(It's been over ten years since I posted this. Many have trudged through this world but it's been a while since I've done a straight up Realm of Fey adventure. So let's just start from the first.)

You have arrived in a dark forest. The canopy above is blocking the sun, but this is definitely not where you were previously. You took a wrong turn in a different forest, walked into a wardrobe that was deeper than it should be, got lost in the fog, or simply fell asleep in a glade and woke up here. The trees surrounding you are not like the ones you've seen before, but that becomes even more apparent when one of the trees opens their eyes and mouth.

"Who are you?"

Send whomever you want, but I will say if you send a world destroying god bent on destruction... then your god will soon find themselves being hit with the ban hammer.

On the east coast outside New Spark City is the former industrial powerhouse Shadyville. Now it's one of the most crime ridden cities in the U.S. Old warehouses hide crimes from the helicopters that fly overhead. Alley ways hide muggers and murderers. This city is a criminal haven.

But that's exactly why you're here. You're here to do crime. You're here to take something, or hurt someone. You're here to gain territory, or hide from the law. You're here to do bad.

You're the bad guy.

But first you arrive in a warehouse at the harbor. The rot and salt have made this place less than ideal for being a warehouse, but the perfect place to crimes. Your reason for being here hides in the shadows.

Time to be bad everyone. Please try to be some kind of low powered, or inept kind of bad guy. Let's keep this Saturday morning, or PG-13 kind of evil. The more scenery chewing the better.

Erianita, the world of Space Age Wildikin -- eight-foot-tall, horned, furry walls of muscle who are intimidating for most humans to look at. Once in orbit around their planet, one may notice that most of the world shows the colors of vast tracts of wild lands or ocean under the occasional swirl of clouds. Exceptions are few but do include a spaceport with associated services on the surface of one continent and a few airports scattered here and there. (The airports are well-maintained but mostly used by VIPs who will insist on traveling from one continent to another. The Wildikin ... put up with it.)

On the way in, you might have passed several industrial stations in the solar system. One notable thing about Wildikin history is that they moved most of the industry and mining activity off Erianita as soon as they had the technology, because why not? No one's going to miss some dead rocks.

As your ship enters orbit (or however you arrived -- not picky), an orbiting station hails you.

"This is Commander Opus of Orbital Station 5. Please identify yourself and state your business."

The twin suns slowly rose up over the horizon as Jordan shifted in their bed. They always go up at the moment the sunlight hit their face and today was no different. After consuming their usual morning meal of tea and cured fish, they tossed on their tunic and started the long trek to the Spire, the massive structure nestled in the Great Coastal Mountain range, once an old and decaying place, now a thriving city like place. This was due to the D.U.B's (Dimensional Unity Bureau) efforts to restore it as a means of studying it. Sighing, they started off on the path towards it.

((OOC; this is my first time here and I thought I'd do something related to my story/world building project; Wonderland. It's supposed to be my attempt at a mix between Fantasy and Sci Fi. Here's the document for more context

https://docs.google.com/document/d/10jZvUPW0LKkPXW9uVXV3Z97LIbmXmq7B-HRvcuGSgts/edit?usp=drivesdk

FWEEEEE! A loud whistle sounds as a train sits on the rail the depot in Old Arem, its 15 smallish cars being loaded with 25 sacks of mail for its first trip to Octon. It's anticipated that fifteen brave people will take the first trip as well. A conductor is making one last inspection of the controls with two other conductors riding along as standby. Word has it that it's meant to showcase this new form of transportation funded by Garamus Forest-King, and of course a bunch of Wildings and a few foreign dignitaries have turned up to watch.

In the trading town of Khor Wubathi, in the outskirts of the Ihousralan Empire, there are many rumors going around in the local taverns and tea-houses as one can expect from a town like this. But one rumor in particular stands out from the others, spoken in hushed whispers and fearful warnings:

"They say there dwells a demon in the desert, who arrived to this world on a pillar of flames from the heavens. Twice the size of a grown man, a living sandstorm made of fine sand as black as the deepest night and with blazing eyes the color of the sunset. As unforgiving as the mid-day sun, as deadly as the midnight cold, and as implacable as the sands of the desert. It is said to be able to strip a man to the bone in less than 2 minutes, to resurrect the bodies of the dead to do its bidding using unholy magic even the most holy of men cannot dispel, and even capable of corrupting the living, bending their body and mind to its will while corroding their soul from the inside. Some even say that it can take on human form, hiding amongst us in plain sight in a disguise so good it can bypass even the strongest of anti-demon wards."

"It stalks the desert at night, hunting the wicked and the unclean as the flesh of the sinful tastes sweetest to it. Beware its territory, near the holy waters of Rabie Alshifá, for it protects these waters with its might. Should you meet it, pay it respect and offer it gifts of food and gold. If it deems you free of sin, it may let you live if due respect is given, but beware. For if it deems your show of respect insufficient, or your gifts inadequate, it will devour you whole to never be seen again."

So then, who are you, who have heard this rumor? A traveling merchant, new to these lands? A mercenary or adventurer in search of more work? A traveler, lost in the desert and in search of a respite? Or are you something else entirely? Whichever you are, all are welcome to unravel the secrets of the desert. One wonders what you may find.

London, 1899. The fog and steam clog the streets and there's crime around every corner. Gangs have taken over certain sections while Lord Percival has proposed his new steam powered constables should help patrol and keep the gangs in check. Political problems persist as well. Parliament is having issues with a new political party that is rising up, The Brassmen. They want a pure and powerful England, free of European control, that includes the German monarchs sitting on the throne.

