Movie Review: Assassin's Creed.

Adapting a video game into other media is not easy. It's almost become expected for game properties to make bad films, and that's usually because they don't have enough story to form the basis of a proper narrative structure from beginning to end. What happens when the opposite is the case? 

Assassins Creed is a video game series that to date spans 20 games. It's known for having one of the most complex, sophisticated science fiction story-lines in modern gaming, and there's no sign of it slowing down anytime soon. Can you truly condense hundreds of hours of gaming into a single film, and bring with it the thrill and excitement of controlling a character running across a rooftop and shimmying down an awning, sneaking from shadow to shadow to finally piece the heart of your foe with a hidden blade? 

Let's take a look at Assassins Creed. 

Callum Lynch is a man on death row, a man made cold-hearted by the murder of his mother at the hands of his own father. When Cal is secretly spirited away from his own execution to awaken in the offices of the sinister Abstergo corporation, he learns that he will be the test subject in the ongoing experiments of Doctor Sofia and her amazing Animus. Only Cal possesses the genetic data necessary to use the Animus for its true purpose, and Cal must learn to master the machine's secrets, as well as escape the open walled prison he finds himself within.

Now, a plot-line that is already tenuously coherent in the source material is similarly so here, with quickly summarized techno-babble and inconsistent physics detailing the powers of the enigmatic Animus machine. The life's work of Doctor Sofia, the Animus allows people to relive the details of their ancestors, presented in a giant holographic simulacrum. The Animus machine itself is here depicted as a giant VR machine, complete with moving robotic arm, that allows Cal to re-enact every move, jump and thrust of combat throughout his reliving of  his ancestor Aguilar's adventures. This provides plenty of simple physics plot holes by its existence alone, but as the source material simply had the Animus as something out of an Ikea catalog, it gives some movement and energy to Cal's trip through the Animus that would otherwise be watching Michael Fassbender pretend to twitch in his sleep for half the film, so it's an understandable change.

The problem here really isn't so much some wonky science, it's really with Cal himself. For a hero, he is astoundingly unlikable. He's a man on death row for unrepentant murder. He's cold, dark, and unpleasant. If we are to care if Cal escapes his predicament, we need to care about him. We at least need to like him a little, and for some time it really isn't quite clear if Cal of Sofia is the one we should be rooting for here, as neither of them show much heroism. Cal shuffles from scene to scene, engaging the other test subjects in vague dialogue, and doesn't care what happens to him. He has no driving plot of his own, no home to return to, no child to save. He even seems unconcerned with solving the murder of his own mother.

What should be the highlight of the film, of course, the adventures of the guild of Assassins in war torn Spain under the inquisition of Torquemada, is simply not very exciting. You would think, with a title like Assassin's Creed, this would be the story of an Assassination. The plot and counter plot, the plan, the lead up to the climactic strike, these are the things that should have formed the thread that ties the adventures of Aguilar together. Unfortunately this is not the case. The entire film is a simple macguffin story, an item is lost, and Abstergo want to know where in history it was last seen. It is not compelling, it is not even interesting.

Each time Cal ventures back into the story of Aguilar in the search for the mysterious object, it's another loosely connected chapter in what seems to be the Guild of Assassins routinely messing up. These characters are meant to be skilled, trained assassins, striking from the shadows and disappearing like ghosts. We see none of the suggested skill or brilliance in the events of the past, in fact almost all of the Guild are killed in the first scene by random guards, leaving the surviving duo of Assassins to spend each scene they are in to ineptly be discovered and pursued noisily through buildings. These tiresome chase scenes form the basis of each regression into the Animus. They are loud, showy, full of flips and suspiciously modern parkour, and absolutely none of the excitement or physical thrill that they should deliver. There is more brilliance and tension packed into the on foot chase scene at the beginning of 'Casino Royale' than in the entirety of Assassin's Creed. Each scene here simply feels like a farce, with nameless goons chasing after the fleeing assassins from every angle, seemingly ahead of the heroes at every turn, to be punched and kicked, and then chase after them some more. You could stick the Benny Hill theme over most of these scenes and it wouldn't feel out of place, really. The film's production spent a lot of time boasting of the amazing feat of actually shooting the franchises famous 'leap of faith', a freefall from incredibly height. If they'd actually shot the thing, you certainly could have fooled me, as the scenes are covered in such heavy CGI fog and filler, that any real stunt performed is lost.

The absence of a compelling villain is a huge detractor in a film about professional Assassins. The games knew this, and even though the stories were 'find the item' plots as well, each had fiendish historical villains to eliminate in complex plots along the way. Here, we are presented with a handful of bad guys, none of which fit the bill.

Torquemada himself is of course the villain of the time period, and certainly is presented here as the big bad early on, and although he's present, he plays no impacting role in the heroes story. There is a big, scary looking warrior who seems to always be present to chase our Assassins, and gets a lot of screen-time looking intimidating, but he's a nobody. He doesn't get any lines, or as far as I caught, even a name.

It is thus left to the characters in the present to form the true villains of the piece, and they are unfortunately, both uninteresting to us as the viewers, and seemingly uninterested in the events of the story as well. The stone faced Jeremy Irons is the manager of the Abstergo institute. He's not particularly evil, he's even a supportive father to his daughter Sofia. We're not given any reason to dislike him, and he doesn't really do anything to make Cal dislike him either. He actually treats Cal remarkably fairly, all things considered. If we aren't in our seats waiting to see a great villain get his comeuppance, why would we be interested in watching a film about heroic assassins? There is a recurring mention of the Templar order as overarching villains, but we barely see them, and they don't seem to be all that invested in the events of the story at all, happy to pull their funding to the Animus project and move on right from early events of the film. If even the main bad guys don't want to waste their time with the story-line, why should we?

Assassin's Creed comes to its finale with a collection of events, some out of nowhere with characters we never got to know, others half-hearted resolutions to plot lines that simply never paid off. It ends with an uninspired whisper, some bait for future films, and no solid resolution for the events we've seen. I could confidently say it's the worst film I've seen in 2016, and it's been a shit year, everything considered. I was not excited, I was not thrilled, and the only real assassination in the film is truly anti-climactic in the most PG-13 way possible.

You will find more to enjoy in the franchise's games than in this adaptation. There's more compelling stories to be found, more likable heroes, more devious villains, and more simple entertainment in any of them than you'll find here.

Review: Final Fantasy XV.

It's said that Final Fantasy XV was a decade in the making.
Fans of the series can certainly believe it, with the lackluster response we've all had to the last few titles in the series.
The world's most popular fantasy RPG series, a virtual paragon of the gaming world, has been on a pretty steep decline ever since the days of 2001's Final Fantasy X. From the endless dungeons of FFXII, to the heavily criticized walkway straight paths of FFXIII, fans have been disappointed for some time.
FFXV makes an effort to correct these flaws of the past, offer players something a little new, as well as try to bring back some of what makes the series so great.

We start our story with a road trip as the young Prince Noctis and his three friends make waves across the countryside, heading to the neighboring country for the Prince's arranged wedding. Right from the moment you start, you get the feeling that character will be a big part of the game. Unlike previous games in the series, we are tied to these four characters for the duration, and only directly control Noctis himself. His three friends, gruff and handsome Gladiolus, sharp and dashing Ignis, and playful, cute Prompto, are at your side every step of the way.

There is a lot of charm to be found in FFXV. That really is the best word for it. Our four heroes are a group of friends who are genuinely lovable, and their exploits together, in friendship, brotherhood, and the conflicts and troubles that arise, are by far the best aspect of the game. They have strong personalities from the get go, each a well confirmed anime bishi boy stereotype. Prompto will whine if you spend too much time walking, or will beg to be taken to ride chocobos, Ignis will sternly advise the others against too much fast food, and so on. The casual conversation between the four friends is pretty much constant throughout the entire game, and amazingly, I never found myself tire of any of the characters. The personalities are perhaps more realistic than the standard fare you'll find in a Final Fantasy game, the moody Noctis is still more pleasant and likable than loner misery-guts like Cloud or Squall, and Prompto is still grounded and tame enough not to be an irritatingly ridiculous.

Each of the characters has distinct and unique skills, and where you'd normally expect to find these to be something appropriately RPG-esque like magic or hacking, you instead level up a characters talent for photography, or slowly nurture their ability to cook and prepare dishes. It's a little odd a first, but quickly becomes a hugely enjoyable addition. You'll pick up items dropped by enemies or purchased from supply stores, so that Ignis, the bespectacled intellectual member of your party, can cook up something good for dinner each night. You'll see your heroes seated around their campfire, eating the meal you directed Ignis to prepare. These moments of downtime are where the personalities shine, and also cleverly manages to disguise the repetitive saving/healing part of the game, notoriously a boring aspect of any RPG, and instead make it something constantly fun and ever changing. The characters react to the in-game events with an enthusiasm which is extremely entertaining, like Prompto trying to talk you out of taking on a particularly huge monster, or Gladiolus dryly quipping "Well that's bold of her." as a nude female enemy attacks.

Prompto, the wise cracking little brother of the team, snaps pictures of his own accord throughout the game, and gives you the chance to look through them and save any you like whenever you take a breather. Every picture in this article was taken by Prompto, completely without my say so, in the course of my play through. To hear Ignis shyly retort when he sees a picture of himself, or for the characters to argue over whether a particular shot was artistic or not, is a genuinely fun element to the game. The simple moment when I came back to camp after a big boss fight and seeing that Prompto had snapped a great picture of it adds something in a game I don't think I've ever seen before. The interactions and surprises between these guys will give you something to come back to every time you pick up the game.

The first act of the game is really just getting to know our heroes, and their place in the world. Soon enough, the old standby of great warring empires comes into play, and Noctis finds himself and his friends trapped away from his homeland, with the political future of his city unclear. It is here where the plot begins to suffer, however. Although the mood of the story changes from playful entourage of rich boys to outcast wanted political dissidents, they still act the same, and you can still continue on exactly as before. The game never really pushed me to a sense of urgency, and the story begins to become a little unclear round about act 2.

Is it a story of reconciliation between warring states? Reclaiming Noctis' long promised love with his childhood sweetheart? Or battling a daemonic invasion that rises with the strangely lengthening nights? It is all of these, and none really take center stage. A quite sizable chunk of the middle of the game had me running about finding objects of magical significance, and I don't even understand why we needed to get any of them in the first place. Just as suddenly, this plot is forgotten and replaced with seeking the approval of powerful spirits, the Final Fantasy summons, but I still didn't know why I was doing it or how it would help the story resolve.

The story has two or three characters that are seemingly set up as the villainous focus, and none seem to truly pay off. The third act abruptly changes the entire story, and the simple warring states plot had somehow become transformed into another story entirely. I wasn't quite sure when this change in events happened. To say this final act is rushed is a drastic understatement, and although it builds to a satisfying and thrilling finale, certainly could have been improved with more time and sense paid to what the hell was actually going on and why. Another tiny criticism, from my perspective, as lovable as the guys are, the game could have really done with some girls, as female characters were a little fleeting.

