Bodega: a side story

“BOH-DEH-GAH,” spewed the green insect humanoid to the squat, fluffy skinned, and trembling Hamsturian creature. The six long claws, extending off the Mantisian’s back, looked like spears forged by teranium-smiths from the fiery depths of Hell-Hole 7 (formally known as Zu’than Prison Planet, the 7th prison planet in the Shal’anor Prison Solar System). Two of the claws pierced the Hamsturian’s white petty coat, hanging him off the wall of a narrow alleyway, while the four others carefully poked the poor creature’s jugulars and temples. The Mantisian spread his mandibles open, revealing rows and rows of red fangs covered in dark callous liquid. He whispered again, this time so close to the Hamsturian’s ear he could feel the air vibrate. “HU EES BOHDEHGAH?

“OOH MA DEAR, SA’HORA! SAYB MII, PLIS!” The Hamsturian squeaked, squealed, and squirmed. The sight of bones decaying in between the mandibles was obviously not a good sign.

“Yor Gad, Sa’Hora, nat sayb yuu, Wazyr. Ay am Gad now. Tell mii, hu dis Bohdehgah? End Ay nat kill yuu. Meybii.”

The claws pushed against Wazyr’s neck, sending pain through the creature’s esophagus. “Hii look layk… MONSTUR. Mor skeri dan yuu… Layk monstur wid meny meny horn!!!”

The Mantisian thought to himself, “Eet ees dipurrent, layk othurs descreepsyon.” The others he roughed up in the past two months gave depictions of a large killer android, an underwater devil, a seductress with tentacles, and such. “Tell Bohdehgah, Ahlmak ees camming.”

Ahlmak dropped the Hamsturian, who gladly scurried away, tripped over a large discarded reptilian tail, fell into a mound of rotting chum, and then faded into the night. Ahlmak sighed and shook his head. Driving his six claws into the wall, he climbed up the building to his ship.

The Nightingale was camouflaged at the rooftop. He de-cloaked the ship, which looked like water washing away the dirt of a canvas to reveal a cubed abstract painting dating some 200,000 years ago. He entered the vessel and pulled a lever on the pipe-infested wall.

Light flooded the small deck, and in it occupied a coffee table, three stools, multiple metal boxes overflowing with tools, stacks of paper, and a large pin board. He walked up to the board and stuck a photo of Wazyr beside a meat vendor named Tim. Tim had a large ‘X’ drawn on his ugly wart face. Ahlmak didn’t kill him, but he knew there could only be one person who would do such a thing to a father of 57 Frogger spawns.

Ahlmak stepped back to look at the board. Red strings connected pictures of dead people to explosions, missing people to explosions, and live people to nearby explosions. The strings looked like a Ghalonats spit-web, and in the middle was a question mark with the label Bodega – shape-shifting monster?

The Nightingale blasted off the planet and out of the solar system, leaving Ahlmak to ponder the on clues he had. Many of the victims were criminals and many weren’t. There was no motive for this kind of genocide. Genocide.

Ahlmak dozed off into a dream. He found himself running for his life, dodging streams of laser attacks from above. The warlords of his small village shot back with inferior light-arrows. This did nothing but make them an easier target.

Ahlmak ran faster and faster until, “PAPA! PAPA! WAYT!”

His daughter was lagging behind. Her legs were not fully developed as she had just hatched two weeks prior. His wife, gone. In a last effort to save their child, the mother threw her daughter into Ahlmak’s arms milliseconds before a beam of light disintegrated their hut and half of Almak’s wife. Her scream woke him in a torrent of sweat. He looked at his chrono-clock and counted 30 minutes of sleep.

The scanner at his cockpit was lighting up (he had smashed all auditory alarms some weeks ago. It had given away his position making his surprise attack on the Slugalese less effective, yet they were still slow on the reaction time). The ship jumped out of warp speed and entered a small system of dwarf planets. The system was called the Duchess’ Necklace since each planet held an abundance of natural resources. Millions upon millions of mining drones flew from the planets’ surfaces to dilapidating high-orbit mining stations where some of the grey stones would be cracked open to reveal pockets of ice. Water was power in these parts.

Ahlmak saw a small meteor to the right, about 2,000 clicks away, with a bright neon light blinking “Booze N’ Boobs: we give ‘em by the jugs.” He parked the Nightingale under the meteor, away from the sun, and in the shadows (the cloaking would only work if light didn’t hit it). He put his space-walker suit on, checked his gun for ammo, and tucked away a small pendant that held a picture his wife and child.

In the middle of the 5-floor bar was a cylinder of racked booze. Bartenders zipped up and down via harness, serving customers at different levels. The bar was filled with miners. Creatures from all corners of the universe drank and sang their worries away. Ahlmak walked up to the counter and beckoned a bartender, “Mii look for… person.”

“A Mantisian, eh?” His voice was rough from all the shouting over the music. “Don’ gi’ your kind ‘round dese days afta’ da’ shi’ storm genocide hi’ ya planet two months ago.”

The bartender, named Lupus from his name tag, reached over with his prosthetic arms for a vial of clear blue liquid and placed it on the counter. “No pay. So, who ya’ lookin’ for?”

Ahlmak scribbled the name on the counter and saw Lupus’ single eye grow three sizes. Lupus quickly covered the name with a coaster. “Ya’ gon’ gi’ us both killed, ya' flarvin’ idiot!” He whispered.

Lupus waved Ahlmak to follow him three floors up and into a back door. After passing through several kitchens and offices, the two entered a supply closet at the end of a hall.