But you're not worried about those kinds of things, you've arrived at the Cistern Pub on the east end of London. It's near the Thames and smells of beer and sewage as a large sewage outlet pipe is just behind the pub. The beer is cheap, and the conversation cheaper. Not much is happening here at the moment as you enter. The barkeep is a man missing his left arm, but it's been replaced by a clockwork arm with a claw on the end. He wipes his hands on his greasy shirt and welcomes you in, "Come in out the fog. Have a pint and a chat." He motions to the bar stools.

Will you sit here for a while?

Commander Teral, a Ch'Meee trade-scout who resembles a sort of humanoid pig, waits somewhere in interstellar space for a message from her contacts or a rendezvous with one of her occasionally-shady business partners. There have been hints of potential ... complications ... but surely nothing a clever trade-scout can't handle with the right (or wrong) kind of people.

(It's been a while, so here's something.)

For a few weeks the eastern coast of the United States has been rocked by hurricanes. The World Hero's League has called in as many weather based heroes as they could. They even called in a few powerful telekinetics. Your character has arrived on a Florida beach as a massive storm is barreling towards it.

A woman in a blue and white jump suit with a large white afro lands beside you character, "Here to help?"

Rhetoric of Crimson

The last survivor of a massacre hides in a foreign city. Desperate and alone she looks for a way to continue her life and a way to preserve her family's culture.
A young man struggles to solve a string of brutal killings in his city. As he looks further into the mystery, deeper magic than he believed possible reveals itself.

Struggling against the expectations of his family name, a soldier looks to overthrow his uncle's tyrannical reign and save the lives of all under him.

Two Wildings sit at a corner table in a random diner, and one may notice that they both look rather grumpy. One of them is ... somewhat warm, though not enough to make things uncomfortable nearby.

Sarmus sounds exasperated more than anything. "No venison, no boar, not so much as a hare to be had in a 'civilized' place like this."

Garamus tries to keep him calm. "Do you have beef liver, at least?" he asks the waiters.

It’s December 23rd, 2020, and you’ve joined the Mori Family on their first big trip together since reuniting with their daughter, Kumiko. You’ve known the family for quite some time now. Maybe it’s through your father knowing the parents during High School, and they’ve offered to take you along. Or maybe you’re a regular at the family’s restaurant, to the point it’s almost a second home for you.

It’s been a long and arduous car trip, but you’ve finally arrived in this small Iwate town. Snow has coated the ground, to the point it’s easily two feet deep. Steam rises from the many hot springs found in this mountain town. The sun has already started to set, barely above the horizon at this point.

The car finally rolls to a stop outside a traditional inn. To your left is a groggy Sokaku, who’s been keeping awake with video games. His fox ears flutter, as he sets his system down. Kumiko, on the other hand, is fast asleep, still intent on using your shoulder as a pillow.

“We’re here…” Sadako yawns from the passenger seat, looking back. She looks like an older version of Kumiko, had she been imprinted with a fox instead of a wolf. Shuhei, meanwhile, steps outside, and makes his way to the back of the car.

You gather your strength, as you ready yourself to exit the vehicle.

Located in the high plains of the Troich Mountains, is a small city home set upon where three roads meet. To the north it leads to the capital city of the Dwarven Underkingdom To the west it leads to a the Arena Desert and the jinn tribes of Dao, the earth genies. To the east it leads to the Duchy of Gnometerra.

This city is rare as it is one of the few dwarven cities that lie above ground. In the high plains they grow food for many of the larger dwarven cities and for trade with the others around them. The city is made of stone, with a few wooden buildings on the outskirts. The central marketplace is exactly where the three roads meet and it is home to the Harvest Festival this time of year. Lots of food, music, and beer to go around. There are tables setup for all to have as they city shares it's abundance with travelers and locals alike. The loud bagpipes of the dwarves drones on into the night along with the massive drums they like to play.

You are a traveler. From where, who's to say, but you've arrived at the happiest time of year, right before the winters come in and make the roads nearly impassable. However things are stirring in the countryside. There is a dwarven armadillo cavalry moving towards Gnometerra, and some of the Dao trading caravans have stopped coming through.

Regardless of that, it's a grand time to come to Crois-rathaid. So eat, drink, and be merry!

Your character suddenly find themselves in an unknown realm with no memory of how they got there. The sky is purple, and dark blue clouds fill the sky. Occasionally a dark purple lightning bolt strikes the mountains surrounding the valley where they find themselves. On the other side of the valley, on top of a hill, a large, ominous-looking castle towers over a small city, but apart from that the valley is empty, no plants, no animals, nothing. There is no sound at all apart from the occasional lightning strikes.

(NSFW is on in case things go in such directions, although they do not have to.)

You have arrived in the bustling capital city of Sienna, the largest kingdom on the continent of Avalon. A massive steampunk metropolis filled with a diverse array of people ranging from pointy-eared humanoids, to animal people, to clockwork robots, and many more in between. Being new to this town, you decide to head to the only good and sensible place to learn more about your surroundings: The tavern and inn.

You enter a large two story building labeled “The Crimson Crown Inn and Tavern.” Upon entering, you find a large and nicely kept area with a bar in the back attended by a a short bronze and blue clockwork robot and a few other servers of different races as well. There are many different patrons at various tables as well: Prospective adventurers looking for a party to join, Adventuring parties looking for a new member or two to join them, people looking to have a business deal, and a quiet patron in a shadowy cloak sitting at a table in the corner far away from the noisier crowds nursing a glass of a purplish liquid and a small plate of bread and cheese as well.

