funky station

Short stories that I wrote about my characters, and wanted to share!

NEBBIE BUBBLAINE in... Big Rock Finish!

Nebbie Bubblaine, 33. Aspiring star, stuck in the NT backwater stations trying to stir up something of a name for themselves. Stage name, Nebbie Stardust, or Supernova, depending on their mood. They have expensive prosthetic limbs, built to enhance stage presence and dexterity with instruments. This is all to say, they play some songs and occasionally a janitor will give them a second glance.

One day, much the same as usual, barely an eye batted in their direction. After a few songs, inspiration strikes at the bottom of a utility pole. They wanted something explosive, and they had the perfect set lined up. Rushing to the nearest intercom, an excited announcement for their Ballad of the Dragon goes out. This will be their biggest hit yet!

Ten minutes later, the theatre is empty. Oh well, time to start. They don a dark cloak, shredding their axe as they scream their ballad. Tales of witch covens, monstrous sharkminnows devouring all, of the dragon tearing space apart and rending void with its claws. Typical metal shit. 20 minutes later, the set is finished to no one's enjoyment but Nebbie's. That's good enough for them.

Some time later, the station AI makes an announcement about some game, and a quest starting soon. Someone else puts in to be a gladiator, and they think it might be fun to play along. Naturally, they can be a bard! They spend some time following people around, playing heroic music and hamming up their performance. Screams echo through their headset, something about a dragon. Their set must have been noticed after all, and it was now part of the quest! This was their chance to make it, so they follow the fighters after the dragon as the AI instructs.

It's dark in the maintenance tunnels, and pretty scary, but that must just be part of the game! Their riffs echo through the dark halls, following the fighters until suddenly everything goes silent. An overwhelming coldness, a crushing pressure. A set of teeth, gnashing in the dark. It swims past a fading lightbulb. Its scales glitter in the dim light. A real life space carp..? Inside a secure NanoTrasen facility...? It couldn't be. Yet, it was. All of it, the cold, the vacuum, the gnashing teeth and wild carp. All of them bearing down on Nebbie. But this was no metal epic about a eldritch dragon. Not even a ferocious sharkminnow. No big rock finish with pyrotechnics. Just, a regular space carp and the cold. A silent whimper in the dark, and thus the curtain falls.

The Grove of Wonder in... FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN!

The Grove of Wonder, an 126-year-old diona and active medical practitioner. Due to its age, its body is frail and slow, creaking and groaning as it shuffles along at a snail's pace. Despite this, it holds a great sense of optimism, revering all life and taking great pride in its role as a healer. It sees itself as a collective, its body teeming with life from zipping fireflies to suckling nymphs to tiny mites and aphids. It is a living, breathing ecosystem, a microcosm of the oneness of all living things and the beauty of nature. This, it firmly believes. That the cycle of life will continue evermore, and that all living things are aspects of mother nature herself. It follows, then, that the one thing it truly fears is an end to the cycle. True oblivion. It has heard rumours of cults dedicated to bringing about oblivion, and it is those that it abhors above all else. It fears to ever meet such a person dedicated to this cause, for it knows that they would break it completely.

Imagine its surprise now, when after a long and quiet shift, a figure appears at the window gesturing towards it. Robed, but instantly recognisable. Itself. A creeping dread begins to gnaw at its roots, but it chooses to follow. The figure beckons, and leads The Grove to an airlock. It is suspicious, but this is quelled by curiosity and the gnawing inside itself. The figure whispers that it is from the future, and that it has come back to try and stop oblivion from coming to pass. That somewhere, out in the cosmos, there are those who would seek an end to the cycle. Had its body been able, The Grove of Wonder would have fallen to its knees and wailed out in despair. As it happened, only a hoarse groan and rustle of branches was heard. Its deepest, darkest fears were coming to pass, the living proof standing right before it. This figure could not have been anyone else, for no one else could know what ate away at its roots.

The dread swelled, a great hacking despair that tore away at it and would have surely destroyed it save for the figure continuing to speak. The only way to stop the end and to keep the wheel turning, to let life be reborn again and again, was for it to die. Something about a time paradox, it didn't understand the figure's more scientific words. It was barely listening, its resolve was already set. There was no hesitation or doubt in its mind about what it needed to do. It was old and frail, and the life inside it was young and fit. It would not make sense to do anything else. So, the figure's knife plunged deep into The Grove's chest, careful to avoid its nymphs. Sap spilled to the cold tiles below, The Grove of Wonder mercifully numb to pain. It collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, and it swiftly delivered the final blow. The body in front of it lay broken and dead, yet more alive than ever. Nymphs began to burrow their way out, chittering as they were bathed in the harsh fluorescent lights. The Grove of Wonder watched these nymphs scurry about, and smiled as one of them turned to whisper a final prayer of thanks. All was well, and all would be well.