Once I was done retching my lunch onto the floor, I decided that getting my bearings on my soon to be metal grave would be best. Looking around, I was in what seemed to be an alleyway of sorts, a long corridor with no roof that stretched for a few dozen meters, filled with trash, old broken machinery, and other assorted pieces of garbage. A few rusty looking doorways dotted the buildings to either side, the one to my right sporting a broken metal bar hanging from the doorway, presumably a broken security sensor for automatic doors.
As I scanned the area, the reality of my situation yet to truly set in, I heard a noise emanate from around the corner, at the end of the alley. Lights shone through the shadows there, and I heard the unmistakable sound of language, though due to the distance I could hear very little.
I knew that this super-city was dangerous. Especially the lower levels. But the opportunity to gain knowledge, resources, anything really, was what I needed. As I approached the end of the alley, the speaking grew louder. I realized that I could understand none of the words spoken.
They must have some sort of translation device. If this really is the world of my novel, then interstellar society is built on translation devices.
Just as I was about to continue my approach, a thought stopped me in my tracks. Who would I meet around the bend? In a shady ass place like this, I doubt I’d run into good, upstanding citizens. No, I’d have to be careful, sneaky, channel my inner stealth ranger skyrim build and walk in the opposite direction because I don’t want to die. I figured that there were safer, easier options for getting acclimated to this place that didn’t involve getting shot by gangers for my bone marrow.
As I inspected the rusty stairway that connected this alley to the main floor of the city pillar above it, situated on the other end of the alley, the previously distant voices grew louder. Now I could hear the languages spoken, one being a yipping, barking tone like what you’d expect from a dog, while the other was some sort of warbling, as if the speaker was gargling water in their throat.
The voices grew louder until the unmistakable sound of gunfire drowned out the rest. I scrambled to the nearest cover behind a waist high pile of scrap and garbage as what looked like plasma ripped from around the corner and splashed against the walls, leaving scorch marks in the rust covered metal.
I watched wide eyed as what looked like a D&D beholder stumbled out of the alley. Covered in metal plates, wiring and tubes, this beholder lacked the many eye tendrils of the fantasy classic. Instead, based on the viscous blue liquid leaking from the many holes in the armor, this was some form of jellyfish alien who relied on the mechanized floating habitat for survival. This particular individual had 4 doc ock esc tendrils attached to the suit, each carrying large, blocky pistol looking weapons. It seemed that these wouldn't be of any use to them, as those plasma shots had ripped through the suit like it was butter, leaving holes of melting metal and burnt jelly behind.
My breath refused to leave my body, and for nearly 3 minutes I stayed there, crouched behind a fetid pile of unidentifiable garbage. My eyes did not close, my muscles moved nought a single inch. Then another sound. A whirring, like the start up whine of a laptop, and then a constant, low thrumming sound, which quickly increased in volume before fading off into the distance.
Only when there was no sound in the immediate vicinity did I dare to let out a shaky breath. I, slowly but surely, moved towards the corpse. I didn't want to, in fact I wanted to run as far away as possible. But I needed info, I needed a translator, I needed a weapon, and all 3 might just be present on this corpse.
Once I reached the cooling carcass, I took a quick glance at the direction the shots came from. In the distance I could see a flying object, probably some sort of shuttle craft or hover car that carried the killers of Mr. Tentacles over here. Throughout the alleyway were a variety of things. Not counting the mechanized jellyfish, 2 other corpses populated the ground, both being bipedal in nature. One was human, a short, spindly woman with sunken cheeks that looked more the result of malnourishment than fat removal while the other was likely the one who had been speaking beforehand. It had a dog-like appearance, sporting reverse jointed legs like that of a chicken, and 8 eyes on its head. Both had a myriad of holes in their bodies, clearly the work of automatic weapons fire.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
As I scanned around for useful salvage, a small device on the woman's face caught my attention. A small earpiece that at one point must have been a sleek silver, but is now scratched up, with clear rust on some of the outer portions. It was a dead ringer for the translation device that I would need. Even though that not-god had given me the ability to speak what passed for a common galactic language here, that just meant I could kinda talk to a chunk of the population, and would need a translator for everything else.