On the back wall near the bar is a large cork board of sorts covered with ads and job offerings for prospective adventurers of all sorts as a group of knights and others were grouped around the board as well, carefully looking over board for possible jobs and missions to best suit their desires and skills, maybe you could find something there as well. A lot of the conversation and missions seem to be relating to the ongoing war with the Golden Empire and a strange meteor shower among other things that have been happening around Sienna in the past few weeks as well.

Most everyone seems relatively open for a conversation or two, maybe it would be good to ask about to learn about the kingdom and the world at large? Maybe take up a job or two for some extra cash? The choice is yours and your adventure awaits!

This is a high fantasy world akin to Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, and D&D among other similar stories and a new setting and story I'm testing out as well.

(I decided it might be fun to do a "redo" of my first ever RP I did here when I first joined the Ficiverse now that I'm more experienced with writing and RPing in general. This is an RP starring an AU version of my character Selena that I made specifically for RPing initially before integrating her into one of my settings more proper. So with that out of the way......)

A thick blanket of dark thunderclouds rolled in over the city bay and began to swirl ominously as the the winds started to howl with fury. The storm blew with all its monstrous might, raising titanic tidal waves that towered over the terrorized town as brilliant bolts of lightning crashed from the heavens. Thunder roared like an angry beast in deafening claps as the humungous hurricane barreled towards the frightened city to lay waste to all in its path. Meanwhile, inside the city, citizens ran for shelter and held their collective breath as they waited for their brave heroes to come save them from their terrible plight...

​

Our fine and fluffy heroine, Selena Starwind, arrived on the scene riding a gallant gust in her iconic silver and blue superhero outfit and observed the stormy situation at hand. She was no stranger to severe weather in fact, she would often whip up great tempests herself on a daily basis with her own mighty powers in her fight against evil, but she could not help but stare in awe of the destructive might and fury Mother Nature had brought to bare upon her dear city. However, she remained calm, for nothing had ever defeated her before and she was confident that nothing ever would. If the winds were howling, then she would be roaring! Smiling confidently and sucking in a deep breath, Selena bellowed over the deafening gales with a voice that rivaled the thunder itself, "FEAR NOT, GOOD CITIZENS! FOR STOPPING THIS LITTLE DRIZZLE WILL BE NOTHING MORE THAN A BREEZE FOR US!" And she flew directly into the heart of the swirling storm and down into the city to help those who needed it, though even heroes like her could probably need some help every once in a while....

Somewhere in the forest just outside Old Arem, a group of small Wilding children can be seen throwing handfuls of twigs into the air and seeing how many of them land in a circle they've drawn in the dirt. Who knows why they do it, but it seems to make them giggle a lot. They look like they're barely older than toddlers.

Suddenly, they see your OC and stop their game. A few of them run to find the adults; others watch the OC with fingers in their mouths.

Marketplex is a space station in orbit around a gas giant. The station primarily is used for hydrogen refinement but since it's at a sort of crossroad in this sector it's also used for trade and transport.

This sector is under Muskan control, an alien race that seemed like earth aardvarks mixed with warthogs. However this solar system while in Muskan space, was under control of a shady organization that ran Marketplex and the hydrogen mines on the gas giant below.

Most people who came here, if they weren't working in processors or the hydrogen miners, came here to trade or change ships. The central core is where most of that business took place. At the top of the core was a business center where offices and operations were held. There were also various parks, of varying quality. It's the nicest spot on the station. Below that were levels of market places that grew in quality the closer they got to the central docking ring, but the lower in the station you went the worse it got. At the bottom were the hydrogen processors, and where some of the riff raff tended to hang out.

There are residences interspersed and the higher you are in the station the better they are. There is one residence at the very top of the station and it belongs to the owner of the station, a mysterious figure called Mistress Zyxx. No one knows her but there are various figures who claim to work directly for her.

However enough of the intrigue of the station, what has brought you to Marketplex today? Are you traveling through the sector and changing ships, looking for work, looking to disappear? Or maybe you've come here for nefarious reasons? Perhaps you had no idea how you got here and are wondering where this is? Whatever the reason, whatever your species, it's not going to draw too much attention considering the various aliens that traverse the station.

So what brought you here?

Garamus Forest-King stands before the ruins of a citadel, in a city that had once been the capital of a mighty empire but now mostly serves as a reminder that great empires can fall and a crossroads for traders traveling through the Untamed Lands. Within this ruined citadel is a pile of pure gold coins that is as tall as one Wilding standing on another's shoulders and an average Wilding is eight feet tall. As you make your approach, Garamus looks at you with a classic poker face.

What could you offer to a horned, furry lord of the Untamed Lands and chief warlord of the Wildings that could convince him to part with his fortune? Will you be able to sell it to him, or will he dismiss you as yet another greedy trader?

Hi everyone,

Some context first! The Future That Never Was is a cyberpunk/space western book series starting with KITTY KITTY, a trilogy of episodic short-stories featuring a duo of bounty hunters: sassy space cat Lee and his Desert Eagle-toting, soda-swigging human partner, Ali, in a solar system stuck in the late 80s/early90s.

KITTY KITTY 's episodes are published online for free on different platforms including Royal Road. No need to sign up either. If you want to start reading on Royal Road, here's the LINK.

May you find below the first chapter if you're interested!

----

KK1 - #01 RETRO COSMOS

No one knew what the nutrigel was made from. The official version advocated a mixture based on harvested tholin from the Outer System and protein farms’ gelled deposits. A more fanciful explanation suggested the involvement of cockroach juice or seniors recycled for the common good.