A place where it's clear fans of the series were paid close heed to, is the open world nature of the game. From the first moment, the world is open and fully explorable. You can completely ignore the story and go monster hunting for hours. I absolutely did. The game is packed out with bounty hunting missions for all manner of beasts, and dozens of side quests to keep you busy throughout. An element I feel may be argued over by fans is the lack of the traditional RPG grind. Trekking out to level up your characters a little more, finding more items and slowly building up your skills is a major part of almost any RPG, especially the JRPG subgenre, and it's almost entirely absent here. Not once in the entire course of the game did I find myself outmatched by a story quest, or have too much trouble with a hunt. Inexplicably, you can find Noctis' ultimate weapon early on in the game, and never have to use or worry about using anything else ever again, making all the big quests and dungeons to claim all the magical lore weapons feel pointless. Even the nefarious super-bosses, nigh-impossible bad guys that are a staple of the series often taking days of grinding and skill kajiggering to take down, were affairs that could be bested in the natural progression of your characters here. There is no massive challenge in the likes of Ruby Weapon or Penance to brag about beating here. The game seems to place most of the 'big bad' effect on the Adamantoise enemy, and big as a mountain and cool looking as hell though he may be, the fight is actually exceedingly dull, and his sheer size seemed to lead mainly to the game not being able to register his hit boxes correctly. I had hours of fun hunting down the many and varied monsters for the hunters guild, and could have happily done without the gimmicky giant turtle fight.

A decade it may have taken, but it's tough to tell if Final Fantasy XV will be the game fans are looking for. I myself had great fun with the characters, the hunting, and the speedy progression with which it flies by. There are a lot of quirks and new things to be found, and it's certainly the Final Fantasy most accessible to new gamers that there has ever been. In the same vein though, hardcore RPG nuts will find it all a little too easy to be sure. The personalities of our heroes are what will really make or break it for you, I feel. If you can get into the friendship between Noctis, Ignis, Prompto, and Gladiolus, you will enjoy taking the ride with them.

Official Doomtown Fiction: Echoes.

Tenth and final official Doomtown story, Echoes

Original Doomtown Fiction: Exeunt Omnes

Exeunt Omnes - By Ross Fisher-Davis.

The sword on Abram’s hip was heavy. For some time now, it had weighed on him. Heavier than the gun in his holster, heavier than the weight of his impossible charge, heavier than the crushing regrets of his past.
He ran his hand to the hilt and gripped it firmly. The weight was reassuring. The weight was his righteous force to bear. He steeled himself to swing Evanor against his enemies one last time.

The streets of Gomorra had begun to empty. People were either running, hiding, or already dead. The taste of panic still lit the dusty air, and the Fourth Rings explosions had coloured the sky with a looming miasma of red sand and dust. Down every street there were screams. Abram wanted to run to his people, to protect them from the horrors the circus had unleashed, but he gripped the hilt of Evanor tighter, and strode on. The remaining deputies had to be trusted to help the townspeople, but the head of the beast had to be severed before the jaws would stop snapping. Abram, and the souls that strode at his side towards an otherwise empty clearing near the town center, were coming for Ivor Hawley.

When Abram had come to Gomorra, he hadn’t pictured it like this. He’d seen a border town, terrors in the past. Renewing, rebuilding. Not walking through streets lit with Hell, with men and women, crazy and criminal alike, to face the forces of darkness that gripped Gomorra in a choke-hold.
At his side were the good ones, the ones who’d stepped up to take Gomorra back.
Wendy, she’d been here since the start, rifle in her steady hands, and determination on her face. Old Prescott Utter, looking like something that blew in with the tumbleweeds, but still here, and still fighting. Pancho and Kingsford, a wanted outlaw and a wanted outlaw Huckster. Almost made Abram want to smile. He didn’t know if they were doing this for the town, or just hoping for a pardon out of it. Abram liked to think he saw the best in people. Muttering to herself and wringing her hands furthest from Abram was Valeria Batten, previously of the Fourth Ring. Their conduit to information. It was this scholarly woman, one lens in her fine spectacles shattered, who had given them Ivor’s location, the convergence of his leylines.

Behind them all, frantically twisting a screw in a tiny little weapon that looked more like a child’s toy, was the Frenchman.

When Abram had met Pasteur, he’d thought the man’s nut thoroughly cracked. Seemed fair enough that everything hinged on the science of a madman now though. Abram’s arm still ached from where Louis had injected the cocktail that would, if promises held, protect the assembled from Ivor’s apocalyptic contagion.

Louis was cursing at himself in French as he fussed with the little weapon. The tiny vial within that held their hopes. No bullets, no swords would cut through the monster that Ivor had become. Pasteur claimed he could undo the ringmaster with the product of bottles and chemicals.
Abram felt the ugly truth rising again. To face the monster with untested science? Took a lot of faith.
Please let him be right. Please let us be right. His grip firm upon the hilt of his heavy sword, Abram prayed as they walked.
“Because he is my right hand, I shall not be shaken…”

______________________

Drew held a hand out and frantically motioned for Tyler and Jack to quiet down. He leaned to peer out of the horse paddock they had been setting up all night.
“He’s here I swear it, the Goblin’s here.”
There was a crash up ahead, something big.
Jack and Tyler looked at each other warily, their faces ruddy with smoke from the blasts.
“That ain’t no Goblin Drew, that sounds like a monster. We gotta get outta here!” 

Tyler was wringing his little hands like he’d seen Ms Jenks do when she examined his homework.

Drew turned on them, a child, his tiny slingshot gripped tightly in his hand.
“And go where? Back to the orphanage? Where the others are hiding like mice? No, we chased this thing down, we’re gonna trap it and get it. This is our Goblin. Then they’ll see what the Jackalope gang can do.”
“Way better than a kung-fu gang.” Chimed in Jack between coughs.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Now let's go over the plan!” Drew stepped back into the paddock. He gestured at the net they’d strung up between the rickety doors facing the town.
“So when Jack runs in here, he’ll jump over the net and lead the Goblin right into it. And then…”
Jack raised a hand.
“Why’s it gotta be me you use as bait?”
“You’re the fastest Jack.”
“Nuh uh, you’re the fastest, Drew, you always telling that story about how you outrun that dust devil coming back from the corner store.”
“I’m leader and I say so Jack, that’s why. So after you jump the net, and the goblin gets all stuck up in it, Tyler up there,” He pointed to a canvas sack, hanging precariously from the rafters, bulging with shapes, “He lets loose the big bag, it lands on the goblin’s head and wham! We got ourselves a goblin!”
Tyler examined the net and the bag suspiciously.
“What if…. I mean…You think this is gonna work Drew?”
“You gotta have faith Ty, what can go wrong?” Drew winked.


Abram drew his pistol and aimed up into the dusty haze before him. Shadows dwelt there, figures thrashing, fighting. Grisly yells and cries, sounds of a clash. Wendy readied her rifle in stoic silence.
Each one of them stood with breaths caught, waiting for the enemy to emerge from the dust.
A clown, blood spattered down the front of his motley, stumbled into view, a fire poker held in one hand. He tripped, fell, and landed splayed out in the dirt, a tomahawk buried in his back.
The figures that emerged from the dust were no fourth ring. Abram motioned for his allies to lower their weapons.
“Who goes there?!” he called out.
The first two figures were unremarkable men; a bearded soldier reloading a shotgun, and a swarthy man in a torn shirt, a curved sword slung over his shoulder. The man who walked between them, however, stood so tall it seemed for a moment a trick of the eye.
“Abram…” Wendy said, shock in her voice, “Abram, it’s the Chief. That’s Stephen Seven-Eagles.”

“Why do they call him that?” Maria asked.
“Looks like he eats that many for breakfast,” snorted Pancho.
Abram hushed them and stepped forward,
“Chief Seven-Eagles?” he said, warily. The Chief continued to approach until he stood a mere foot from Abram, his massive chest bare and crossed with war paint and spilled blood. From around his head, a corona of white feathers stood tall, each one decorated with words for ferocity, for power, for blood.
“Sheriff Grothe?” Stephen replied, a voice like rumbling thunder, “You yet live.”
“For the moment.”
Stephen looked left, then right, then back to Abram.
“Your town is broken.”
“It’s my town now, huh?” Abram raised an eyebrow.
“Your responsibility to fix it, man of God. That is your burden.” Stephen pointed at the hilt of Evanor.
“That is it. Just so happens my friends and I here are on our way to crush Ivor Hawley into the dirt.”
Stephen looked to his men, the bearded one spat as he responded.
“The circus man, the big one.”
Stephen nodded gravely.
“The Crooked Man. They say he can’t be killed.”
Abram opened his mouth to speak, when he was interrupted by a rush of enthusiasm from Pasteur. 

“He can most certainly be killed, Monsuier Oiseau. Here, here is his downfall.”
Pasteur produced the tiny pistol, beaming. Stephen didn’t look convinced.
“It’s true,” Said Valeria, her quiet voice scratchy with smoke. “His power is in his blood, in the infection. This counter-pathogen fights back, makes the infection become….allergic to itself, it’ll devour him from within.”
“Science cannot bring down magic.” Stephen said, looking at the little weapon. Pasteur positively beamed.
“Science can do everything, monsieur,” he pointed to the sharp point of the needle at the muzzle of his device, “This science will unmake his magic. I promise you.”
Stephen’s face was devoid of emotion. He looked to Abram, and to the sword on his hip again.
“Is this true, man of God?”
Abram nodded, “It’s what us men of God like to call a Hail Mary pass. It’s the only chance we got, so we’re gonna make sure it’s done right.”
“If this little dart can unwork the Crooked Man, then I will see it pierces his black heart myself. ”
“Thought it was my town.” Abram smiled.
“Your town stands atop my land, Sheriff. The wolf walks one step at a time.” He extended a hand like a slab of stone. Abram took it.

_____________________

Tyxarglenak smelled blood, and he felt good. The screams pushed him to higher and higher heights of glee as he stormed through the high street, knocking a carriage into a storefront with a smash. He felt an impact in his back, and turned to see a deputy with a smoking pistol extended before him. Gang Yi fired again, the bullet taking off a chunk of Tyx’s ear. Tyx lashed out, claws shredding the air. Gang Yi was fast, he’d always been fast, but Tyx was still testing his new powers, and the orb glowing in his chest surged with energy. Tyx came forward like a storm, thundering towards Gang Yi so fast, the deputy lost his footing, and stumbled. Claws gripped at Gang Yi’s leg before he had time to hit the floor, and with one smooth motion Tyx flung the deputy full force into the wall of the nearest building.
Smash. Tyx liked it.
Turning, Tyx saw another little creature for him to smash, standing in the road up ahead. The tiny figure was staring, mouth agape in terror, and turned to sprint away towards the open doors of a large building. Tyx grinned with joy, and followed.