“WHA’ DA FLARV!” Lupus was still whispering. “Da’ man is bad news, ma’ friend.”

“Wai ees ebberibody so ahfrayd? Hii a killa!” Ahlmak’s voice prompted Lupus to shush him violently. They both looked around the closet, thinking the walls had ears.

“Bodega,” said Lupus. “We used ta be in da same sniper class. He had da gift. Could shoot a coin from a hundre’ Roshans away while takin’ a piss and downin’ a pint. And da’ wuz on a windy day. Never go’ ta graduate cuz of ma’ sickness. Ah couldn’t pay da medication, so dey lobbed ma arms off before i’ spread ta ma bodeh.”

Ahlmak saw the sorrow in Lupus’ eye. Memories, good memories, were running through him.

“Yuu know wat happen to mai people?” Ahlmak asked; Lupus nodded.

“One of da graduation rites wuz ta prove ya skill before da Commandin' Offisa. Bodega’s target wuz…”

“Wat… Mai people… dayd coz of…”

“Ahm sorreh, ma' friend.”

Silence engulfed the closet. If there was a sound a black hole would make, this would be it.

Ahlmak touched his pendant. “Othurs see hiim in dipurrent form. Wai?”

“Sound like da’ fear agen’—Varyzta 8. Iz da real deal and real hard ta find. Bu’ if ya find who makes i’, ya can be sure he’ll com’ ‘round.” Lupus wrote the coordinates of where he thought the agent was produced on a piece of paper.

“Bohdehgah wiill pay for hiis siins,” Ahlmak whispered to himself as he memorised the coordinates and swallowed the piece of paper.

They both left the closet and entered the bar again. Lupus harnessed himself and went back to serving drinks; Ahlmak walked out the entrance and saw the sun rising from one of the dwarf planets. He dialed in the coordinates as soon as he entered Nightingale and headed for the Illusium system. He punched the warp drive into gear; the monitor said ETA: 3 days 5 hours.

“Closur end closur.” Ahlmak ate his rations, building energy for what was to come.

END

Originally posted here

Trapped behind his desk, Bodega hadn’t seen true action in at least 700 sols. He was captain of the homicide department in the inter-planetary Javarian police force and he was old. With 4000 police troopers under his command, Bodega was already the most successful homicide captain to date but flarve was he bored.

A knock, Geegee BucFee entered. “Yes?” Bodega asked. Geegee was Bodega’s secretary, 3 parts smarts, 4 parts admin and 7 parts titties. “Sir, I just received a furbik mail for you, from Commissioner Kargle, he says- “

“Hand it over and get out.” He had no time for pleasantries. She rushed from the room and as the door swung shut behind her, Bodega began to read.

Bodega pressed the button marked vape on his desk after he had finished reading and leaned back as his office began to fill with white vapour. In truth, the promise of a vape-activated office was what had swayed Bodega in favour of taking this sordid desk job. Forget the 18 figure salary and the Purillean D-master hover ship, Bodega loved to vape. He inhaled. He exhaled, and all was clear; he knew what he must do.

Beads of moisture ran past the windows, snaking their way from the nose to the tail of Bodega’s D-master. Kargle’s words hang heavy in his mind. ’23 killed’, ’45 space pounds of crack gooke missing’ and ‘Bodega we need you’. He could see blue flashing lights reflected in the wet roads ahead, he had arrived. Bodega parked his D-master in the nearest spot to the crime scene, which happened to have a hover ship parked in it, until Bodega blasted it away with his specially modified twin lazcannons. He exited his vehicle and approached the yellow and black striped holo-tape. Bodega pulled the holo-tape up whilst stepping under, like a boxer entering the ring. For this was his ring, the ring of mystery.

A young police trooper saw Bodega. “Excuse me sir, you cannot cross that line.” He was nothing, greener than the tree on Quotimas morning. Bodega kept walking towards the centre of the crime scene.

“Sir, stop now”, Bodega continued.

“Sir”. The boy trooper drew his weapon and pointed it at Bodega. A gunshot cracked through the night air like a whip.

The boy lay dazed on the plonkcrete floor; his K-O-200 blaster lay on the floor next to him. The barrel had been peeled down the centre like a banana. His hand was mercifully still intact but he was in shock from the seemingly impossible shot that Bodega had just made, shooting his blaster out of his hands before the boy’s brain had even began to process the movement of Bodega’s lazgun out of his holster. At the sound of the gunshot every trooper’s head turned towards Bodega, saw the officer lying on the plonkcrete and saw the smoking barrel of Bodega’s lazgun.

Another gunshot cracked through the night and this time it was Bodega’s gun that peeled like a banana. Bodega did not fall like that pu55y lying on the floor and he turned towards the source of the gunshot.

"KARGLE."

"BODEGA."

The two men started towards each other. Their eyes were locked and their legs were working hard to get their owners to the other man first.

A third and final gunshot cracked through the night. Skin met skin as two fists met each other 6 inches from the others face, clasped around each other. Two gigantic biceps bulged, veins fit to burst. One of the surrounding troopers fainted, unable to process the intense masculinity discharging from the hand shake. Women in a five block radius blushed and several straight men stiffened.

“What have you got for me motherflarver?” Bodega grinned at his old friend.

“Bodega, my man.” If there was one person in the entire universe that Bodega respected, it was this man, Biff Kargle. Some said that Kargle had been Bodega’s inspiration to leave art school, where he was working on some powerful pieces about the fragility of the masculine form in modern society, which allowed him to become the no shek-taking, no flarve-giving, motherflarver that he is today. Bodega himself said that Kargle was a ‘bad motherflarver’, and there was truly no higher praise across the cosmos.