Plucking the translator out of the woman's ear with a whispered apology, I thoroughly wiped it off on my shirt, making sure it was clean as can be before sticking it in my right ear. An odd sensation filled my ear as small tendrils extended from the device and probed around. After a few seconds the device dinged and the tendrils sat still. I would need ocular implants to get subtitles and other, more advanced features but for now this would translate all heard languages that are in the database.
I then proceeded to scavenge the corpses for all that I could feasibly bring with me. The body armor was shot but the guns still worked and carried a small amount of ammo. I wasn't confident in my ability to handle the weapons the jelly alien had wielded, as the size of the holes in the gangers armor indicated enough recoil to turn my wrists to mush.
I eventually decided on a pistol carried by the canine alien. It was a small, angular thing, with two small metal flaps on either side of the barrel that presumably opened to vent heat. That combined with the oddly shaped magazines and the ammo counter that read 30 rounds on the small screen on the pistol grip led me to believe that it was an energy weapon. While lacking the punch of most ballistics, the increased ammo and decreased recoil would make it optimal for my survival situation.
Once I was finished looting some corpses, I was kitted out with a tattered cloak that covered my new belt which held both my pistol and a knife of sorts that I had grabbed. Both of the smaller corpses had small, thin metal wafers in the shape of a rectangle. Each was a bronze like color with inscriptions that marked them as Draflan Cas, or Dras for short. Cas was an old Golgax term for coin that had been popular amongst the void-nomad tribes for a while before unification and had trickled down to regular language. I counted about 30 Dras in total, though whether that was a lot depended heavily on the local economy.
With my looting done, I decided to get away from the scene of the crime as quickly as possible in case some other scavengers or gangers decided to poke around. I made my way back to where I showed up and started scaling the rickety steps to the main floor of the pillar. Off in the distance, amid clouds of smog, I could spot the other pillars, scattered lights pouring from poorly constructed shacks and buildings, some of which teetered dangerously close to the edge, with others just outright hanging from catwalks on chains and ropes.
After a few minutes of avoiding a slip to certain death, I made it to the main floor of the pillar. Here was a closed off section in the interior of the pillar, with this part being a town square of sorts. The place was filled to the brim with people of all different species. From every flavor of human to a few of those beholder-esc aliens to the dog people to quadrupedal lizard people with far too many eyes for comfort, there seemed to be no end to the number of aliens. Stalls lined the streets on level and for multiple stories above me, hawking rusted and teared wares of all kinds, from weapons to food to disassembled machinery and more. Pickpockets weaved and bobbed, running or hiding from the various angry residents who were lucky enough to notice their mysteriously lighter pockets. A true sci-fi bazaar is every sense of the word.
The first thing I truly noticed was the stench. A disgusting mix of grease, exhaust, sweat and what I imagine are other bodily fluids I won't name. I wandered for a while, lost, mostly out of it (interdimensional travel will do that to ya), though I had the wisdom to keep my money and pistol close to my chest.
For all that this might be a place within the world of my novels, my setting was an entire galaxy, meaning that there were uncountable places that I did not write about or even create that were suddenly very real. This means that I have no idea where I am or what to do.
I’m fucked.
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Today on the Pit Report!. The Bone Crackers gang has started recruitment once more in tandem with their liege gang the dreaded Steel Vireen. The vassal gang has been on the leash of the disgraced mercenary band for years now, and run many of their smaller protection rackets, along with having some of the highest recruitment rates into the Steel Vireen itself. However, it seems that while the other two vassal gangs of the Vireen are relatively unharmed due to the Bone Crackers providing security, the recent attacks of the House of Kings and the Junk Scrapers tampering with logistics meant that the Bone Crackers took the brunt of the blow before the Steel Vireen were able to fully deploy and deal with the threat. It seems that the other gangs have not taken the opportunity to take more territory. This might normally be seen as odd, but the rumors of a potential member of the Imperial Family visiting means that the corpo ladder lickers and the various government officials are going to make extra sure that the Sky Pillar is spotless, including a potential crackdown on crime here in the pit. Now, onto our next story. Turho barf; can it really cure neurological-degredation, and if so, will it be the catalyst for a new corporate war? Stay tuned for all the news here on Pit Report!