“It’s not a Goblin, it’s not a Goblin!!” screamed Jack as he sprinted into the paddock and promptly tripped over the net, sending him flying headfirst into a pile of hay.
Drew peered out from behind his spot at the back and cringed as he saw the monstrosity that was Tyxarglenak chasing Jack smash through the paddock doors like they were paper.
It had on a laughably tiny outfit, ripped and torn as if it had bulged out of the clothes in a sudden growth spurt, an orb the size of a fist was pulsing and glowing in its chest, throbbing like a heart. Jaws that looked wider than Drew was tall were spitting and lashing. It stepped through the net and the poxy trap tore from the wall immediately.
“So much for that. Tyler now!” Drew yelled, pointing with his most dramatic finger.
Tyler was balanced precariously above, and reached to pull the drawstring supporting the bag.
It flopped onto Tyx with a sound like a bird flying into the orphanage window and fell to the ground in a heap.
Tyx looked up and swatted, smashing away a chunk of timber and sending Tyler swinging loose over the paddock, hanging desperately to a chunk of the second story.
Tyx reached out and tugged Jack from the hay bale, squirming and squealing in Tyx’s massive deformed grasp. At the same time, both boys let out a screech for help.
Drew was biting his lip so hard he could taste blood. He dug in the little ammo pouch for anything and fumbled to bring his slingshot to bear. It was the little chunk of ghost rock he’d found in the ruins of that creepy old manor on the edge of town. The luckiest thing he owned. He closed his eyes, thought of blue skies, and the laughs of his friends, and let it fly.

__________________________

Ivor Hawley peered deep into the eyes of Revered Perry. The priest was grasping futilely at his throat while one of Ivor’s massive claws slowly crushed the life from him, breath by choking breath. The smell of burning wafted past Ivor’s nostrils, his yellow eyes glimmered.
“Still no answer? Nothing? How disappointing.” with a crunch, he snapped the reverend’s neck and tossed him aside in a heap, flicking blood from the tips of his claws. He raised his foot off the chest of Sister Mary Gideon and she gave a heaving gasp.
Ivor’s once lithe limbs were now twisted to horrid proportions for reaching, tearing. In one wicked hand he still gripped his cane, and brought it down hard on the ground next to Sister Mary’s head. Her habit had been torn from her head, long hair spilling out thick with dirt and blood. She was gripping her bleeding side and grimacing in pain.
“Your turn then, my dear. Answer honestly, and I’ll let you go.”
Ivor leaned in, his rictus grin splitting his already monstrous face in half like a leering puppet. A mouth filled with rows of needle sharp teeth yawned down at her. He extended a claw and touched it tenderly to Sister Mary’s lips.
“Where is your God, dear sister? Why hasn’t he come to save you?”
Sister Mary stared back at the ringmaster, no fear in her eyes. He gave a great sigh in mocking sadness.
“I thought so. So sad, really. To be shown everything you’ve lived for amounts to nothing. Maybe the next one will be luckier eh?” he grabbed the front of her robe in his claw and pulled.

“Hawley!”
The call echoed across the clearing. Ivor looked up, eyes shining.
“Grothe?” Ivor muttered to himself, curious. He dropped Mary back to the dirt and rose to his full height.
Abram Grothe, Evanor gripped in his fist, approached the ringmaster.
Stephen Seven-Eagles gestured to his two men.
“Jackson, Smiling Frog, whatever it takes, you get this man close as he needs.” Stephen thrust Pasteur forward, the vial gun gripped tightly to the Frenchman’s chest.

A silence seemed to blow over the town square. Ivor ran his sickly yellow eyes over the assembled posse. Lawmen, outlaws, Native men. Ivor snorted.
“Is this it? This is the best you can do? The ones too stupid to run? Underestimating me would be an amateur mistake, Grothe.”
Ivor’s gaze found Valeria, and for just a moment his grin faltered.
Sister Mary, seeing the Ringmaster’s attention diverted, reached down into her robe and pulled her revolver, firing up into Hawley’s back.
The Ringmaster made to reach for her, but the nun was up on her feet and running, torn robe gripped to her chest.
“Ooh, shooting people in the back. Try not to get into that habit,” Ivor sneered, looking to Abram, “Catholic joke. Would have thought you’d get that.”
Abram stepped forward, raising the blade of Evanor and pointing it at Hawley’s grotesque figure.
“Ivor Hawley, by the power invested in me by the Church of almighty God and the state of California, I sentence you to death for your crimes against the people of Gomorra. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Ivor spread his hands wide, and flicked his cane in a perfect overarm arc, his coattails flapping.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, It’s SHOWTIME!”

____________________

Be it unerring accuracy, divine intervention, or sheer chance, the chunk of ghost rock flung from Drew’s slingshot struck the green orb in Tyxarglenak’s chest with a sound like the orphanage dinner bell, leaving a shining crack across the marble-like sheen. Tyx roared, sending Jack flying to the ground. Tyler swung himself down into the hay bales, and ducked for cover.
There was a rumble, quiet at first, but only at first. Growing to a deep bassy thunder that seemed to move through the spaces between the air. Tyx twitched, squinting and frowning, a pained expression on its massive face. The orb began to shudder, cracking. The boys watched, stunned and with disbelief, as it bulged outward.
“Get down lads!” Tyler yelled, and he had just hit the dirt as the orb burst. Not into shards, but into light.
A blazing green fire that brought with it a creature unlike anything they’d ever seen. If Tyx had scared them before, he looked like a puppy compared the winged horror that seemed to be emerging, beetle black and gleaming from the blazing light of the cracked orb. Clawed hands reached for Tyx, pulling him into a grinning jawed face straight from nightmare. Tyx gave a screech of terror, and the creature from within the orb roared in triumph.

The boys clamped hands over their ears, and squeezed their eyes shut tight, still seeing the blazing green light that was consuming Tyx. There was a sound, a great whoosh like a dam bursting in reverse, a blaze of light, and then silence.
When Drew cracked open an eye to see if the world had ended, there was nothing. The ground was scorched black, and nothing remained.
Then he saw it.
He shuffled over to blow on the steaming orb as it lay in the dirt. The cracks had gone, its perfectly smooth surface once more whole. Something made Drew lean a little closer, peering deep into the swirling mists within. Just for a moment, he swore he could see Tyx in there, tiny face yelling in mute rage, before the green mists swirled again.
He picked up the orb with his gloved hand, and dropped it into his ammo pouch.
You never know.

____________________

Ivor moved like lightning, his claws grabbing, punching, and thrashing. Snatching at limbs and arms and weaving between the blades and bullets of his opponents. Maria Kingsford traded blasts of energy with the ringmaster, her blazing fire slamming into his body, Abram wielded Evanor with a skill surpassing his training, the weapon hungered for it, and Abram felt himself move with strength beyond his own mortal frame. Stephen Seven-Eagles spun his axe overhead, the weapon of his ancestors, roaring his battle song. It was a blur, a frenzy, and through it all Ivor laughed at the cuts, the wounds, cackling as his twisted body knitted itself back together like an endless tapestry of horror.

One of Ivor’s long legs snapped out, catching Wendy in the side and sending her flying into Pancho, and the cane cracked Maria so hard on the side of her head she saw stars. Stephen was watching the battle in his head, waiting for the moment, watching the Ringmaster’s movements, becoming rhythmic, searching for momentum, but there was none, no way to predict where he would strike next.
Valeria came at Ivor, a gleaming cavalry saber in her hand.
“I wondered where that had got to,” Ivor purred, drawing her close, “A thief and a traitor… I’m going to save you for last Valeria.”
The sabre sizzled in Ivor’s grip and he twisted it slowly, forcing her close and close as he snarled down into Valeria’s face.
“Do it now Louis!” Stephen roared.

Smiling Frog and Jackson Trouble lifted the scientist between them, pushing him up and forward to the ringmaster’s open back. Louis reached out, aiming the precious vial gun.
“NOUS SOMME LEGION!” The Frenchman cried.
Ivor was too fast.
Sending Abram and Stephen flying with a swipe of his cane, Ivor twisted and butted Louis fully in the face. The Frenchman reeled back, blood spraying from his nose, and Ivor reached behind him, gripping Valeria by the forearm and throwing the woman like a human projectile into Louis.
“Not….nice!” Ivor screeched, launching forward to punch Jackson with all his might. Jackson’s head snapped back with a sickening crunch, and he fell to the ground like a cloth doll. Smiling Frog turned to run to Stephen’s aid, and found himself staring down at his own chest as Ivor’s cane skewered through it moments later.
Shaking the dead man from his cane. Ivor turned back to the fight at his heels.

Stephen rolled onto his back, regaining his wits and spitting dirt, and found Louis streaming with tears.
“Non…..non non…..mon Dieu, non.” He wept.
“Louis, gather yourself. We try again.”
Louis turned, his face a mask of pain. The tiny weapon lay crushed on the ground beneath where he had fallen, the glass vial broken.
Stephen fell to his knees, the precious red liquid seeping into the dirt.
He tore a feather from his headdress.


Pancho Castillo’s bullets brushed off Ivor like rain. The ringmaster advancing on him like death incarnate, Pancho questioned himself once more, why had he gotten himself into this horror, then focused. He sucked a breath in between the terror and mentally blessed his lucky bullet.
“Vete al infierno.”
The shot caught Ivor in the eye. The ringmaster clamped a hand to his face and staggered backwards.
Maria came forward next, a blast of energy from her outstretched hand knocking the ringmaster in the gut and doubling him over.
“Children’s tricks!” Ivor snarled, opening one of his clawed hand and shooting out a screaming soul blast at Abram. Maria cried out a warning, but Prescott Utter was the only one close enough. He threw his weight against the Sheriff, knocking Abram aside and taking the full brunt of the blast. The old prospector was lifted from his feet and came to the ground with a crash. He was gone before he even hit the dirt.
Abram looked around him, at the fallen dead, at the desperate fight still in his allies, and at Evanor. Ivor was regaining his footing, blood pouring down his face from Pancho’s bullet wound.
One chance.
Abram rushed forward with a cry and thrust Evanor’s point through the stomach of the ringmaster and up into his heart.
They came face to face for a moment, Ivor’s yellow teeth bared into Abram’s face.
“What now, Sheriff? What do you do when everything fails?” Ivor’s claws crept up Abram’s body, grabbing at his throat. Abram stared back, keeping his grip on Evanor tight.
“Faith, Ivor.” Abram whispered, his gaze swept over Ivor’s shoulder as Stephen Seven-Eagles leapt onto Ivor’s back, bringing down the feather in his hand with all his might. The red tipped quill piercing the ringmaster’s flesh at the apex of his bony spine.
Ivor screeched, dropping Abram as he lurched back, twisting an arm to try and reach the feather that now protruded from his back. His jaw snapped irregularly, a coarse barking noise coughing from between his teeth. Black veins were throbbing up his throat, a map of the seeking, surging counter-pathogen that was undoing the Ringmaster. He reached forward, snatching for Abram’s throat, but his claw closed on nothing. He tried again, and realized his vision was blurring, presenting him with doubles of his enemies. He saw weapons raised.
How many, six? Twelve? He wasn’t sure anymore.
Bullets rained into the ringmaster, a blast from a rifle took him in the shoulder. Again and again the thudding impacts smashed into his form.
He gave a laugh, a horrid watery giggle that squelched in the back of his throat.
“The show…” He took a step forward, leering, blood seeping at the corners of his eyes, “...must…”
Hawley crashed to the ground, one arm reaching out, grasping at nothing, his face locked in a bloody rictus grin, leering at the assembled men and women of Gomorra who had undone him.
“...go…”
A crack in the clouds was sending a tickle of light down, reflecting from the blade of Evanor. Ivor found himself staring at it, as Abram raised the blade over his head, and swung it down.
Ivor Hawley saw no more. 