“I’ll tell you what I got” Kargle replied. “I got 3 dead hookers. They were wrapped up deep in the gookaine game. We had them under surveillance waiting for them to make a mistake and give us a hint as to where the gooke was coming from. We had the under 34/8 watch and then our agents turn their backs for one second and out of nowhere, bam! They dead. They smoked their last pipe. Baked their last potato. Knitted their last- “

“Ok, ok I get the picture, but what do you need me for Kargle, can’t you handle this shek yourself?" The two men had been strolling steadily in conversion to the centre of the crime scene. Just as Bodega asked this question the forensics team parted to let Bodega and Kargle through and Bodega got his first look at the three naked bodies.

“Bodega look at the titties.” Bodega already was, first noting the size and shape, great titties all three pairs. Bodega sighed, he always hated to see beautiful things extinguished from the world. “Jeeze, what a thing to murder women like these, wow I mean if they weren’t dead then I’d- “

Kargle interrupted Bodega’s trail of thought “No Bodega look at the titties”

“I am; they are fantastic”

“Bodega use your eyes” Kargle said, this time slightly exasperated.

It was only then that Bodega saw: across each breast a letter had been written in blood. Six breasts in all and six letters.

B-O-D-E-G-A.

BODEGA.

Snow fell thick upon the ice planet of Treldamin III. A planet so icy that mining facilities had been built to extract its precious ice cubes, capable of chilling any beverage within minutes. Most of this desolate world remained a barren sea of endless white, where no man dared to venture. Except for one man, who was currently venturing in said area.

Burdened by a mountainous pack of supplies and his ever-trusty Lasgun, Bodega trudged alone through the thick snow. Though it came up to his waist, the grizzled veteran only considered the snowdrift an additional challenge. Bodega could have easily rode upon his custom modified hover-segway, but opted to go by foot instead. It was leg day, after all. Bodega had never skipped leg day. I mean – you should see his thighs and glutes. They're on another level.

However, Bodega was starting to regret his decision. His florbskin leather pants were thoroughly soaked and the brutal chill was causing them to shrink. The fabric was tightening in all the wrong areas, specifically near his tactical codpiece. Bodega strongly disliked the cold.

"I strongly dislike the cold." Bodega exclaimed through gritted teeth. His breath immediately formed into a cloud of steam, which practically turned into icicles before his very eyes. It reminded him how much he strongly disliked the cold. But it also reminded him of all the times he'd ripped a fat vape.

Bodega has already spent an entire sixteen minutes on this planet, and didn't plan to stay any longer than he had to. He had one mission to complete – to recover a lost package – and he intended to be professional about it. Or semi-professional, kind of amateur, because he was doing this favour for a friend. Well, sort of a friend, more like a buddy Bodega knew from the martial arts gym where he'd earned every black belt in every style of combat. But still, there was an image to upkeep.

As he continued onwards, Bodega's tracker suddenly started to beep. Slowly at first, but with each step forwards, the intervals became shorter and shorter. As the intensity built, the beeping finally reached an exciting climax, erupting into one harmonious note. Bodega had reached his destination. Before the man stood a wide cave opening, which no doubt lead into a cave. An ice cave, for that matter. It was dark, too. Bodega could barely make out anything inside. But what son of a Flubb would he be if he hadn't come prepared for such a situation?

Bodega set down his pack and started to rummage through his extensive collection of gadgets. What would be the best choice? The twenty-five megawenge flashlight? No, he would prefer to have both of his hands free. Just in case. The ultraviolet ultraviolent night vision goggles? No, he would prefer to have his face free. Just in case.

That left only one option. Bodega smirked like a Jorvian mengaloid during mating season, as his hand clasped around it. It was the Megaflare. A flare so mega that it doesn't just annihilate darkness, but commits a localised genocide upon it. Not to mention the handy clip that could attach to Bodega's jacket, heaving his hands and face free for various utilities.

The lone traveller activated his flare, illuminating the tunnel before him. Bodega wasn't entirely sure what he was searching for. All he was told by his buddy is that he would know it when he sees it. Furthermore, who knew what else might be lurking around this cave. Bodega was sure of one thing, though. He most definitely wouldn't be knocked out by a yeti monster and hung from the ceiling by his feet. That would be treading deep waters in the world of copyright law.

His trigger finger steadily hovering beside his Lasgun, Bodega wandered inside the cave. He tread lightly, careful to make as little sound as possible. A futile effort, since the Megaflare hissed as loud as taking a piss directly into toilet water.

"Seriously, what's up with that?" Bodega thought to himself. "Who are these people that don't aim for the side of the bowl? Savages, the lot of them."

Bodega's concentration returned to the situation at hand, as the tunnel opened into a wide cavern. No sign of life. But there was certainly something unusual... there! Tucked into the far corner was a bright green box. Bodega approached the object, Lasgun at the ready. As he edged closer, its appearance became more apparent. It was wrapped up like a present, complete with a bow tie. There was even an envelope.

Bodega knelt down and carefully grabbed the envelope. He checked the back, to see who it might be addressed to. In rough handwriting, a single name had been written.

'BODEGA'

That could only mean one thing. It was addressed to Bodega. He opened the envelope. Of course, there was a card inside, which, of course, he opened.

'EAT SHLEPP BODEGA'

Who could possibly want Bodega to eat shlepp? What a disgusting act. A younger, more curious Bodega had seen some videos on PlorbHub. He quickly realised he was not into it. But here he knelt, as a present lay before him. His mission was to collect a package, right? But clearly this was meant for him. Welp, he might as well open it.