Shaping food from this compote was an art. A craft so difficult to master that most stellar canteens offered the radiation-free nutrigel and its derivatives directly in raw form; usually an emerald-colored gum cobble with an indeterminate taste and a consistency that couldn’t be placed on any chart. That said, the chefs of the lost stations on the space highway, stretching from Earth to Saturn, managed to make dishes worthy of the name. Sushi, burgers and tartiflettes, everything remained imaginable with the nutrigel because it could be shaped as desired. Thanks to a few spices and black-market condiments, it was even possible to recover the flavors of yesteryear, when humans were cramming into our native world.

It was nevertheless with deep sadness that I reveled in such refined meals as, that day, a multi-cheese pineapple pizza. Because, alas, my cat’s stomach wouldn’t allow me to eat them in their entirety.

“What an injustice! What a misery! What a suffering!”

In this outmoded diner, my last slice lay immaculate before me on the chipped Formica table; within paws’ reach and yet so far away.

“Are you monologuing alone in your head again, Lee?”

I had apparently let the conclusion of my lament slip away. But what could Ali understand about my agony? Slumped on the peeled and cracked mauve wall bench, she was gluttonously eating enough to feed a supercargo crew alongside their lot lizards. Golden crumbs covered her black suit, and she even had hot sauce on the blond hair falling over her narrow shoulders. This girl’s stomach appeared to be a bottomless wormhole. I, meanwhile, was overcome by a few counterfeit pieces of tropical fruit on a slice of fake bread despite a real appetite.

I was morose. The imperial roundness of my overfilled belly reflecting through the empty Coke glass was more to blame than my usual existential depression. I always had the blues when I had eaten too much. “My life is nothing but pain,” I concluded, rolling over the greasy table; only to rehash my sad failure.

My partner finally pitied me. Or was I decidedly too cute to leave her indifferent? She washed her hands with a wipe that smelled like gasoline and stroked my silky gray coat. After scratching my white-haired chin, it was time, according to her, to pack up.

“But Ali… there are two slices left!” Here we were again! Wasting food while only a few days ago, we were starving in Phobos’s orbit.

We browsed the colonized system for weeks, looking for a former pirate on the run. According to some information that we’d collected when we passed through Ceres, in the belt, our target was near the Red Planet; the capital world. Alas, it turned out that he’d never set foot there. We’d been scammed. Frustration added to exhaustion and patience wasn’t my partner’s forte.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it…” she said, looking daggers at me with her blue eyes.

Once standing, my human had trouble fastening her Velcro belt, loosened as a safety precaution before eating like an ogre. She ultimately left it open, revealing, gracelessly, white boxer shorts and navel showing through the gap. That night, the legendary black hole had reached its limits. There was finally justice in this cold universe.

After adjusting her pink plastic jacket’s sleeves, Ali nonchalantly threw a few wrinkled bills on the table where they got stuck on a sauce stain. With my usual elegance, I positioned myself on her right shoulder; always covering our back when we left a public place. I had been doing this since we first teamed up years before.

My partner took a bubble gum, and we departed. The restaurant of the cargo center was almost empty. The flickering VFD clock upon the main condiment bar indicated 3:00 a.m. Martian Time. But this wasn’t of much help because outside, beyond the aligned rectangular windows, the night was eternal.

Nancy Sinatra sang through the radio over the muted info-ads on the blurry color TV set. The chorus of Bang Bang barely covered the heated discussion of a few pilots in a cubicle near the toilets. Farther on, behind the cigarette smoke, a robot salesman in a poor-fitting suit with a piano tie was trying to sell his electronic trinkets to a group of gullible tourists. Of the staff, only one waitress with medium curly hair and orange gloss remained in the room; busy cleaning the brass knobs of the antique Mr. Coffee machine improved to work in reduced gravity. She bid us farewell with a nod, bouncing her wrinkled jowls and dentures that held a rolled cigarette firmly in place. It was no wonder her skin was so white as she had never seen real sunlight.

Here, on the road to the asteroid belt, the Sun’s rays had been lost in the void. A bit like us. And we liked it that way.

“She looks like a low-sugar Betty White,” Ali joked.

“You’re a scandalmonger. And a very mean one.”

“I know.”

Following the long row of tufted counter stools, we finally reached the plexiglass gates. Tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear, Ali pushed the right door with the shoulder I wasn’t sitting on. Despite her efforts, it refused to move. After my partner tried the other panel in vain, we realized we were locked in.

“Bogus! The waitress already bolted the doors?” my human asked. “What time is it?”

Ridiculous. Those diners never closed. Through the glass, I glanced at the outside handle. It had recently been tampered with using some acidified resin. The yellow viscous substance blistered around the magnetic lock.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t answer Ali because someone immediately shouted behind us: “Alright, folks! Everyone stay at their table and keep it shut! This is a hold-up! Y’all know the drill.”

The criminal stood on the counter with bowed legs to avoid collecting his share of cobwebs with his greasy brown mane. His faux leather jacket gave off a strong smell of perspiration perceptible through the room. The same coat was decorated with various unstitched veteran badges from the corpo-campaigns around Uranus. I supposed this bandit had previously entered by the other door leading to the motel, or via the pantry.

As we slowly returned to our cubicle, zigzagging between the tables, the man continued his plea, punctuated by violent coughing fits. Clapping his boots, he was threatening the waitress with a blade sticking out of his palm. This wasn’t her first armed robbery as there were no signs of panic from her; or maybe they were just imperceptible under the thick Tinkerbell makeup barely covering her wrinkles. On the other hand, the customers reacted differently and started to get agitated. The tourists began filming the scene with their newly acquired camcorders.

“Don’t anyone start fussing or I’ll cool it down! No hesitation!” the robber shouted. The bar’s neon lights over his skull illuminated his sweaty face with red, threatening to ignite the poor-quality hairspray. He looked like a maniac, and nobody moved after his final warning: “I’m a wanted man on all the moons of the Outer System, to tell you how much you must not provoke me!”