Wendy Cheng sat by the horses, and watched.
Everywhere, destruction. Ruined houses, ruined lives.
She wiped dirt and blood from her face with the hem of her ripped shirt.
Her town had been broken.
It would take everything to fix it this time. So much lost.
The sky was beginning to peer through the cracks in the dust and clouds above, sending light shining down onto her town. The town she loved.
She began to reload her rifle for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
Wendy had been there since the beginning, and she knew Gomorra had seen worse.
It had lived through Knicknevin. It had seen through the storm.
Wendy knew Gomorra could survive. 

Carathis (Art)

Carathis, by Chirun

Movie Review: Suicide Squad.

DC have got a long way to go to catch up with Marvel when it comes to movies.
After the disastrous critical failure of Batman vs Superman, it's clear they needed to spruce things up a bit, and you really would have had to have been under a rock for the last couple months not to have seen the banners, billboards, tv spots, and multiple merchandising tie-ins to DC's latest ensemble the-bad-guys-are-the-good-guys action mash-up, Suicide Squad.

Who the main character really is in Suicide Squad, it's a little hard to say. We begin with the mind behind the whole idea, military officer Amanda Waller, a high ranking strategist who is selling her idea of an elite team of super-villains, to be used in the event of a superhuman terrorist threat. With the powers of the mysterious Enchantress under her thumb, she begins assembling her team, selecting the finest thieves and hit-men from the darkest cells of Belle Reve Supermax penitentiary.

Amanda's trump card, the incredibly powerful Enchantress, has an ulterior motive. That of the destruction of the human race, naturally, and when given a little too much leeway with her powers, soon seeks out the means to put her apocalyptic plans into action. When Enchantress and her demonic minions begin laying waste to a major American city, Task Force X, the titular Squad, are put into action under the command of hard edged soldier Rick Flag, not to save the day, but just to rescue a person of value from the equation and get out of there alive.

The set up and the swift devolution into anarchy leading up to the actual mission is a big chunk of the films run-time, and if there's a first place you could criticize Suicide Squad, it's the pacing. A little too much time spent here, not enough there, and then a sudden apocalyptic threat, doesn't go down so smooth. The ride to the films third act is bumpy to say the least. Fortunately, the characters that populate the film are where the majority of the fun to be found lies.

The best performance in the film, without much surprise, is of course Will Smith. He's Will Smith, playing Will Smith, and as always, it's great fun. He has a character arc, a snappy personality, scene after scene introducing his incredible skills and the force that drives him. He is of course the big star of the piece, so naturally a ton of screen time is going to be devoted to him, but it would have been nice to see more of the other enjoyable members of the group, like Captain Boomerang, who gets a laugh from the audience on the majority of his dialogue, or the great Killer Croc, both of whom we get next to nothing of by way of backstory. Some characters, like Kabuki and Slipknot, displayed prominently on posters and promotional material, barely make an impact on the film's events at all.

There are many fine performances among the multiple cast members, like Viola Davis as the stern faced Amanda Waller, the cold commanding military commander who organised the whole shindig. She's a great character, but needed a bit more variety to her scenes than stone faced dialogue, in my opinion. El Diablo, who takes the role of the heart of the team, is lovable, enjoyable to watch, and just plain kicks ass when he needs to. Rick Flag, the commander of the team, is a confusing character however, he's not at all badly acted, he's just not a likable character. Everyone knows the goody-goody 'soldier' among the dirty dozen is always the boring character you root to get killed. So why then was Flag such a huge part of the film? He gets more screen time than everyone but Smith's Deadshot, and his love affair with Enchantress is actually the film's main character based plot. He doesn't seem to be intended to be likable, and he's not particularly heroic, not even in the 'honor among thieves' way.

A film with an ensemble this big isn't without some obvious duds, of course, and Suicide Squad does have a few turds in the punch-bowl.

Harley Quinn is a character that people have waited YEARS to see on the big screen. She's one of the most significant comic characters of modern day, and possibly the most popular female DC character ever. The character we get here, is something of a disgrace. Almost every line Harley delivers is a flat joke, and she comes across as a dull imitation. Her accent is sporadic and uneven, her personality is unclear and undefined. She's referred to as crazy a half dozen times in her first scene, yet at no point in the movie acts remotely insane. In fact, we see her clearly change her attitude to give the appearance of being crazy to others more than once, giving the suggestion that the entire crazy thing is an act put on by a completely sane character.

Harley Quinn wasn't the worst character in the film however. The Razzie without a doubt goes to Enchantress, who I really don't think could have been worse.
A body swapping Goddess of the old world controlled by Amanda Waller, Enchantress delivers a frankly nonsensical performance as the film's main villain. The visual design we see on the movie posters, a green skinned, black haired hag, looks fantastic for the few scenes she's in, and blissfully keeps her mouth shut, but for the most part of the film she takes the form of an idiotically gyrating everyday white girl who looks like the Empress from The Neverending Story, delivering stilted dialogue in a dopey deep voice. A huge amount of plot development is devoted to the relationship Flag has with the 'real' girl trapped within Enchantress, but as an audience, it's impossible to connect with this relationship as we never meet that character. We see a few scenes of an awkward, gawky woman in big spectacles deliver a few lines, but we don't see the lovable character she's apparently meant to be, and that we should be rooting to escape Enchantresses control. A poor villain is an inexcusable error in a superhero film, and having a great antagonist for our Squad to battle against would have changed the dynamic of the entire film for the better.

Of course, they did have that antagonist there the whole time, which is frankly baffling. The character everyone wants to know about, the latest in a long line of performances that define the way a comic book villain can be played, The Joker.
Leto's performance is definitely not the character we know from the comics. He's a street smart gangster, obsessed with obscene displays of wealth and outrageous showmanship. We wouldn't see the comic book version of the character owning a high end strip club, wielding a gold plated pimp cane, and driving a purple chrome Lamborghini, but this is a new Joker, and he's king of the underworld. The few flashback glimpses we see of The Joker and Harley running things from their ivory tower, the criminal world operating in fear of them, are great to see, and there really is no excuse that this wasn't the plot of the film. Why have a character like the Joker, well known as the most popular comic book villain IN HISTORY and use him for less than ten minutes of screen time?

Suicide Squad is not a bad film.
It's extremely popular to hate it right now, and I think it's not getting fair treatment as a standalone film. It's being lumped into the fun-to-tear-apart DC cinematic universe.
Although it is full of references to the larger world around it, the glimpse of the Flash isn't really ham-fisted in for example, and the sporadic appearances of Batman are actually pretty cool. Although I fully expected it to be the case, I didn't feel that it's PG-13 rating severely castrated it either. There weren't any obvious scenes that felt distinctly hampered by the lack of an R rating. If an R rating had been the case, we might have seen more dynamic enemies than faceless, safe-to-slaughter blob people, however.

A bad film has wonky parts that fit together poorly into a displeasing whole.
Suicide Squad has the parts. They're there. The cinematography is great, the soundtrack is top tier, and some of the characters are tremendous fun. The parts just don't fit together all that well. Massive slow motion scenes slow down the great cinematography, the soundtrack is SO full of hits, they play ten seconds of a genre defining song before cutting it off to move to the next track, three or four times in the same scene. Why put these enjoyable characters in a story that doesn't fit them? With protagonists so full of life, why make the villain a goofy caricature devoid of personality with the poorest acting performance in the entire film?

It feels like Suicide Squad wasn't quite the main event, and that this was the sequel, or the spin off, even. They had a great villain, in the form of the Joker, and they put him in as many scenes as they could manage, so why not just make the film about him instead of the uninteresting, uninspired and frankly unenjoyable Enchantress?

Something could be done with Suicide Squad. Whether they are waiting for the home media release to re-edit it and force everyone to pay for it again, like they did with BvS, we'll see.

Official Doomtown Fiction: The Last Ride

Eight official Doomtown story, The Last Ride

Official Doomtown Fiction: 'The Blowoff'

Seventh official Doomtown story, The Blowoff

Carathis (Art)

Lovely piece of Carathis by the extremely talented Sweeney-Boo

Fear and Loathing on Vakkari Space Station.

It was longer than expected before we finally made it to Vakkari space station.

It came upon us suddenly with bright, gleaming lights and signs blaring images and advertisements across the galaxy. Intergalactic celebrities grinning shiny white teeth, or whatever they had there in place of, from screens a hundred feet high in every direction.
Noise began blaring through the ship receivers a full week before we arrived, coming in on the last bandwagon out of Alpha Centauri. Music, celebrities, news, in so many languages most of it was utter gibberish to Eugene and I.
We picked up the gist of it regardless. Fun, drink, girls, and all right this way! Only a few days away at our current click?
Well alright then. Station ahoy.

Of course we were headed there anyway.
The traffic aiming towards that chunk of the system was so dense no one would question two humans in an out-of-date clunker like ours. Just going for a few drinks and a night with someone with twice the limbs that we have.
Eugene had seen plenty of the beings of the universe, he'd been around.
Been all over, in fact, in his day. I glanced to the other seat in our tiny little cockpit and stared at him. He sat there now, in that squeaky nav seat, his old boots up on the controls, head back. Long gray hair hanging about him.
His eyes were open though, looking out into space like he owned it all and was ready to collect rent. He might have been old enough to be my father, but he still ran wild. Good spirit for a human, anyway.

We'd spread out all over the universe, Humans.
For what little remained, we still seemed to turn up everywhere. You bump into each other here and there, with not much to talk about except where you'd been in the universe and what you'd seen, maybe where you were when Earth died.
My own memories of the battle of Earth are vague at best, I was a tiny kid back then. I remember seeing the lights in the sky, the strange sounds, the rushing and the screaming and the children being told everything would be okay. I remember planet Earth out of the windows of the ship, leaving just as fast as it could scream out of orbit. I think I remember the blast, the big one, but maybe that was just how I pictured it in my head.
I'd travel with a new human here and there, drifting about as you do. I’d met Eugene only a month back, in some old station outside of Alpha. A place that collected all the residue from the known galaxy. Space crazy pilots, truckers, war heroes, losers and loners.
From the first look at him you’d know he was one of those old spacers who’d talk your ears off with stories of the old times and battles fought and forgotten. Eugene had all that, and a shitload of cash too. And means to make more, he’d assured me. But he was marooned, his ship nothing more than a sun blasted storage container.
All it would take would be a quick trip out to Vakkari, see a few sights, shake a few hands, and we’d be off. Spiraling across the galaxy with more money that we’d know what to do with.
I bought it, he seemed the honest type. At least for a man who boasted through his teeth about everything. Perhaps I’d made a mistake. The second time he told me he’d personally tangled with Queen Ecclesiastes of the Nyalak empire in the battle of Earth I began to wonder if I’d just picked up another deranged derelict. Human debris came in all sorts, far and wide.
Without a native planet to run back to for a taste of home, we’d all become transients of the intergalactic highways. Still, I’d done worse. I once traveled for two weeks with a woman in a beehive hairdo who claimed to be a famous artist, on her way to her next installation masterpiece.
It wasn’t until she was disintegrated by the law in a fast food joint in Alpha that I discovered she was wanted all over the system for decorating patrol cruisers with artistically designed car bombs.
Eugene didn’t look so bad though; yeah, I’d follow my gut. He was handsome enough for an older man, the lines that cut his dusky cheeks aged him just enough to look wise, but the shiny blue eyes that stared out from under his brow still made women go weak. He had on that old jacket, the sun blasted navy blue one that hung to his knees and always seemed to be concealing something devious. Suspicions aside, it was good to be traveling with another human.
This side of the galaxy we were still looked at a bit funny. As if it was surprising we'd made it this far without getting lost in space, or perhaps making another inter-species faux pas and nearly getting wiped off the face of the galaxy.
Other species looked at us like that one unpopular guy at the party, the one who no-one know who invited him but you had to tolerate all the same.