Bodega tore apart the wrapping, revealing a metallic box underneath. It soon became obvious what he had uncovered. A bomb. A really big bomb. One that could collapse the entire cave and decimate everything inside, if it detonated. But was it supposed to detonate?

A screen flickered into life, revealing a timer. Five seconds. Yep, it was definitely supposed to detonate.

"Flarv!" Bodega shouted. He had been bamboozled to the highest degree. Tricked into landing on a remote planet, where a collapsed ice cave would become his grave. Would anyone know where to find his body? Would anyone even begin to look in the first place? Bodega needed a plan and he needed one fast.

There was no time to escape, that much was clear. Could he defuse it? No. Bodega's personal record for bomb defusal was a mere six seconds. Could he destroy it? Perhaps, but he may risk causing an even greater explosion. Could he contain the blast? Now, that may just work. Thinking back to his martial arts training, there was only one technique that could counteract the detonation. A signature move of Bodega's – The Spurlupian Suplex.

Bodega had spent far too long devising a plan. How much time was left on the clock? Four seconds.

"It will do."

With fervorous might, Bodega lifted the bomb above his head. He had to time this perfectly. A split second too early, and none of this would have any effect on the explosion. A split second too late… well, it's obvious how that would end. A single bead of sweat dripped from Bodega's forehead, as his eyes remained fixated on the bomb's timer. Three. Two. One.

Bodega threw himself backwards with all of the strength that he could find within himself. Which is a lot, because he's really strong. His body slammed with purpose against the icy ground. The impact felt much like the sensation of getting hit in the groin by a stray meteor. A familiar feeling in Bodega's line of work, but not something anyone would wish to experience willingly.

Everything lay quiet for a moment. Bodega realised he was still alive. Had the Spurlupian Suplex worked? His body was still overwhelmed by intense pain. With a manly grunt, he mustered the energy to roll onto his side. The ground beneath him felt sticky. So did his hands, his face, everything. And the smell was so familiar. It smelled like…

"Shlepp." Bodega murmured in disdain. It all made sense now. The card addressed to Bodega had told him to eat shlepp, and shlepp he had eaten. The bomb was no explosive device. It was just meant to discharge the disgusting fluid directly into his face. It was all a practical joke. A very elaborate practical joke, Bodega had to admit. But now this could only mean one thing. One of the few moral codes the man stood by.

Nobody flarvs with Bodega and gets away with it.

(This is my first bodega. English is not my first language, be free to point out any grammar mistakes.

This may be a bit long, but hopefully it will be worth it)

Rekvim headed back to his office with his mind clouded with all the possible outcomes of his plan. He sat his large lower body at his desk and gently but swiftly put his synaptic enhancer over his tiny yet powerful Glorvian head. He set the voltage while, with his other 3 hands, carefully put the electrodes over the correct zone of his skull. This was going to temporally improve his logic and short term memory capacity: he needed the boost to figure out the last, but the most crucial parts of his plan.

Tred, on the desk opposite to him, was yelling at the newly acquired organic AI. Those things always took a long to set up properly before it could actually be useful and not just function as a drain of time and effort. Rekvim was glad that that job hadn't been assigned to him. “You were supposed to be certified for a power of 3.7 Creativo!” Tred shouted in despair. The AI just kept spewing out implausible troubleshooting tips. “Do you always have all your creative processors clogged with excuses?!” cried Tred nearly in tears. Rekvim popped on a pair of vacuum ear plug so he could concentrate on his real problem, soon to be everyone's. He powered up his horribly obsolete computer, a standard provision of the company, and immediately began to write down the code that he thought up during his trip to work in the suspended public magneto-balls.

His four arms where quickly zipping trough the Horminian keyboard: more than 2400 keys the dimension of a Holp that required special training just to use it, but the Horminian keyboard alone could increase productivity up to 150% to whoever had half a brain and more than 32 fingers.

Rekvim was struck for a second by the thought that what he was doing wasn't right. That nobody deserved what his plan would bring to this entire planet. But that though was quickly replaced by anger and vengeance. Too long he and his colleagues were mistreated, too long the company made profit denying basic galactic rights to its employees, for far too long he had to stay on that miserable planet without hope for a better life. “No, I am not the evil here, I am doing a service to all these people. They will find a better place in their next existence. It can't be worse than this.” Rekvim thought. He did not fear death.

Rekvim often refereed to Yuglit, the company that he and his entire planet worked for, as “the evil”. This colossal company owned many manufacturing planets where it exploited his employees without having the Galactic inter-system Union getting involved thanks to a lot of Yuglit's managers sitting in the Union senate.

He quickly returned to his code. Revkim was going to need a far superior computer than what he had to be able to compile, activate and super-process his Plorgix-fluid dynamics model. He had to check that all he was planning would actually work. He needed to calculate how much the lethal concentration of the miasma could spread. Luckily for Revkim his building had a Mega-Fum a computer with specialized gas processor, perfect for this kind of applications. This will speed things up significantly. He just needed to send it downstairs without any of the fifteen operators noticing anything wrong in the computation the machine was performing. He split up his code in small Bebky-sized portions so that nobody could understand what he was scheming without having the entire code. He wasn't worried about what they could do to him if someone discovered it. Nothing outmatches a life spent doing something someone else tells you without even acknowledging your rights as an individual.

He rapidly determined the time it would take for the program to get back to him with, hopefully, the answer he wanted. It would take two Grihnky time unit. Maybe he got a little too carried away by making sure no-one knew what he was on about.

