The Gourmet Space Butcher (Still Needs Sauce) The Gourmet Space Butcher (Still Needs Sauce) The food in this part of the star system? A crime against taste buds. If I had to describe the local cuisine in one word, it’d be disgusting. No joke. Everyone here survives on either flavorless goop or rubbery protein bricks, both of which taste like they were cooked by a broken food dispenser. The so-called "meat" the protein blocks? More like pressed algae and yeast, chewy and bland, nothing like the tender, juicy meat I grew up with. Then there’s the nutrient paste—thick, slimy, and made from processed space kelp. Eating it feels like gnawing on the rusty hull of a junker ship. The broth they serve? A sad excuse for soup. No richness, no depth—just weak, watery disappointment. They probably try to fake flavor with lab-grown protein and fermented beans, but it’s all flat. I miss real seasoning—actual taste. All they’ve got here are weak mineral salts. Even the station-grown veggies ...

The Half-Spec Blaster The Half-Spec Blaster The half-spec blaster is an oddity—awkwardly sized, clumsy in close quarters, and lacking the punch of a full plasma rifle. It feels like the result of someone trying to invent a better weapon and giving up halfway through. Too bulky to holster at your hip, too underpowered to call a rifle, it sits in a weird middle ground that makes most soldiers roll their eyes. Back in previous life, we used to say: “Too big for a sidearm, too small for a rifle.” It fits this weapon perfectly. Still, out here in deep space, you learn that any weapon is better than no weapon—especially when it's the only one you can count on. You won’t see the Galactic Vanguard training with one, and the official forces wouldn’t touch it with a ten-meter pole. But me? I’ve got a soft spot for this clunky, misfit blaster. Sure, it’s heavy and the range isn’t great, but I tweaked it for a very specific use. It's not flashy, but it’s adaptable. And when you've put ...

Four Idiots Meet One Hybrid Narwhal  Four Idiots Meet One Hybrid Narwhal  Like I might’ve said before, I’m a hybrid—born from two worlds that can’t stand each other. One parent came from the Lunatran Empire, the other from the Holy Solar Commonwealth of Solflare. A space traveler and a priest from opposing sides got a little too friendly one night on a neutral trade station, and well… here I am. Lunatrans and Solflarians might not look that different, but you can still tell them apart if you know what to look for. Lunatrans sometimes some parts of their body so dark they seem to swallow light. Solflarians, on the other hand, are known for glowing hair that pulses with energy. Not everyone has these traits, but when they show up, you can’t miss them. Me? I’ve got both. My hair glows silver with streaks of pure black woven through. It screams “mixed-blood” in a galaxy where the two empires have been at war for over 300 years. In case you didn’t catch it: yeah, people treat me li...

When the stars are full of danger, it’s better to be overlooked than overestimated IWhen the Stars Are Full of Danger, It’s Better to Be Overlooked Than Overestimated I don’t remember what ripped me out of my old world and dumped me here, in this corner of space. Maybe it was some cosmic accident—a tear in reality, a burst of energy between dimensions. But by the time I came back to myself, I was already a crying baby, with only foggy glimpses of my past life. By the time my old memories fully woke up, I’d lived long enough to accept things as they were. The universe doesn’t stop expanding just because you don’t understand it. I was born or moe like reborn on a mining outpost stuck between two warring superpowers: the Lunatran Empire and the Holy Solar Commonwealth of Solflare. They’d fought over these border star systems for centuries, making peace and breaking it just as fast. Officially, the outpost belonged to Lunatran, but the people there were misfits from all over the galaxy. Wh...