionable enthusiasm. The drone restarted. We now lock away anything fragile. After these incidents, I revisited their planetary classification: Terra, a Category 5 Deathworld. A place where even the atmosphere tries to kill you. What humans call food, other would call chemical warfare. They found a way to eat almost anything on this world, even if they didn't need to. Suddenly, humans made sense. Their resilience, recklessness, and bizarre adaptability aren’t anomalies—they’re survival traits. Their behavior is not heroic or wise. It is chaotic, unsettling, and somehow effective. I used to consider humans unimpressive. Now I flinch whenever one says, “I have an idea.” From an interview with Captain Dunga when ask about the integration-plan of humans into the federation. Autocard enabled, credit to @LewdLeah