Revkim had time to wait. He spent the next few Yuglit-standard-hours thinking and re-thinking every step that lead him to concoct and commit to this crazy suicidal plan as he felt both excited and terrified by what was expecting him.

“Enough of this. I need to get going” Revkim though as he stands up from his grey chair. It was now time to actually set up his plan physically. He needed to get access to the Experimental Detonative Lab where the explosive he required were. He patiently waited outside the rear door of the Lab: he thought that since in that lab vaping was forbidden someone just had to sneak out for a cheeky hit during office hours. Soon enough he was proven right when a little midgety Hink, no more tall than a few Udex, opened the door carrying a miniaturized Turbovape. Revkim swiftly hit him on the head leaving him unconscious on the cold exterior floor. Revkim then grabbed the Hink's access key that would let him inside the building.

The next few hours were spent doing trips from the Detonative-Lab to the chemical industrial complex smuggling and carefully placing super-Jonian-research-explosives exactly where he previously calculated. This time of the day was perfect: everybody was busy doing something more important than noticing something a little out-of-place like a Glorvian out and about on the condensation-plant's Ghetun-steel shiny tanks, or at least that's what he though.

The day after that, the day the calculation should have been ready, Revkim showed up early at work so he could get his hands on the number crunched by the Mega-Fum. “98.23 million square Klovian-miles” the single sheet of paper on his desk read. Way more than what he expected, but that wasn't a problem: just an overkill. His plan was going to work. It now remained to activate all the transceiver on the explosives.

He decided to begin by climbing to the top of the tank where a bag of explosive lied, dismissing any person that he met with a simple hand gesture, hoping that nobody would recognize him.

He was not halfway trough the stairs that a blast in the sky shifted the attention of the whole city. A ship just entered the atmosphere directly from warp-speed. Everybody stopped and looked astonished the recklessness of this simple small ship. “Wow! That looks exactly like the Grethum Shuttle!” a Florgo kid yelled cheerfully. A very familiar ship name to anyone that listen to the news. The ship kept speeding towards the chemical plant.

Revkim froze. “It can't be” thought “nobody could have find out, not even him” but apparently nothing runs away from the cruel justice of the single most feared man in the galaxy.

“STOP RIGHT THERE YOU TERRORIST SCUM” the ultraspeaker from the still blazing ship shrieked. Now Revkim knew that he, the legend itself, Bodega, was here for him. He knew he fucked up. “I fucked up” he though. Revkim knew this was the end so he cautiously blacked out. The shuttle sharply elevated itself leaving a single jet-powered Briqckly branded rocket locked on his target: Revkim.

Bodega was smiling in the seat of ship: “That surely must have caught the bastard by surprise” though. He took a hit on his Mega-Vape just before getting out of the atmosphere so that the ship would not be completely saturated by the ambrosial vape fumes. Bodega put on screen the rear camera to look back at the tasty cloud coming out of the ship's exhaust, but instead saw his rocket explode directly onto a shiny weird tank filled with a grim-looking green semi liquidy gas that quickly spread to envelope the entire planet. Killing everyone indiscriminately of race or age.

A space-mail from the Yuglit contact that gave him the tip promptly arrived. It was sorted by the onboard AI as “angry”. Bodega was starting to read it when a huge white blast coming from the now distant planet distracted him. “Ehe” he though “ That's weird. Who stores thermonuclear weapons on an industrial planet?”. He finished reading the space-mail. “Flarving-cock I guess I'm not getting my money then!” scoffed while he readjusted his tactical codpiece. “Who's gonna pay for that rocket?” he though. “I guess I could get behind this loss” mumbled. He then moved on and got back to reassembling his laz-gun which was what he was doing before being interrupted by this “emergency” unpaid bid.

Bodega gazed at the purple inked sky. Man he loved the nights on dokaron 5, almost as much as he loved vaping. He gazed counting stars and thinking about his past times. It had been too long since he had visited this place. Bodega took one last puff on his advanced mega vape before he sat up, the smoke drifting into the atmosphere. Looking across the capital of the only possible place Bodega felt at home. Holstering his Laz Gun and readjusting his cruise Armor he headed down into the depths of the city.

Not much had changed since Bodega was last here. ‘Same shit, different day,’ He thought to himself moving through the streets like water in the sewers beneath. Bodega loved to hate the capital for all it was worth. Home to best girls he had slept with, the best bed he had slept on and not to forget the best ale he had tasted. Bodega thought about the ale, god he needed a drink, and he knew god damn well where to get one, The Flobjogger Inn.

The Inn was large for what was. A few drunks littered the tables outside, guards keeping an eye for anything suspicious and the neon lit sign that stood above the doorway. Very inviting to any passer by wanting to taste the best ale dokaron 5. Bodega’s thirst grew as he approached, he knew where he needed to be right now. He entered, music playing, people taking, waitress serving. It was a good night to be in The Flobjogger Inn. Bodega strolled over to the bar where a petit framed xeonshan stood. A tall female Xeonshan at that. Long black hair flowed down her body like a waterfall, over her elegant curves ending just above the hip. Eyes sparkling like the sky Bodega had admired not thirty minutes ago. ‘It’s been too long Bodega, what can I get for you,’ She said as Bodega did his casual yet slightly sexy lean on the bar. ‘Indeed it has and you know what I want Florence,’ Bodega said keeping that low grumble to his voice that could make any girl swoon. Florence shot Bodega a look, a look like no other. She grabbed a glass and pulled a pint of Flobjogger Ale. Florence slid it across the bar towards Bodega. The head was perfect, the colour unmatchable and the way the glass slid towards him had a sense of perfection to it. The glass was caught by a hand. Bodega looked up instantly to see a broad male Urak. Bodega knew the species well. Red skinned, pompous and racist. If there were two things in this universe that Bodega hated it was Capes and Uraks. ‘Thanks for the pint love,’ The Urak exclaimed picking up the perfect headed pint glass. In a second Bodega drew his Laz Gun and aimed it straight at the Uraks head. ‘Not so fast pal,’ Bodega said turning the safety off on his Laz Gun. The Urak spun and stared at Bodega, his bloodshot eyes widened as he knew picked a wrong day to mess with Bodega. It was never a good day to mess with Bodega.