“Well… that’s interesting,” I whispered to Ali as we had just come back to our table close to the wall. I lay down against an empty napkin dispenser resting on top of the bench covered with dusty forgotten gum wrappers, just behind where my human took place.

I lay down against an empty napkin dispenser resting on top of the bench covered with dusty forgotten gum wrappers, just behind where my human took place.

“Wait a sec’!” she mumbled to me as she was holding one of the last, now cold, slices in her mouth. “I’m checking the register.” My partner was secretly typing on her wrist terminal, a tiny rectangular console inlaid in the flesh of her left forearm she had connected to the table’s network outlet by a red-wired 3-millimeter diamond-shaped plug. Lines of cyan squared characters flashed up on the black monochrome monitor among poorly rendered pictures. I could hear the processor cramming megabytes of data from the intraweb.

I thought the man must have phonic implants because he immediately rotated his head towards us, raising an eyebrow. “Hey! You!” he fumed, jumping from the bar as my heart stopped for a second. He quickly made his way through the room, scraping the chairs and the tables against the floor. Luckily for us, Ali had finished her research before he could reach us and it turned out he was just trying to pass the time while the waitress was filling a large metal box with cash: “I note that someone here don’t lose her appetite while traveling across the void! How do they call you, blondie?”

This airhead had that smug, intrusive tone, making this clumsy, old-fashioned approach even more awry. Even worse! He had ignored me. Me, the cutest face in the system. Lying on top of the back of the bench, hadn’t he noticed me? Or was that a challenge? Of course, it was. I had to intervene. It was a matter of ancestral feline honor. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Can’t you see you’re bothering my partner, low-rank human?”

The troublemaker opened his eyes wide. Obviously, he had never heard a cat speak so eloquently. Perhaps he had never heard a cat speak at all. “Come again, irritating little rodent. Human… of rank what?”

“Irritating? Rodent? What insolence!” I meowed. With my ears back, I was fuming. “I happen to be a Maine Coon, Monsieur. I’m only one gene away from the ruthless cougar!”

He laughed as his wrist blade shone under the pale ceiling lights. From the tip of it, he was going to steal the leftovers of our meal. “Listen, mutant. I’m chatting with the chick who looks like trouble. Not with her flea-covered Teddy Ruxpin with a French accent, capishe?” he pursued.

Or rather, he concluded. For his lame tough-hearted speech was interrupted by a crash and the sweet scent of Saturnian gunpowder. The synthetic copper bullet had gone from Ali’s gun through the laminated table and plastic plate so fast that the last piece of pizza resting on it had barely shaken. It had penetrated through his Adam’s apple then continued to the junction of the spine and the base of the skull before entering it. The ballistic behind this was amazing yet disappointing. There was no large sheaf of blood repainting the restaurant’s decrepit walls; no screaming; no backward jump as you see in those bad direct-to-video movies. Hollywood truly lied to us.

The thief was barely conscious when he collapsed to the ground, complying to the gentle law of gravity; even if artificial. A few spasms and a muffled hiccup followed the fall. George Orwell wrote: you have nothing, except the few cubic centimeters of your skull. That was literally true. At least until that dipstick Ali just shot emptied his jammy cortex onto the turquoise tiles flooring before giving up his final breath.

“That’s not clever!” I exclaimed as I jumped to the ground. “Look at the mess you made!”

I landed a few centimeters away from a chunk of tongue and a pool of purple liquid with a dead-fish smell. The gaze of the last customers who hadn’t seized the opportunity to rush through the utility room or the motel, had turned towards our table. Once again, my sapiens, as I sometimes liked to call her, offered a pitiful spectacle of our profession.

“This fucker wanted to pinch my slice,” Ali strongly defended herself while picking up the shiny expelled shell from her massive iridescent .50 AE Desert Eagle. “So, I plead like, you know… self-defense?”

“Nonsense!” I replied.

Our sixth spat of the day was immediately interrupted by the cook’s arrival. Judging by the sleep lines on his puffy face, this fat man with a bull neck must have been slumbering in the scullery. He had finally summoned up his meager courage to intervene once the threat had been averted. “Excuse me, Madam…” he began by replacing the safety catch on his old Remington. My partner lifted her jacket to put her gun in the leather holster under her left armpit. By doing so, she revealed the badge on her left lapel: a discreet gold-rimmed palladium plaque the size of a quarter. “Madam the bounty hunter…”

“We prefer the term ‘Auxiliary of Justice’,” I replied, graciously leaping back to the table where the bills were still lying in the dried sauce. “Way more PR, you see.”

Ali hushed me with a harmless slap on the head. She was the only person authorized to do so. And by “authorized”, I mean I endorsed this behavior with minor diplomatic repercussions.

The cook started again while scratching his dreadfully shaved throat: “Certainly. Could you please hurry up and retrieve his identifier? We’d like to dispose of the body. It’s pretty bad for business.”

“Alright… alright!” Ali replied politely, her ragged once-white sneakers bathed in the blood which began to clot. “We just need his FID.”

The identifier, or FID for Finger IDentification, was a small visible ring that replaced the first phalanx of the right annular. This implant made of plastic and metal contained your administrative, banking, medical and other boring information. Not fully trustable, it was usually retrieved by bounty hunters to prove a contract’s fulfillment; always more enjoyable than flying through the cosmos with a swelling severed head in an ice tray. Well… I mean… from a sapiens’ point of view.