Eugene turned to look at me then, in that way he always does, eyes drilling into your head to pick out all the best bits, and asked me a question.
It was too sudden; I’d not managed to find my way out of my own thoughts in time.
“Say again?” I muttered. My words slurred a little. Eugene’s product was touchy on the old communication sometimes.
“You been to one of these before?” He asked. It came through clear this time.
“Space-stations? Of course, a hundred.”
“Vakkari is no space station. Not like the others.” Eugene pointed up ahead, through the cockpit windows at the glimmering red star in the blackness of space, far ahead.
Vakkari station gleamed.
“That there is a bonafide world of pleasures and decadence and pain, my friend. You stay on your guard.”
I nodded, paranoid and excited and raring for action. I reached for the bottle Eugene was shaking in my direction, and took a deep swig from it. Fire rolled down into my belly and lit my enthusiasm further.
“I’m ready. You give the word.”
“The word is relax, my young friend. As your navigator I advise a course of subtle tourism.” He snatched back the bottle. "Enjoy yourself, let me handle the hard work."
“I thought you said this was going to be a simple deal?” I asked, suddenly picturing a horde of slavering, maniacal alien gangsters chasing me with lasers and bondage equipment. Eugene spread his arms in agreement. Or possibly denial, I wasn’t sure. He took a sip.
“It will be. They can’t get enough of this stuff.”

It was true, they really couldn’t.
Eugene’s chief product was a nearly extinct species; Earth liquor.
Brandies, Bourbons, Wine and Whiskey. He had everything. Whether the man had scavenged the ruins for years after the war, or whether he had always made a habit of having a cargo hold full of the stuff for personal use, I never knew.
As well as all the booze he had the finest selection of exotic substances the universe had seen. Uppers, downers, even ones that made you go side to side, or feel like the world was turning blue. Something was fizzing in the back of my mouth now that I'd forgotten the name of, but was making everything sound like it was being yelled down a well at me by a man with a strange foreign accent. From whence all this strange and wild items came from truly didn’t matter though, as Eugene had loaded it all aboard and we were splitting it down the middle. My ship, his product.
The risk? Who would search another old clunker of a ship settling in for a drink and a game? Eugene smiled, I wondered if he was reading my thoughts, or just sharing in them.
He passed me the bottle again.
"Nerves are to be conquered, my friend. Now I'd advise you get some rest. We have a long night ahead of us," Eugene said, tipping his seat back even further, his hair falling about his face. The man could sleep through a war.
It was always a long night on Vakkari station. Said so in the advertisements.
I was staring down at one of them as I nodded off into an anxious doze, the screen blurring into a fuzzy red wash.

The navicom blazed an alarm some time later, rousing me from my reverie.
Where had I been?
Someplace warm. Space was never warm.
Sure, it got hot. On those luxury liners with the fake beaches and holographic skies and girls in digital bikinis, it was mediated to a perfect swelter. Space got plenty hot enough. But never just warm. Always too hot or too cold.
You ever been on a ship whose heating functions kick off on you? Suit up quick, because it's dropping below zero in minutes. When technology fails, vacuum sucks out your expensive heating so fast you'd think someone opened God's beer cooler.
Eugene gave a snort in his sleep and muttered something offensive at the noise intruding in on his rest.
I swatted the screen wildly, like I was waving away some blood drinking insect, and silence fell. Red light loomed before us, flooding the cabin with smooth, sultry light.
With a crackle of static and whatever pocket watch battery that keeps my monitors going, an evil face appeared on the screen before me, a young woman in a wide brimmed hat and blue lipstick, grinning as wide as she could.
Eugene awoke and screamed in shock at the face, before collecting himself and shuffling upright.
"Greetings travelers, welcome to Vakkari station. The most exciting place in the galaxy. May I take your ship codes please?"
I looked at Eugene, my finger stretching out to pound the mute button on the console before me.
"How can we trust that harpy? She'll transmit the codes to the police, blow us out the sky," I muttered, glancing sideways to see the woman's wide eyes staring at me, unblinking.
"Just security procedures, no military transport, no marked cars. You own this tub right? Legally?" Eugene asked, his eyebrow twitching at the last word.
"Of course. What do I look like? A malcontent?" I grabbed up the torn pack of smokes lingering on the console and jammed one in my mouth. The little blue tip flared to life when I bit down on the filter. Eugene declined to answer.
"Travelers are reminded there will be no smoking upon arrival in Vakkari station, please extinguish all effervescent chemicals or products until you have moved through the welcome bay.
"She's already barking orders at me goddammit! They'll stop us breathing next!" I rolled the cigarette back and forth in my mouth and wondered what the penalty was for disobeying the demand.
"Just answer her already, we'll start to look suspicious floating out here much longer," Eugene cautioned, searching his vast greatcoat for something.
I nodded. He was right. Orbit the station long enough they'd surely think we were aiming something at them.
I lifted my finger from the mute.
"No, ma'am. No fruits or vegetables aboard. Travelers from another world looking for a good time. What was the question again?"
The face continued to smile.
"Your transport codes sir," she repeated. I wondered how long it would take before the smile cracked her face in two and the top bit tipped off like a carnival coconut.
"Of course, why didn't you say so. Treble-D one-zero-two-six-nine. And that ticket is paid, before you ask. They're working on my account. You know how it is."
"Yes sir," the face disappeared to be replaced with an advertisement for a gentleman's lounge. Eugene perked up.
"Hmph, that's it. That's where we're headed," he said, gesturing at the screen. Lewd figures gyrated before our eyes. Hypnotic.
"You're taking me to this den of thieves? Dammit Eugene, we'll both be killed there."
"Relax. I know my way around these places. I'm familiar," he folded his arms behind his head and stared out at the immense station that loomed before us, a hundred stories high and a few miles long, emitting red light from diodes every few feet. The thing seemed to be baking in its own lighting scheme.
The advertisement continued, I started to panic. It was taking too long. Just a ship code check. They've rumbled me, I thought.
My cigarette flared bright blue as I took a breath. I owned the clanker alright, but I'd bought it from a shady man in a tweed suit and a fez who'd only asked a handful of cards for it. I had no idea where it was from.
The screen flared back to that face again, staring, smiling. Here it comes, I thought.
"Thank-you sir, please proceed to dock thirteen. Your welcoming party will take care of your vehicle. All travelers are reminded that there will be no smoking upon.."
I jammed the off button with the flat of my thumb and she disappeared.
"Unlucky for some. Good God that was close. These people are savages, Eugene," I mashed my cigarette out into the eye of the camera in the console, fearing they'd still be watching me sweat. Eugene had tapped up the necessary commands and we were slowly drifting into our designated docking bay.
The red haze from outside slowly being replaced with the dark shadows as we slipped into the wide, flat docking area. Darkness loomed. The bay yawned like some great beast swallowing us up. What would we find in there? I was starting to get the fear.

The ship came to a neat rest in the loading bay, decorated nicely enough for a den of thieves.
I shook my space terrors off as we staggered to our feet to head out. Eugene tugged on his tattered gray cowboy hat, pulling his face into shadow, his heavy old coat trailing around him as he headed off to the loading platform.
I decided I'd dress up for the experience, looking my best would settle my nerves, so I pulled on my sharpest pair of pressed pants and a good shirt, a red sharkskin jacket over the top.
My special glasses, the little round ones, rested on my forehead. Walking down the platform towards our greeting party we must have looked pretty sharp.
Two pretty girls were there to greet us. Human even, which was nice.
In the costume it seemed that all female employees wore aboard Vakkari station: not an awful lot, a skintight top with a little jacket and a wide skirt that flared out in all directions. Naked thigh was showing over the rims of knee high boots. The heels on those things looked sharp enough to kill a man with.
Maybe that was their plan, I wondered, lure us in with smiles and bare flesh and then stab us in the gut with spiked heels.
I thought that until I saw the third member of the greeting party, which left no room for half assed intimidation tactics. He stood a full foot higher than even Eugene, at least seven and a half feet, and almost that across. Arms like a gorilla folded over his tank-like chest, and a face like a slab of salt-beef staring back at us. He was smiling, I think.
I flicked down the rims of my glasses over my eyes and rubbed the top thoughtfully. Not entirely thoughtfully of course, but a quick rub was all that was needed to activate them.
In shades of ghostly green I glanced over the landing parties clothing layers. The big lug at the back had a gun the size of a puppy under his coat, even both the girls had tiny little pistols nestled in shoulder holsters beneath their jackets. I nodded appreciatively at the polite greetings and tipped the glasses back. Everyone was armed on these things, surely, nothing to be worried about.
Maybe Eugene was right, maybe I was paranoid.
"Welcome to Vakkari Space station gentleman!" the first of the girls beamed at us, thrusting something out as us. I jerked my arms back defensively, what was she thrusting my way uninvited? Eugene snapped it up with deft fingers, squinting his eyes at it. A flier.
I thought we were safe for a moment before the second woman produced a mechanical device and pointed it at the two of us. A little light dotted out and shone in mine and Eugene's eyes for a moment. It felt like staring into the lights for too long at a good gig. Stars swam in my vision for a moment.
Eugene coughed politely.
"Welcome," the huge figure behind them rumbled. Then silence for a moment.
"Names sir? How long will you be staying aboard?" one of the girls asked, perkily. I looked down to make sure I wasn't wearing a name tag or anything.
"Jan Killigrew," which is not my name, how clever of me, I thought to myself. Then immediately looked at Eugene to be sure I hadn't added that out loud. No stare came back at me, I probably hadn't. I fiddled with the setting on my glasses.
"Eugene Torquemada. And just for the night, thank you," he smiled, she visibly melted.
"Welcome," The brute muttered, nodding his head. Probably the only English he'd been taught on the job. I nodded thoughtfully at him as if he'd just quoted Nietzsche.
"You too," I blurted out at the girl whose shiny white teeth gleamed up at me, "I mean of course. We're here to..."
Eugene nudged me in the ribs before my hesitance rumbled us. What had I been about to say? 'Hello, we've come to sell illegal merchandise all over the galaxy, and my glasses can see you're not wearing panties. How's the steak on Vakkari?'
"We're here to drink till we puke, and visa versa," Eugene said, nodding up at the big bastard who kept on smiling, even as he reached down to scratch his ankle without needing to bend over. Directions and accompanying hand gestures were hurtled at us, faster than I could pick anything up, and then swiftly ushered through into a long circular corridor lined with so many lights I had to check my hands to be sure I wasn't seeing double.
I checked Eugene's hands to make sure he wasn't seeing double either.
He had the flier in one of his hands, and tossed it to me as we began our stroll down the long corridor of certain doom.