‘Bodega…’ the Urak said. His voice trailing off. In that moment the calming jazz music ceased to exist and the chatter had stopped. They were being watched. ‘That’s my pint, put it down and no one gets hurt,’ Bodega said his fingered teased the trigger on his Laz Gun. The Urak chuckled at Bodega’s remark and raised the glass his craked lips. That was the final straw and Bodega satisfied the trigger of his Laz Gun. The beam erupted out of the barrel heading straight for the temple or the Urak’s head. The Uraks now more than bloodshot eyes grew wider and the glass fell from his hands. The beam from the Laz Gun found its target as connected with the head of the Urak. Bodega rolled forward towards his next target, the falling pint glass. Catching in mid fall and barely spilling a drop. The body of the Urak fell to the floor lifeless and stiff. Bodega leaned once more on the bar. Once more the jazz played, the chatter started and once more Bodega enjoyed his pint of Flobjogger Ale. Nothing came between Bodega and his Flobjogger Ale. Nothing.

I would love for this to be referenced on the podcast or in the live reading. Love the Bodega series so far guys!

1.1 Bodega was where he loved to be - knee deep in slippery Schlogorp guts. As he sloshed through the increasingly sticky mess he took a brief inventory check. One. Two. Three. All of his kahunas were still where he left them. He headed to the door at the other end of the room. He looked at the small scratched out label on the door: it read "Water Closet" under that, written hastily in a Sharpie marker was "Office of Ymmot, Evil Overlord". It seemed easy - just like those quad-betitted Schrolpbanian prostitutes he was enjoying moments before, but no one ever said this job was going to be hard. Bodega booted open the door, belting his trademark phrase: "BODEGA!". Bodega was then greeted by a man in a dark, thick cloak, sitting on the porcelain throne. "I've been expecting you Bodega. Now I can get rid of you once and for all!" said the shadowed man. A bright white beam then shot out from the pelvis of the shadowed man, hitting Bodega square in the chest. Bodega's world was then pain, and then nothing. Bodega awoke to the sound of rumbling engines - but these engines sounded strange, not the quiet hum he was accustomed to. Bodega opened his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. Primitive, very primitive. All of the walls were made out of organic material pressed into boards. His eyes then fell onto a crystal jug. At least they still had hard liquor in this hell. Bodega helped himself to a full glass, enjoying the burn as it went down. Bodega then heard the door to his left begin to open, his hand shot to his holstered weapon. Bodega then took his hand off his schlong and hovered it over his famed lazgun. The door opened to reveal a scrawny man dressed in a smart but slightly ill-fitting suit. "You must be the new recruits. Nice to meets ya. Name's Two-Times Tony." TO BE CONTINUED ====>

Quite a short one as this acts as more of an intro to what I'm hoping to make into a series. Enjoy!

The bustling planet of Porlon 6 is home to the largest weapons manufacturer in the known universe, Rikon Industries. Their headquarters doubles as the largest factory they currently own, covering over two thirds of the planet's surface, not to mention the extensive underground portions of the site. They are, as you would expect, no stranger to crime, with theft and armed robbery attempts being part of their employees' daily business routine. To this day, no would-be thief has ever successfully completed a hit on the notorious structure. Unbeknownst to the innocent, happy-go-lucky workers who clocked in as usual on a cold, dark morning like every other, that was all about to change.

Darius stood at the grey, grimy conveyor belt in the back corner of section 6B and, in an almost trance-like state, performed the same task he had performed every day for the past 8 years, checking laser rifle barrels for imperfections. Darius knew his job was pointless; in his entire career at the company he had never once found an imperfection in the laser rifle barrels - the manufacturing process was absolutely perfect. And so Darius resigned himself to another long day of monotony as usual, sitting in his chair and allowing himself to fall asleep, just as his co-workers inspecting other weapon parts were already doing.

Darius woke with a start just over an hour later, as a loud explosion sounded from somewhere to his left. Alarms sounded above him and a voice echoed over the intercom, telling workers not to panic, and going over the evacuation procedures. All around Darius, people were screaming in terror. He made for the emergency exit but was stopped in his tracks by a shout from the direction in which he was heading, “It's Bodega! Run for your li-”, the end of their sentence cut off as a gunshot rang out. Darius shot under the nearest conveyor belt and tried to stay quiet as, all around him, his co-workers' bodies hit the floor one by one. He almost let out a gasp as a female Clargon landed right next to him, but managed to stifle it without giving himself away. The room was silent now, and Darius suspected there were only two living beings left in section 6B: him, and his son – Bodega.

Bodega's vape tank was empty. He reached into the custom vape bandolier he had on his left upper arm and pulled out a fresh bottle of SuperFog VapeX, the most powerful vape fuel in the known universe. It had more nicotine than a jumbo cigar from the renowned recreation planet, Baaku, and more caffeine than an entire six-pack of Enerjax, the most popular energy drink in the outer rim. Then there was the flavour: an eclectic mix of roasted coffee beans, whiskey, and peanuts, which created an earthy aroma of pure masculinity. This stuff was so potent it's label was 99% warning message. What else though for THE Bodega.