My partner summarily cut off our target’s finger with her right heel, and we got a match. She had quickly found on her wrist terminal that the robber’s name was Joey Neill. And Joey should have run today. But who cares? He was a wastoid and murderer wanted for C$10,000 on Phoebe. Ten thousand dollar-credits. That’s all we needed to know.

“Phoebe…” Ali mumbled after sweeping the device with her computer’s optic for the second time.

The dark moon S IX Phoebe was where we had to head for our reward. As reported before, the finalization of an Outer System’s contract had to be done in person: no mailing, no identifier scanning or holo-conferencing. We kept the Wild West spirit beyond the asteroid belt.

“I can already hear you ranting about making such an excursion back to Saturn,” I said to my human as she placed the FID in a special metal box shaped like a hip flask. “You regret your intervention, don’t you?”

“It’s so far away! Why can’t the Outer System work like the Middle or Inner Planets? It’s so lame! I fucking hate road trips!”

“Take a chill pill!” I reacted. “Thus, I think it’s time to go back to the Rings anyway.” I then climbed again on her shoulder as we decided to leave the restaurant for good. “By the way, did you give another gracious gratuity for the pool of hemoglobin on the floor? And the huge smoking hole in the table?”

“I hate tipping! It’s such an outdated custom!” My partner proceeded to kick the door, which the corrosive gum kept closed, off its hinges. The violence of the blow knocked down the adjacent ashtray and its contents poured onto the asphalt sidewalk. Miraculously, the sashes returned to slam against the twisted jamb, but the Plexiglas pane split in two. “God! The Middle System sucks too!” she resumed. As always, Ali was turning into an acerbic teenager when thwarted.

“Are you for real?” I cursed her as the Open/Close holo-sign slowly fell down behind us. “Yet another establishment where I won’t be able to come back!”

She snickered. “You know what? That’s fine! I’m getting tired of pizzas.”

I let out a gasp, ears up. “Are you going mad?” I meowed as I put one of my paws on her temple. My pad didn’t detect a fever. She was very serious. “Anyway… you’ll change your mind in less than twenty-five hours. As usual.”

“Whatever.”

We proceeded down the narrowed spiral staircase leading to the main concourse. There, as evidenced by the green LED on the circular station’s airlocks, the parking lot was almost empty and peaceful. But it would soon fill up. On the other side of the ceiling only armored window the size of a baseball field, a dozen luminous purple and blue dots appeared. These were flashing in the infinite night. It was certainly a convoy of supercargos on its way, like us, to Ceres. They would rest here for a few hours or a couple of days.

Space travel could be long and consumed a lot of energy for both crews and ships. Lack of sunshine and confinement could overcome even the most robust of minds. Ali and I had found our escape: greasy fast food and the relatable Betamax. Franchises like Pizza’n’Droid or Blockbuster lined up on the invisible highway’s space stations and attracted local and transiting wildlife as well as criminals. The great distances had sparked a new boom in the age of smuggling and piracy. Good for us, right?

“Is the coolant full?” Ali asked the snoring red-haired boy sleeping in a shiny vinyl bean bag chair next to the maintenance hangar we were facing once finishing crossing the silent hall.

His head against one of the huge heat pumps, he finally opened his eyes before taking his Walkman’s headphones off and turning down the volume. “Huh? Yeah! Full l—load of Blue, Madam,” he stammered before clumsily rising and dusting off his green pine coverall. “Quite a museum piece you got here, eh?” He then fixed his gaze on Ali. Under his pimples, his skin turned bright red.

It was the same everywhere my sapiens went. Rotational gravity gently floated her golden hair and her silk-light jacket, giving her a fairy-tale air, or at least a supernatural presence making people’s head spin. Or maybe it was her freckles, shaped like the Milky Way. You wouldn’t picture how many bottoms I had to bite to brush humans off her bed every morning after we stopped on inhabited worlds.

From crimson these lovers usually turned to the palest white when she lifted her top to reveal her silvery badge and her much too large holster to grab her outrageously kitsch pink furry wallet.

“Y—you’re a police officer? A darned Techno-cop?” the young attendant stuttered while ordering a robot to open the garage door, cash in hand. “No wait!” He smiled, proud of his synaptic performance. “An Auxiliary of Justice?”

“Damn right,” replied my human who, like me, noted here the correct use of the term.

“Dang! You got to hunt the worst criminals to be able to afford such a rad beauty!” the boy concluded.

The dusty spotlights turned on, the interior of the garage was flooded with a pale blue glow, revealing on the lobby’s walls a vast and creepy collection of Molly Ringwald’s posters. But that wasn’t the most important as the Kitty vertically stood in the center of the more substantial workshop*.* This marvel at the confluence of design and technology was a Swallow-2 military starfighter of the former United Nations converted into a lone frigate. Twelve tons of alloys and ceramics with flaked coral paint, the legacy of a triumphant past; a 3.5 by 10 meters beauty of Earthen-armored hull in the shape of the eponymous bird, with a long-forked tail surrounding the turbine of a real next-generation post-nuclear Baltimore-IV engine from sixteen generations ago. The vintage class like these bald monkeys no longer did. Weapons inventory: no laser beams certainly, nor fancy electronic toys, but good 40 mm machine guns at the front and a non-registered railgun under the belly. Rusty, yet effective! And I will spare you the details about the control computer and the power of its IBM 16x bits 50 MHz data-core processor. Quantum upgraded. Time Magazine’s Man of the Year.

“The rust really ties the ship together, eh?” joked the young boy. As you can see, he was abusing sarcasm on this splendor of times sadly gone by. “How fast can Grandma Swallow push at full cycle up there?”

“This pimply asteroid-faced uncouth is mocking my vessel!” I muttered between my lips so only my partner could hear it.