"Creeping hell, not one of these places again," I muttered, the flier was blaring a gentleman's club at me. Intergalactic style. I was scared already.
"It's where we're meeting our boys actually," Eugene said, rubbing his eyes with the back of his cuff. The lighting in this place was weird, ethereal, came from everywhere at once and lingered long after you closed your eyes. You never see a shaky light bulb hanging from a spaceship ceiling would you? Course not. I tripped over my own shoes keeping my eyes closed for too long. Eugene dragged me up to my feet by the collar.
"Easy there son... Nothing to worry about." He nodded.
No one ever said nothing to worry about in a safe situation. I'm alone on a pleasure yacht in deep space. Monsters around every corner.
I screamed as a door shuttered up and open to my side. All of sudden we were surrounded. People on all sides, we'd stumbled into some god forsaken slaughter house, headed for the grinder in a sea of crazed smiling faces.
Eugene grabbed my arm and tugged me forward through the surge of people, races from all over the universe trod with vast heavy steps or tiny patters of feet, hooves, shoes or whatever they happened to be born with.
My sunglasses went haywire with motion, I found myself assaulted by all manner of secrets concealed beneath the clothing of the school. Every other crazy bastard on here was armed, what had I walked into? My heart was pounding in my chest like a rabid dog fighting to break its chains.
I've had it; I thought to myself. We've wandered into hell itself, hidden away in the middle of deep space all this time waiting to lure mankind here with the promise of booze and naked alien girls.
I'd almost lost my remaining sanity when I was tugged up a side street all of a sudden by Eugene's grip.
Practically sprinting the last few feet, I found myself leaning forward over a waist high counter peering into the huge white eyes of a blue woman in a dress suit. She stared at me expectantly. What did I have to say to her? Preferred method of execution?
"Intoxication, of course," I confessed. Eugene pushed me aside and held me by the collar so I wouldn't keep on going.
He slapped down some papers on the desk before the girl.
"Just a quick room for the duration of our stay, my love." He said, suave as ever.
The girl batted two sets of eyelids, one horizontal, one vertical, and her seven fingers darted across her computer pad.
"All set sir!" She chirped, somehow she sounded like she was from southern California, "Floor seventeen, room 402. Enjoy your stay!"
Eugene had gotten us a room, the genius! A safe haven from the carnival of horrors inflicted upon us moment after hellish moment.
In short order we were hustled down another long, noisy corridor full of tourists and punters until we were crammed into a square room the size of a large car.
The doors closed mechanically in front of us and I shifted awkwardly. Wherever you go in the universe, the elevators are the same. Like some gigantic conspiracy against the claustrophobic.
I looked up at Eugene who was staring forward, eyeing the doors with his unconcerned eyes.
How did he get so calm?
I glanced behind us, the room had an assortment of guests all heading to their rooms, squashed shoulder to shoulder. The room hummed ever so briefly, and the doors opened.
"Was that it?" I glanced around me, Eugene stepped forward, "Thing barely hiccuped."
"New technology, the elevator stays still and the whole ship moves around it lightening fast," Eugene said as he headed off down the checkered corridor with translucent floors looking down onto colourful neon revelry in rooms below.
"Gods, what has science done? Are you sure man?" I asked.
"Of course not you gullible mug. Zero G. No friction in the shaft is there?" he barked over his shoulder. I nodded.
"Hmm. Use space against itself. Steal its secrets. Smart thinking. Now where's our room? We need to see if it's defensible."
I would turn that place into a bomb shelter if I had to to get a good nights sleep.
Was it even night? I had no idea.
Vakkari space station seemed like ten-thirty all the time. Perfect time, locked in perpetual revelry. Never too early to drink and gamble, never to late to enjoy yourself without fear of the feel the regret for your actions creeping up on you and curling you into a ball on the floor of your suite.

The corridors seemed to go on forever, stretched out at the far edges into infinity, turning corner by corner, following Eugene's lead.
Eventually we came to our door and Eugene's presence blinked it open in a flash.
Immediately I vaulted over the couch and to the window. God. It was a perfect view of the emerald blue seas of Thailand.
Ships glinting in the distance, horizon sparkling with golden sunlight.
My face jammed itself against the window frame trying to see around the illusion. This close I could hear the waves crashing.
"Incredible. They have the Earth in a box on the wall," I said to myself. Eugene was busying himself already at the bar to one side of the wide room.
"Gets picked by your species, have it all fixed up that way. Take your pick," Eugene quipped, he tossed me a small device shaped like an egg.
I rolled it in my hand and squeezed it experimentally.
The shores of Thailand melted away to a dense rain-forest, fog on the ground, vines and creepers everywhere, green trees looming. Here and there some exotic bird of paradise shot by like cars crossing the street in flashes of red and blue.
"Hell, I wonder if they have the sports channel," I said, my eyes lit with glee. I missed Earth.
My hand squeezed and my face in turn was subjected to European coastlines, Arctic tundras and city vistas populated by thousands of travelers.
"So this is where the human race went."
My hand squeezed one final time and left us looking out on a sun drenched Caribbean beach as if it was right out a ground floor window, complete with a dozen or so stunning young women sunning themselves close by. Eugene pointed with one hand clutched around a highball glass.
"Turn it counter-clockwise, I like those ones," he asked. I complied. The girls bikinis all dissolved away.
"Good God. That one's even a natural redhead. They know my weakness Eugene, they're in my head!" I fled from the window to hide behind the bar. Eugene shifted a glass my way and I hungrily jammed it to my lips.
"Careful son, don't make a scene. They'll send hotel security up.”
I looked around the room suddenly, seeking the telltale black marks in the walls suggesting nasty little devices used to see me through.
Those rat bastards, spying on me before I'd even settled in. I made my way immediately to the restroom to take a glorious shit and hope someone was watching. Let them choke.
I locked the door behind me and checked for traps.
You could never be too sure, but I was confident I could protect myself with my wits should lasers shoot from the walls.
As I sat there on the blinding white human style toilet, glass in hand, I had time to think about life.

I do all my best thinking in that room actually. It's peaceful there. I stared at the advertisements on the back of the door and wondered how I was going to get myself off this station alive.
Where had I been going before I'd met Eugene? I can barely remember.
Transient ways, shooting all over the known galaxy, leaving behind wrecked hotel rooms and mysterious little messages written on food packaging in my wake. Who was that masked man? Would we ever know?
My thinking was interrupted by a hammering on the door.
“Good God man give me some peace! I have paperwork to do in here!” I screamed at him.
“Catch up my friend. As your navigator I advise at least one good drink before any attempt at business is conducted,” came Eugene's voice as he stepped down the corridor.
By the time I emerged from the room Eugene had another glass he thrust into my hand and clinked his own into each of mine. It smelled like anger and ambition and I knocked it back in one go.
“Good man. Now get ready, we've got girls to look at.”

Have you been to one of these intergalactic strip clubs yet? They have warnings on the doors for a reason.
My personal advice? Don't touch anyone dancing on a stage, you have no idea what you're touching on half of these things.
That might look like a hand, but you never know for sure until some huge alien bouncer with a face like a gorilla grabs you and tosses you out the front door while you try to explain to him you were only shaking hands. Also, don't go near the drinks bar unless the bartender is human.
What goes down smooth for some quadruped insect banker from the farthest stars will go through a human digestive tract like nuclear weedkiller, and aliens just love their pranks.
Eugene strolled in like he owned the place. Brushing out his hair with a practiced wave of his hand and winking at the closest dancer, who was the colour of good salmon and had eyes large as my fist. Some sort of fin organ breathed rhythmically down the back of her neck, and I wasn't sure whether she wore some sort of outfit or just had vibrant skin markings. That's the problem with alien girls, you never know what part to stare at.
"C'sorren," Eugene said through the side of his mouth, noticing my gaze, "Amphibian. Kinda wet to the touch, make an awful mess of the place. Wouldn't recommend it."
"Good to know," I nodded, adding the information to my vastly inadequate mental library of alien knowledge.
I'd not seen that many in my time jaunting about the universe, in all honesty. Sure I'd seen the commonplace races, the intergalactic power players with an embassy in every system. You start to learn who's who by the shape of the front doors and how many bathrooms they needed to accommodate all the varieties.
“Right, I'll leave you here for a moment, I have business to attend to,” Eugene turned on me. At his back was a shady looking table, a few wild eyes among those in the booth peering out at the club around them, the rest directed inward at the table.
“You're leaving me here with these people? What're you doing to me man? I'll lose my mind here. Jackals in G-strings, all of them.”
“They're fine, make a friend. I need you looking relaxed. I have to arrange the meeting with our man. Secretive sort, from what I hear. But they say he also has the most beautiful big silver ship in the galaxy, so he must be loaded.”
“Mysterious rich people freak me out Genie. I prefer talkative losers.”
Before I had any more time to explain my case, Eugene shoved something into my hand, small but heavy.
“Why are you handing me this burp gun?” I whispered. The little pistol was black and looked like the sort of deviant sex toy they sell on Mars.
“As your navigator I advise observation and careful judgment. I'm dealing with scumbags here and you are my backup. You can shoot straight.”