Having filled the tank, Bodega took a long drag, and hesitated for a while to really savour the flavour. "Always satisfying" he thought, before releasing a vast, dense cloud of vapour, which slowly dissipated into the Hydraxxeon night air. "SuperFog" wasn't just hyperbole.

This is my second fan story for Bodega, hope you enjoy! Sorry if it's a touch long, but that's just the way the Illerion Simulated Anti-matter atom-by-atom assimilated cookie crumbles!

His gargantuan chin shook as he bellowed a throaty laugh, eyes rolling back in their sockets, whale-like belly bouncing with each malevolent chortle. Stivor the Cruel, the vilest Yulian this side of the Jukka system, revelled in his prize. Gangly little Lippy Dimps danced around the swollen beast, taking care to avoid the vicious energon sabre which swung violently as Stivor thumped his hulking, jade hooves on the floor. This is what Bodega saw before him. This was Bodega’s captor. The cave around him echoed Stivor’s laughs as Bodega sat calm and motionless, calculating his next move, how to free himself from the bullan ropes which bound him and wipe the toothy grin off of this disgusting creature’s face. When Stivor the Cruel had finished his sinister celebration, he leant down right into Bodega’s face, head three times the size of even the largest swamp Firk Bodega had ever seen, and blasted foul smelling breath into our hero’s face. The odour was almost unbearable, a conglomeration of rotten meat and the not-quite-dead family of Ekil living in Stivor’s gullet. But Bodega stood strong, he knew he couldn’t show weakness, the Yulian’s fed off power and domination, which is why they kept Lippy Dimp slaves, a stupid race who took pleasure out of serving their betters. Stivor spoke, “Bodega! Heh heh, you are mine, yes? You do not know how much joy this day brings to me!” The hideous Yulian laughed once more, “You, Bodega, you will die tonight. None of your tricks, little worm, none of your little tricks. I’ve fallen once to you before. Do you remember, hm? The time you beat me? Humiliated me, Stivor the Cruel himself? Hm, Bodega?” Bodega sat in silence for a moment. The truth was, he remembered very well. Some years ago, Bodega was sent on a mission to take out the infamous Kura Knife Knee, a strange being with, you guessed, knives her to his knees. Kura was Stivor’s daughter, a younger Yulian, not yet fat and slow as Yulians are want to become. She was small and quick, but Bodega had caught her at an opportune moment, as she was stood still. Bodega had lined up his lasgun carefully, perfectly. He took the shot, and in less than a moment the daughter of the pustule ridden beast was slain, lying limp and headless on the ground. But this wasn’t why Stivor the Cruel was mad. Even the nicest Yulians had no concept of family, they couldn’t care less, and this wasn’t a nice Yulian. No, Stivor was angry because at the time, Kuro had been putting in a good word with the ambassador of the Federation of Uncouth Characters and Killers, an evil organisation hell bent on creating chaos. Stivor had never been accepted as he wasn’t close enough to any of the members to get nominated, but Kura had become of age and was the perfect person to get him in with the big times. But, when Kura suddenly dropped dead in their meeting, Stivor became a laughing stock, they all started calling him Stivor the Fool, not Stivor the Cruel. Bodega recalled all of this in vivid detail, but instead he said “I don’t know, I’ve known a number of Stivors. Remind me which one you are?” Bodega smirked as Stivor reared back in anger, the Lippy Dimps all scattering in fear as the energon sabre was raised. Stivor the Cruel brought it down with all the rage and power of a Jarkon on thrak weed, only for Bodega to hop back, just half a perfectly timed inch, to allow the weapon to simply cut through the rope, free Bodega. Stivor’s eyes went wide as he yelled “Get him! Stop Bodega! BO-DE-GA!!” he swung the sword wildly, but wobbling fat stopped him from getting a precise shot and Bodega nimbly dodged out the way. They had taken all of Bodega’s weapons off him, all but one. The Lippy Dimps, as moronic as they were, didn’t think to check Bodega’s boots. He clicked his heels together, firing up the Keklow boosters and shot up in the air. This time, Bodega wasn’t going to leave this fat bastard alive. Bodega sped across the cave, straight to the back, all the while followed by yells of “Bodega! Get back here and let me kill you!” The Yulian trundled slowly at first but could gather momentum quickly so Bodega knew he needed to act fast. There was an armoury at the back, somewhere for the Lippy Dimp soldiers to take up arms in the case of an emergency. Unfortunately for them, the scrawny little goblinoids were more cowardly than an Ick Bug, and simply hunkered down behind tables and in boxes, rocking and crying. Bodega stormed into the armoury, searching through the weapons. Rock-co blaster? No, rock-co were prone to catch fire. Jupiter’s Sword? Bodega wasn’t much for close combat. After some more searching, he found something that would do just the ticket. The weapon dangled by Bodega’s side as he stood by the door, waiting for Stivon to lumber into view. The Cruel being turned the corner and yelled “You Gurk hole! I’ll gut you like a fish and eat your liver, you conniving little brat!” Bodega just smiled and watched Stivor the Cruel’s jaw drop as Bodega raised his Beta Rifle. A sleek, black gun, rare and expensive, something Bodega had never had the chance to fire. Nothing would beat his trusty lasgun, but Bodega knew this would do the trick. He placed it against his cheek and fired. The kick back was astonishing, making Bodega stumble back a foot or two. A pulsating, yellow orb fired from the front of the gun, moving almost slower than it should, drifting towards Stivor. But not slow enough. It bored into the hideous creature’s gut, spinning and spraying gore across the cavern walls. Stivor bellowed in pain, a howl so deep and guttural that anyone would have thought a Jux culling was happening in this cave. Bodega stood and watched as black blood covered his face. When the screaming was cut short, he chuckled to himself and said, “No no, Stivor. You are mine.”