“Dunno…” she replied to him while he guided us on the footbridge leading to the left flank’s octagonal airlock. “I don’t fly it. Lee does.”

“Yes! I’m the pilot!” I hurled, ears on airplane mode.

Ali stopped me by taking me in her arms. This scoundrel was saved because I almost made canned dolphins out of him. Too bad. This pump attendant would never know how a cat could maneuver a medium starfighter. He would remain ignorant until the end of his pathetic existence shortened by the radiation from nuclear reactors.

“Easy there, furry ball,” Ali whispered as the airlock’s rotary shutters hissed. But the chin scratching that was supposed to soothe me was promptly interrupted by a message’s alarm. It appeared on my partner’s terminal which had just synchronized with the ship’s computer IR module then in range.

“New contracts? At last!” I asked as the attendant left, loudly dragging his untied sneakers.

My sapiens opened the body of the announcement and frowned. “Just one. It’s a gig in the belt. It’s on our way, but no homicide allowed. Capture only.”

We both let out a groan of disappointment.

“As we’re heading for the external stations of Ceres, we’ll check for other jobs in the area,” I said as Ali had already thrown the contract in the virtual bin. “And whether we can gather new information about this miserable pirate of Oswald Avery.”

We boarded our beloved Kitty. Crossing the hold renovated to combine a cozy bedroom, a fully equipped kitchen and a one-person bath module, we reached the wall ladder leading to the cockpit facing the garage’s roof. Once there, I jumped on my comfy pilot seat as my sapiens stretched up before settling on her own inclined chair on my right.

The encrypted key in the ignition, the dashboard’s rainbow LEDs lit up. The control computer greeted us with a smiley ideogram on the main polychrome monitor. On the two other CRT lateral screens flashed up the ship’s check-up results and the updated regional map. As the reactor started its cycle, I made the rear cooling pumps roar.

“Ready?” I asked.

Ali inserted a cassette into the Blaupunkt. Pressing the faded Play button, she simply nodded while lying back. Soon after, Desireless’s Martian accent arose, making the speakers vibrate to the sound of Voyage Voyage. My paws on the control sticks, we took off towards the starry sky, plus loin que la nuit et le jour.

Back to business!

-----

Thank you for reading!

I hope you liked Lee and Ali, and the retro-setup.

As stated, all the books of The Future That Never Was and episodes of KITTY KITTY are being uploaded on Royal Road for free. You can also find me on scribblehub or spacebattles.

​

The Future That Never Was is an extended universe where Mars was terraformed before the Beatles sang Penny Lane, the Soviets colonized the asteroid belt and pirates plundered the rings of Saturn. In this alternate space age, humankind couldn't dream of a brighter future. Alas, the minute Earth turned into a nuclear wasteland, shadows already conspired from the heart of the Moon to the mysterious Planet Nine—and maybe beyond...

Garamus Forest-King has arranged a festival in Old Arem. Planned entertainment includes archery and swordfighting demonstrations, moose races (that's right, actual moose races featuring members of the famous Moose Tribe cavalry), a glider and light aircraft show, Garamus himself might occasionally perform with his firesticks when he isn't busy with something or other, singers and storytellers who know all the traditional songs and stories of the Wildings, and a fireworks show is planned for tonight. There's wild game, fish, and tubers roasting over the cooking fires, kegs of cider and hot kona-nut brew are ready to go, and the Pudu Tribe is selling bags of candied kona nuts at a stand.

Do you set up a stand to sell whatever's normal for people from your world to sell at a festival, bring your own entertainment, or just walk around, talk to people, and enjoy the show?

While traveling along one of the paths through the Untamed Lands, one might hear the noises of creatures going about their business. A small animal squeaks when a hawk swoops to catch it. Bushes rustle with the motion of hidden life. Occasionally, one might see the glimpse of an indeterminate something moving through the trees, though it's typically not clear enough and they're gone too fast to get a good idea of what they are.

Somewhere in the Untamed Lands, a Wilding mother is teaching her child how to swim. They are horned, furry, bipedal beings. (And, yes, both of them are naked.) The small child -- a toddler, really -- is just starting to grown his horns in. Like most Wildings, the female is a tall, furry, horned being. They're close enough to the path to be visible.

Garamus Forest-King's people set up the table that has come to be known as the Peace Table -- a round stone table that looks ancient, and may have a scar or two from a past, long-forgotten war. This table is often used for peace conferences, both to settle disputes between Wildings and Otherfolk, and to give Otherfolk a neutral place to meet when they can't settle their differences any other way. It is placed at the customary distance from the Empty Throne, an iron throne that still sits on its dais in the ruined citadel of Old Arem, a constant mute reminder that nothing is ever permanent even if it might have been powerful at one time. (Important note: The citadel ruins are part of the notable ancient ruins that represent a long-ago empire that once occupied the territory that now belongs to the Wildings, and does NOT mean that the Wildings have been defeated. They consider keeping it and sometimes using it to host diplomatic events as an important cultural thing.) Seats are placed around it and refreshments are brought; the Wildings have done their homework and know what is safe for the incoming negotiators to consume.

Garamus' people are all eight-foot-tall, horned, furry walls of muscle called Wildings.

At his left, General Sarmus flicks his ears, one of which is knicked. His face bears many battle scars and he wears his customary leather armor.

On Garamus right, Dadius leans on his ornately carved staff. His once pure-black fur is now streaked with the grey of age. He wears a hedge wizard's customary green and brown robes.

Finally, scouts come running back to report that the representatives are on their way. Perhaps they are coming to negotiate with the Wildings or perhaps they have simply asked the Wildings to provide a neutral point for negotiations with somebody else.