He was right, I was a damn good shot.
The clunker I rode in always had a small arsenal, it had gone untouched until I'd rode through the honeycomb cities of Inner Europa and met a girl with green metal hair and a bionic arm who had taken it upon herself to teach me the joys of gun play.
We would sit out on the moons surface naked, shooting at passing tourist vehicles and drinking wine squeezed from the small bugs lurking in the ground. Old fashioned romance.
After we parted ways I'd kept up my shooting practice every time I was involved in a situation of absolutely unavoidable violence, like being cut off on the road or someone spilling my pint in the bar. I slipped the little gun into my belt subconsciously.
“Alright, I've got your back. As long as you've got mine. These women are more dangerous than they look. Think of them as colour coded. Red means stop,” I whispered, looking around. A woman in metal and rubber body armour with eyes glowing like gleaming white torches turned her gaze upon me, dazzling me for a moment. She batted her eyelashes and bathed the area in front of her with strobe.
“Just act natural,” came the next advice from my navigator, before he was gone into the darkness of the booth.
The worst advice anyone can ever receive. Nature is terrifying.
Did he expect me to leap upon the nearest woman and mount her whilst ripping the flesh from the thigh of a freshly killed rival? That would be the most natural thing to do.
I'll play it off light, I decided. The blazing light from the dancer's eyes was affecting my brain, so I headed in the other direction, elbowing my way through a jungle of light and sound and bodies. When I finally came to a clearing, all the inertia went out of me and I was tossed like a rag doll forward until the bar hit me in the gut. Folding myself over it as best I could, I summoned the bartender.
“Nurse! I require assistance!” I yelled as loud as I could over the noise. I could barely hear myself. Had I spoken at all? No way to be sure. I opened my mouth to yell again before the bartender materialized in front of me, a frown on her feral looking face.
Even the bartenders were naked In this place. The one that appeared before me was the professional among them apparently, her chest and crotch obscured by the trademarked glitchy moving mosaic of a digital bikini.
“Stop yelling. I can hear you, you noisy fucker,” She growled.
She wasn't lying, her ears were triangular and rose higher than her haircut.
“Listen to me, Blurry Fennec Fox woman, I require a drink suitable for human consumption. Nothing sinister. I'm watching you.”
She was deft, I'll give her that. Her hands moved so quickly among the hundreds of coloured bottles behind her I had no idea what went into that drink. She gave it a swirl with a little blue stick that dissolved shortly afterward and placed it in front of me with a bang.
“Money.”
“Parasites, each and every one of you,” I muttered on reflex, as I offered a card of credits up. It disappeared quick as a flash into the hands of the fox woman-thing and then she was gone, with barely a shake of her tail to mark her passing.
Women mystified me. Better to forget all about her.
I took a deep drink of the concoction placed before me and tasted marzipan and hardwood varnish. Not cheap varnish though, the stuff you'd hit teak with. Went down smooth with an aftertaste of aniseed that clung to the back of my throat like a drifter wanting pennies.
It was good stuff.
The throng around me shifted. They'd spotted the weakness, I had been served, and my time had come. I was lurched backwards from the bar, leaving room for the next soul searching to quench his thirst. Elbows found my gut and I dodged backwards, attempting to protect my precious beverage in its tall glass.
I stepped back, watching the breach in the crowd fill behind me like the red sea, and turned a moment too late to save myself. A subtle change in the surface underfoot gave me the warning that made my gut sink into my knees. I’d done the worst thing possible, and stepped onto the dance floor. Immediately I was beset by gyrating forms, limbs and hair and tentacles all over, moving to the music with military precision.
The dance floor was more dangerous than any battlefield. It would draw you in with promises of glory and social success, and leave you broken and embarrassed at the end of the night with nothing to show for it but an empty credit chip and bullet-holes all over you. One moment of weakness in your practiced movement and they’re on you like wolves.
Can’t afford to make a mistake. Don’t act too showy. Take it slow, no unnecessary risks.
I moved my arms a little side to side, just enough to fit in, but not enough to stand out. Catch too much attention and you’re a goner.
You can move your head or your hips, but never both at the same time, or you're a dead man. I settled for a swinging of my arms as I stared down at my feet and wondered how those boots had got there.
I realized I was looking at someone else's feet, and when I followed the appropriate limbs up I found a man dancing so close to me I lurched back in shock.
He was smiling like some twisted Tibetan demon, and leaned forward to say something to me in a casual, friendly manner.
Regardless of his friendly demeanor, his over exertion on the dance floor gave me the urge to kick him in the balls like a rabid donkey and escape into the night.
“Have you been to the beach?” was what he had said, and I let it process for a moment.
“The beach? I haven't been to the beach since I was a kid. Unless you count one of those Godless fake things on the pleasure-crafts, is there one here?”
“It's great man, you got to go! Take a load off, meet some girls!”
“God man, the last thing I need it to take a load off. Someone'll make off with it. I've none to give.”
“You got to see the one they have here. The sky opens straight out onto deep space, no shields, it's so clear, like staring out into dreams man.”
“Two places I never stare, out into space, and in the mirror. You never know what's staring back at you,” I replied, trying to gyrate my body away from the limpet-like man and towards my own space.
It was then I realized that I was trapped, suddenly blocked in on all sides by twisting, shaking forms. All either possessed or in the throes of grand mal seizures, it was impossible to tell which, the forms had become legion.
I went for the only gap I could, squeezing between the gut of a great biped with skin like moss and navels everywhere and over the shoulders of a woman with three elbows and eyes that glittered like a disco ball.

Why hadn't I quit this business when I'd had the chance? I should never have stepped onto a dance floor again, It was suicide.
Tumbling and turning through the crowd, I found myself suddenly airborne.
I wasn't sure if it was the surge of the crowd or the effects of the drink the strange girl had poured me, but my ascent was short lived.
Soon enough I returned to earth, miraculously delivered into the arms of a chair on the far side of the dance floor. Like emerging from the heart of darkness, relief flooded over me.
I sank back in the deep, comfy chair I'd been thrust into and tried to relax.
It wasn't easy. I'd never been comfortable around women when they were clothed, let alone in what these girls were wearing. I busied myself looking at my drink as if it were in deep conversation with me.
Legs appeared before me, long and sleek and tinted the deep blue of a tropical ocean. I glanced up, prepared to defend my chair to the death.
The completely nude Nyalak girl who stared down at me didn't smile back, but she leaned forward and licked me from chin to forehead all the same. I reeled in shock, about to claw my way through the back of the chair in terror.
I'd never seen one in person before. Earth Eaters.
I tried to sink further into my seat as she started to sway, wondering if I'd melt through the material if I tried hard enough.
She was six feet tall, slender as a willow and bore the piercings and claws that all human kids get told horror stories about. Naked though, I was disgusted to realize they looked very good.
I tried to remember just what the silver piercings in her collarbones meant, but cohesive thought failed me. The rest of her body almost looked soft enough to touch, not that much different from the configuration of a human woman this close up. I took a good swig of my drink and felt the cold run right through me, wishing it would douse the heat swelling further down.
Eugene strolled past at that point, glanced the girl once over, and gestured to me that it was time to up and away.
I was beginning to rise to follow him, but she was quick.
Her claws came out and shoved me back down, and a long leg kicked out to hold me down with just enough pressure on the crotch.
She bent over me, black dreadlocks trailing along my legs, her breasts dangling pendulous before my eyes.
Each dark nipple was pierced with a curvy little silver coil that dangled down and swung with movement.
The bitch was hypnotizing me with her tits! Could they do that?
She barked a command to me in her language. She may have had the breasts and lips of some wild blue calendar goddess, but the Nyalak language was straight out of nightmare.
I fumbled in my pockets and tugged out everything I'd been given earlier.
Her long clawed fingers coiled around the cards, and she smiled so wide that fangs were showing at the corners of her black lips.
Her foot moved expertly from a threatening pressure to a caressing suggestion. I muttered my best excuses and forced my way to shaky feet.
She called after me as I staggered off, and it took me a moment to realize she'd spoken in English that time. The voice felt like a fingernail dragged down the back of my spine as I trailed after Eugene.
"Run," she had said.

Eugene claimed to have had run ins with the Nyalak in the past, but I was skeptical.
The last time the human race got into a minor misunderstanding with them they turned up on our doorstep to express their distaste.
Humans lucky enough to be off-world at the time were left flying about the solar system like an old man wondering how they'd forgotten where they'd parked the planet.
I fumbled awkwardly with the crotch of my trousers as I walked, the woman-things caresses having elicited a definite response.
Of course, A few years in space without a woman, I should have expected nothing less.
I glanced back.
She stood facing me. Clawed hands upon bony hips framed her exposed vulva. I quickened my pace to escape before I did something foolish and utterly unavoidable.

I rushed to catch up with Eugene, he was a man driven, strolling with a confident swagger.
I tried to match it but ended up looking like a penguin pimp and decided that hiding in plain sight would work better. I grabbed a menu from an eatery we passed and began to read aloud the dishes as we went.
I was making myself hungry by the time our journey ended, and Eugene halted me with a hand to the chest in the middle of describing dessert.
I looked up and coughed week old smoke out of my lungs.
“You bring me to this place you madman?”
The sign indicating the beach glared down at me, lit red like Hell's own restroom sign.
This is it, this is where the world ends. I knew it right then.
“We're meeting them here, just a quick deal and it'll all be sorted. If I signal, you raise hell, alright?”
“Raise it? God man, we're already there. Abandon all hope all ye who go to the beach.”
“Take another sip, man, and get crafty. I need you in there.”
Right. I steeled myself with the last of my drink and placed it and the menu in my shoes as I stepped out of them.
As we passed over the threshold into the beach-room, the sand between my toes gave me a wash of dysphoria that almost pitched me over. I made the mistake of looking up and space yawned down at me from a dome a million miles across.
Eugene flashed a smile at the huge guards that were frisking people down at they entered.
“It's a humdinger in here Eugene. I don't know how you handle it.”
Eugene looked back at me as he swaggered out past the guards, gestured over the sparkling synthetic sand.
“Force of personality, as your navigator I'd advice taking up a post close by. There's our boys.”
He was gesturing to a table out on the sands, where sat an arrangement of severely shady looking sons of bitches.
This was it, the big deal. The men who would make us either incredibly rich or incredibly dead right here on the beach under the unforgiving eyes of space.
The bar at the side of the room stretched from the door right on into infinity, as if to serve the masses all at once, and it truly was the mightiest bar I had ever seen. It made me long to have met it under better times. I sighed, and tried to get settled.
I couldn't help myself but look up again into the black. The infinite loomed beyond the false sun lighting. I sneered back and produced my cigarettes.
In less time than it took me to regret my life choices one of them was on me, this one in a bikini designed to expose as much green flesh as possible whilst still maintaining a legible Vakkari Space Station logo on the chest.
“No smoking on the beach deck sir!” she chirped through a mouth that bisected in the middle with four fangs that quivered as she spoke, “Please relocate yourself to one of our many designated smoking areas to enjoy your stay in the maximum possible comfort!”
I found myself ushered towards a quarter of the beach full of heavily smoking nihilists. I suddenly lost the buzz of smoking where I wasn't meant to be and started taking in my surroundings.
There were dozens of beautiful and alien serving girls tottering around providing drinks, and all variety of monstrous clientele filling the synthetic nightmare that was the deep-space beach resort. Up on the wall a hundred feet above us there was what looked like a giant bath plug, with metal clasps all around it, inevitably to keep the space out. Or the freaks in.

God I was overdressed. I glanced around to see if there was a good clothing store around where I could pick out something dazzling, but was called back to reality by the hacking of a gnome-like little person nearby who couldn't handle his cigar.
I could see Eugene take his seat at the booth a few dozen yards away, in conversation with the ape who was buying all our illegal goodies.
The buyer looked the type you come to expect.
When they come in the normal flavours: sleazy, twitchy, ugly and weird, you can relax, you can usually get the measure of them soon enough.
It's when you get the variant criminals that you need to worry. The ones that are sophisticated, smooth talking, silver tongued. You'd be in the middle of selling a crate of smuggled wolpertingers or a bag of banned books from the old world, and with your regular sleazy criminal you'd know where you stand. If it was one of those silver tongued bastards though, suddenly you'd have the horrible realization that might be talking to a politician instead of criminal, and all bets are off. A standard criminal will pop off a few gunshots at you as he steals your car, when dealing with politicians whatever happens he'll manage to screw you over, piss on your kids and fuck your wife.
Eugene was in my face when I came back around, and then the world turned over when he barged into me.
Apparently it was the common garden criminal variety we were dealing with after all. I hit the floor with a grunt and lost my cigarette, and fumbled instead for the gun Eugene had forced upon me earlier.
People were running in all directions. I hadn't ever seen people scatter at a synthetic beach. It was like a good old shark attack again. This was the true Earth experience, they should charge extra for this.
“They'll never pay extra for this! What did you do man? I told you bringing us here would get us killed!” I yelled.
Eugene was sat with his back to the table that was shielding us, as we were being shot at, of all the things to do at the beach.
“Turns out I know the guy. He must have a good eye for faces. I think I ripped him off back in the good old days,” Eugene said, as he went about the complex business of loading the gun that he produced from his coat. The thing looked like a throwback to wars before I was born. With a multitude of clicks and a flick of his wrist, the thorax of the thing spun shut and locked into place, and Eugene nodded at me.
“Could've happened to anyone, really. You ready?”
In my head I said something that was no doubt inspired or courageous, but I was staring at his shirt. There was sauce on it. He went to eat without me, the bastard.
I decided to get him back for that later, as we both aimed to return fire on Eugene's old friend and his troop of goons.

I got to wondering who they might be as my little pistol blasted away in gleaming flares. Did they sign up for this? Did they always come to the beach to start gunfights?
A shot took off my hat and parted my hair on the wrong side. I returned at the ugly one, the one of the left, and blew a hole in him the size of a dinner plate.
“Where did you get this thing, man?” I asked conversationally, starting to enjoy myself. I'd forgotten what a good shot I was. A showgirl bounded for cover behind the table beneath us and was clutching onto Eugene's legs, eyes wide with panic.
The one Eugene had been dealing with, who I realized now was on the tubby side and certainly looked like he needed a drink, was yelling. I took aim down the barrel of my weapon, but he ducked just before I could make him regret ever coming to the damn beach.
Coming up behind him were what looked like an army of security guards.
“They here for us or them, Genie?” I mumbled, wanting a cigarette badly.
Eugene sucked in air through his teeth and shrugged.
“Yeah, they might have run me through the system. Might be us.”
“Damnit Eugene, how many systems are you wanted in?” I fished for a cigarette and found to my delight I could light it with the barrel of my little gun.
“I'm known in a lot of places, I'm a memorable guy. Fix this.”
“Fix this? This is your problem. By all means I could up and leave.”
“As your navigator, I know you're a better man than that,” Eugene said, looking me in the eyes with an eyebrow slightly raised.
“You do know me well, and I am a good man. Right. When I say run like you're being chased by Hell's own horde as close to the wall as you can, you do so, got it?” I shuffled to the edge of the table and braced myself to move.
“Where are you going?” Eugene asked he let off a few more rounds at the approaching army.
“There's a weak spot In the beer cooler.”

I ran for it, cigarette clamped in my teeth, across the empty gap to the bar.
The oncoming security bastards numbered in the few dozens, and apparently decided I was a worthy target, and opened up. Bullets hits the walls around me as I tossed myself over the bar and came crashing down into a wall of drinks on the other side. I peered over, angry at myself for forgetting my hat, and waited for the army to come for me.
Apparently I wasn't high on the radar, as most of them just kept going straight for my navigator anyway.
“Well, now or never then,” I said to myself, before spitting my cigarette out and yelling at the top of my voice.
“Eugene! Leg it!”
I saw the swoop of his hair and his coat as he began to move, and I saw the opposition raise their weapons.
I pointed my own weapon straight up, and sent one off into the big stupid plughole.
That thing was not reinforced for weapons of this magnitude.
It popped out like a cork and promptly started taking the beach with it. Cracks began shuddering through the skies above, and I watched helplessly as my hat was the first thing to fly off into the depths of space.
Time had come to make myself scarce, and I threw myself down the bar towards the entrance, following its gleaming sides all the way back. Bottles had started flying, and I could feel the incredible force of the big outside beginning to pull at me.
The poor mooks from the invading security army had no such luck, being halfway over the sands when I'd popped the cork, they were grabbing onto tables, handfuls of sand, and each other in an attempt to drag themselves back to something welded down.
Upon reaching the door, I looked for the security seal that would complete my plan and seal off this room from the rest of the station.
How befuddled was I when there was none. They must seal these things from elsewhere these days. I stuffed my gun into my belt, and ran.

   The hallway blared with noise and sirens and the cries of the angels themselves as I struggled down it, still pulled by the rush of air as automatic doors tried to close and found their guts struggling with the forces of the universe.
Step after step I could do nothing but pull myself down the hallway.
Was Eugene alive? Did he make it out, or had he fallen to the depths of the big black like the gun toting gorillas I had seen spiraling off, no doubt belching obscenities at me as they went.
I couldn't care less about those evil bastards.
If I found out any of the serving girls had bitten the big one it would weigh on the old conscience though.
The hanger bay came into sight ahead, the corridors converging with panicking people, crazed tourists, looters grabbing anything that wasn't nailed down or flying down the corridor like a projectile.
My sunglasses flew off my head faster than I could snatch at them, blasting off on their own little journey into the unknown. Goddamn, I'd have to get a new pair. My whole outfit was falling apart on this trip.
As I gripped onto the last corridor edge before the portal to the hangar bay, movement caught my eye. Three humans, males all, were hunched over a figure on the floor, hurling abuse, legs pumping with kicks and fists raised in threat at the prone figure.
I almost pulled myself past the grisly scene but stopped to take a better look. I don't know why I did what I did next. Perhaps I'm a hero at heart? A true paragon of the stars, holding no grudges but that against true evil? Maybe I'd gone batshit insane and the suction had pulled all my brains out my ears like a nacho cheese dispenser.
I pulled the weapon Eugene had thrust upon me from the loop of my belt and blasted half the head off the nearest man. The others had time to look up in shock as I gritted my teeth and yelled,
"Here's to Earth!"
The other two fell, brains splattering the hallway in two quick blasts. I stuffed the gun back into my pants and locked eyes with the girl.
The fierce, wicked eyes of the Nyalak didn't look right with tears in them. The savage, terrifying stare that looked down on so many dead humans were watery and red.
She was wearing a lot more than last time I'd seen her, a clingy top and a black skirt that was trailing behind her towards the nearest breach, as if slowly pulling her from me.
Who knew what she'd done in the past. Earth-eater.
Her eyes stared up at me, at the gun. I could leave her here, soon enough she'd be sucked out into space to burst unceremoniously like an overripe grape.
She continued to look at me, a query creasing the space between sharp black eyebrows.
"I'm out of here. You want on, I have a spare seat. Reclines and everything," was just what came out of my mouth.
I extended my hand to her, and she took it.
We stole away down the corridor, the Earth-eater and I, until the hangar came into view and we thundered past the greeting girls.
They raised hands in either greeting or threat of destruction. The blood drained from their faces when they saw my companion, who stormed past me, scattering the greeters like roaches before her. Blood was trickling down her chin from the beating she'd taken and she looked like death incarnate. Her black fingernails clattered on the keyboard the greeters had been guarding.
She turned to me and smiled.
Together we hurled ourselves up the ramp to my clanker of a ship, grinning like some kind of crazed devils. The alien was getting more terrifyingly beautiful every time I looked at her.
She found her place in Eugene's old seat quick as a flash, and like a true space soldier I was at the controls and finding my cigarettes with poised alacrity.
The ship outside us gave an alarming creak of protest.
"Right then, off we go," I muttered.
I would spend the rest of the night thinking of more dramatic things I could have said as we spiraled out the hanger bay doors, into the chill depths of space.
The girl looked over at me as we cleared airspace around Vakkari space station.
A Nyalak smile is a strange thing. Was she planning on dragging me to my sleeping quarters and raping me out of all sensibility and love for my home planet? Or was she going to kill and eat me and fly my ship to the depths of dark-space? Only time would tell.

Vakkari station was imploding in on itself. I looked down at the vast shape beginning to coil inwards from the edges like a potato crisp. Had I done that? Surely not. The brute with the cannon, he'd started all this, all I'd done was cracked a window for fresh air. Tiny ships rocketed out from the hub of the station from all angles, little jets illuminating each one for a fraction of a second before they were clear of the station and heading off into space. There were so many my little clunker was immediately lost in the rush. We were off with it. Hell, I hadn't seen that coming. I looked over at my companion. She too was looking down at the ruins of the station. What was going through her head? Was this her only home? Was she mourning lovers or family lost? Or merely the loss of all her expensive dancing clothing? She looked over at me and smiled. Course not. Nyalak didn't have family, only ancestors, and she danced naked, what did she have to lose?
My comm screen buzzed and scared the hell out of me, I jabbed the arming button for my cannons and remembered I'd had the tubes stripped out an age ago to replace with stash compartments and a stereo system. If they launched at all my target would be blasted with a barrage of beer cans and cheap pawn shop speakers. Who the hell was calling me at this hour anyway? I tapped the comm screen and bared my teeth.
"What do you animals want? I'm just passing by. Your station is a mess, I won't land here!"
"You talk too much son." Eugene replied. He started back at me from the comm screen, blood still running from a nasty cut across his brow.
"Eugene! God you made it out of that hellhole after all!" He simply smiled back and nodded.
"Told you I knew what I was doing. Watch your starboard."
A gleaming silver ship blasted across my side, slowing to a crawl just beyond me. Blue lights lit her hull as she swam through space like some gigantic manta ray.
"Helped myself on the way out. You'd like the seating in here." Eugene smiled at me. I could only shake my head.
"I appreciate the offer, but I have a universe to see on my own before slipping away on a pleasure boat old friend."
Eugene nodded, "I thought you'd say something like that. As your navigator I'd advise you to head far away as soon as possible. Get yourself somewhere quiet. Find a nice girl."
The Nyalak looked over at me, I shrugged.
"Will do. What about you, spaceman? Where are you headed?"
Eugene rubbed blood from his brow.
"Way out there. Got some old things to attend to, but tell you what. You ever find yourself on the far reaches.. you look me up. There's a place called Penn an Wlas, you can sit on the edge of the universe and look off into the darkness. We'll get a beer there."
"Godspeed you beautiful bastard." I said. I gave him a salute. Eugene nodded, and was gone from my screen. The silver ship gave a burst of blue flame from her shapely behind, and then that too was gone in a dazzling display of stolen technology.
Would I ever see Eugene Torquemada again? I didn't know. I had been lucky to sit beside that crazy old space pirate for as long as I did. He had sat in my navigation seat and pretended to do just that, bending our destinies around his calloused old fingers. One of those heroes who slipped through the cracks of the universal depression and kept on going into dark-space. Perhaps one day I'd run into him in the place beyond. Who knew?
"Where do we go?" The girl suddenly asked. Her voice was quiet. The voice of a little girl lost in some giant supermarket after looking at the cereal for too long. I looked at her. She sat back, reclining in Eugene's old navigator's seat. Her long arms were stretched up above her head, her breasts pulled tight against her chest.
"You're the navigator, you tell me." I gestured at the console in front of her. She looked at it quizzically.
We were in the last two seats on the last train in the station. Looking out into space, Ships were disappearing in flashes of light until none remained in the blackness. The girl began to tap in coordinates. I didn't care where we went. I had seen worse, I was sure. Surely this was what we were here for? The human race had dreamed of the stars since the first time someone looked up and noticed them there. He probably climbed up a mountain to try to reach them. In the same basic fashion we kept reaching for a long time. Now we were among them, what remained of the last overcrowded sightseeing bus to leave Earth. They're just as sparkly up here. Sometimes you forget to look at them.
"That one." I pointed to a bright star, just one. The Nyalak turned to me, the light in her eyes a dark intelligence flaming a challenge at me.
The journey into the weird had just begun.