On the flat plains of the former eastern portion of the Meri Empire lies the largest kingdom on the continent of Meri, the Kingdom of Tuken. The city of Knox is the capital.

No one knows where the name came from but some believe it came from the name of an ancient pre-Fall structure which was said to house great riches at one time. The structure has been surrounded by massive pillars of stone and iron reclaimed from many pre-Fall cities so as to protect the royal family. Knox is the wealthiest city on the continent and is a center of riches and culture as well as a museum of many artifacts from the Meri Empire.

But an ancient secret sleeps beneath the palace. An ancient secret that could change the kingdoms of Meri forever…

(You can either be an approaching traveler from distant lands seeking fortune or an OC but not with any magic. Tech is fine though. Only human characters too)

On the planet of Anticthon, it's a pleasantly chilly, snowy evening in the beachside town of Charybdis Point as you find yourself in front of a large building named the "Anticthon Explorer's Society and Institute of Research Guild" Or the AESIR Guild for short. It seems like it has been decorated for a party of sorts in blue, white, and purple as the sound of bustling and fun activity could be heard inside, a warm glow coming from the doors.

"Good to see you! Welcome to the party!"

You have died, it doesn't matter how. All you remember is a woman in black taking you by the hand, and then something happened and you fell through the darkest of darknesses. Your vision became jumbled then you arrived in a plane of grey. The ground is grey, the grass, and rocks are grey, and the water you've landed beside is grey as well. You can't see very far as there is a grey mist floating everywhere. Suddenly through the fog you can see a light approaching you. An old black woman with long braided hair emerged holding a lantern in her hand. She smiles at you bows.

"Hello there lost soul. I am Eve, the mother of all humanity, or at least that's what they tell me."

[LOCATION: Andromeda Galaxy, Northern Quadrant, Trunoks Sector, Delkazorph System, Delkazorph-4]

[DATE: 6,010 P.F.]

The Planet of Delkazorph-4 is widely seen as a place where only money and charisma have power, and the laws that all kinds of people make become irrelevant to the power of the Credit. Delkazorph-4 is the capital world of the Drefen, a species of slug-like creatures with six tentacle-like arms, a long trunk-like nose, and fly-like eyes. Other species of Andromeda often view the Drefen with contempt, as their massive bodies seem to move with the sole purpose of acquiring profit from wherever they can. The Drefen Federation of Commerce is the epitome of this, devoted to capitalism in manner found in very few places, ruled by fat corporate houses and managed by legions of automated workforces and employed outsiders. The Delkazorph system resides as not only the capital of political power, but also a major center of trade, with the most expansive infrastructure in a single system, second only to perhaps the Xithian or New Terran systems. Delkazorph-4 is the primary planet of the system, having about 1.47 times the gravity of Earth and home to a rather hostile atmosphere which only the swamp-like native life can survive in. The Drefen, while able to breath in the atmosphere of the planet, still rather reside in the domed cities and sky-piercing citadels scattered across the planet and connected by advance maglev trains that put New Greenland's train system to shame. While the Drefen and their mechanical servants reside in high-rise and atmospherically sealed residencies, most outsiders ranging from lower-ranking workers, travelling merchants and businessmen, foreign residents, mercenaries of all kinds, and more than a few criminals, are active mainly on the ground floors of the domed cities. While opportunity is great, it is also dangerous as some will be willing to do anything to reach the peaks that the Drefen have reached just to gain a sliver of influence. Still, they will likely never be able to match them while they live in the rather unkept conditions of the lower-levels. Even in more comfortable locations, life is hard on this world, and more than a few suspect that it is all by design.

Your character arrives on one of the various Space Elevators which will bring them down to one of the larger domed cities. already, they can feel the mass of the planet pulling them down, bringing them closer to a world of business well-intended and malicious (most likely the latter). However they arrived is up to you: Spaceship entering the system and docking, waking up not knowing where you are, some space-time wormhole-like anomaly, or leave it ambiguous. Whatever it is, after arriving, they see a glowing green sign with deep black text above a walkway that could fit a highway. It shifts from language to language of various origins, including a few human languages, and they all say the following: "Welcome to Delkazorph-4, where treasure can be in your hands."

Mars. Otherwise known as the Scum of the Solar System. From the massive sandstorms which cover not only the planet but the movements of the many gang movements on the surface, to the northern mud flats (the result of a failed terraforming attempt) where bodies are thrown and never recovered, Mars is, without a doubt, the most dangerous place to live. But also the most lucrative if you're careful.

Vale is the largest city on the planet, a marvel of human engineering from the time when the Terranshad high hopes for Mars as a symbol for Terran achievements. A vast clear covering keeps atmosphere from escaping the entire length of the canyon, which is now one complete megacity. While there are other cities and settlements all over the planet, Vale is the center of Martian society.

However, this is not your normal Solar System. Humans aren't the only sapient life that evolved on Earth. The ancient and humanoid Wolves evolved alongside humans. Once ancient enemies, the two banded together for survival during one of Earth's ice ages and became quickly bonded.

The Vale itself is home to over 600 million Martians, humans and wolves alike. The city itself has its own miniature biome and it rains more often than not.

Your character arrives near the Far East Gate, a massive ten meter thick tungsten door. You're waved through by a gruff but bored looking muscular wolf guard who immediately goes back to looking at some nasty images on his computer terminal without a care in the world. The city's eastern part lies before you, a sprawling landscape of tall skyscrapers and shady businesses everywhere. There's a sign with many wanted people publically displayed as being a member of a group called Ares Liberation, an apparent terrorist group. To quote an ancient Earth media: "Watch your step. This place can be a little rough."