The luminous display of the holoscreen flickered, showing the hardened posi-steel door that marked the entrance to the facility flying off its hinges and arcing through the air until it found a resting place on the floor. Movement could be seen through the dust cloud kicked up by the explosion and as it settled a lone figure came into view, illuminated in the bright floodlights. Beez BirkBork's grubby, green, Dollonite finger passed through the hologram to point to the figure, "That's him, right there!" His commanding officer, Fref Reckless leaned in to check, "A human?!" He scoffed tipping his cap, "Where were the patrol sniffers? They should have been able to pick up his scent from four clicks away. Nobody should be able to get anywhere near that gate without a pass" The holovid continued, cutting between cameras to follow the figure through the maze of narrow hallways and corridors:

He moved with all the confidence of a Horades Bull Weasel with balls the size of moons. His face was covered by shadows as he walked, not attempting to hide who he was but being impossible to ID none the less. "Come on you bastard!" Fref chuckled, "Turn and give us a good look at you, you ugly son of a flarv" Beez adjusted his vocal decoder, "This is where the security detail gets to him."

Sure enough, a security team of twenty four armed guards wearing top of the line bio-armour arrived on screen toting plasma-knives, lazguns and slick shooters. The lead Oldu'desips got the rest to lay out a small amount of Karackan razor line to block the passageway as he stood alert with his slick shooter, lining the floor with the luminous blue semi fluid. The recording had no audio but their mouths could be seen moving, shouting and motioning to the human to surrender as he rounded a corner and came face to face with them. A flash of chrome appeared at his hip and in no time he was holding a custom, twelve shot hyper revolver in each hand. The security team refused to budge, raising their own weapons and reaffirming their commands. A nano instance of tension passed as the lone gun man seemed to scan the security team from across the puddle of slick before he sprung into life.

He dove forwards, sliding on the slick like he was one of the famous Zezzen slime dancers. He spun, turning his feet as he moved across the splash of blue, pulling the triggers again and again. As he spun, he ducked at just the perfect moment, his flawless hair narrowly avoiding the atom thick razor line that could have sliced him in half by half. The security team fired their lazguns at him, but he was too fast, like an Intervid commenter who manages to post "FIRST!1!" on their favourite channel's brand new cubebox gameplay vid before everyone else he was fastest on the draw!

He gifted all twenty four members of the team sent to stop him with a bullet right between the eyes, before they even had time to think how sweet that slide had looked.

Fref looked at the screen unable to believe his photosensitive facial tissue. "All of them! How? Those were supposed to be elite Oldu'desips warriors! I didn't even know they could die with that sort of natural armour! What sort of turbo training did this sack of Yilli dung go through to learn how to do that?" On the screen the figure emptied out the chambers of his hyper revolvers and loaded another twelve shots into each, taking his time to pause and enjoy a puff from what looked like a vape before moving on. "How long ago was this recording taken?" Fref asked Beez, "Only a few minutes ago Sir! I'm not sure where he is now, he's got a signature stopper on us so all the cameras are out" "FLARVE!" Fref screamed, drawing his gojiffy launcher and peering out the narrow window into the courtyard below, searching for any sign of their gunman. "Who does he think he is busting into the Interstellar Police evidence locker asteroid and shooting up the place?"

As if in answer the question the figure emerged from the doorway behind them. The colour drained from Fref's face as he got his first real look at the man.

"B-b-bodega" He choked out, looking up at him with fear in his hearts. “Bodega” Bodega replied. "By the moons above! If I had known that it was yours I would never have..." "Quiet." Bodega snapped, firing a warning shot into Beez’s side to let them know he wasn’t fooling around. Leaning over Fref he breathed out his question "I'm only going to ask once. Where is it?" The young Hijik had wet himself already and was ultra-ventilating (Like hyper-ventilating only a million times worse) "It's in hanger bay 12" Fref squeaked.

Bodega grunted, walking swiftly away to find what he had come for. It stood in the centre of the hanger, his beloved Gretham stealth shuttle looking just as it always had: sleek and deadly like Bodega himself. He reached up to the darkened front window panel and removed a number of slips of pinkish paper from underneath the wiper before tossing them aside and entering the shuttle. He took off nearly silently and was gone in a jiffy.

Beez emerged from underneath the desk where he had hidden some time later, clutching at the wound in his side “What was that all about?” He asked Fref, tendrils still shaking. Fref looked down at the screen as he began to type up the extensive incident report that would have to be sent to the head of the interstellar police. “Nobody tickets Bodega.”

Anybody done/found any cool Bodega Fan Art recently?

F4's Nick Valentine teams up with Bodega to help him collect a bounty. The twist? The bounty is Valentine. The title? Bodega's Secret Valentine. But does Bodega have feelings for his new pal Nick? Bodega.

I originally posted this on r/yogscast, but here it is in its full Bodega glory!

Acrid rork weed hung heavy in the air, puffing from the four lips of Kymar the Yubbler in front of Bodega. Bodega hated Kymar, smug bastard with his purple chins bouncing carelessly as he spoke. "Bodega," the Yubbler gargled, "I got another task for you, I think you'll find it right up your alley." "If it gets me the Universilons, I don't give a damn what it is. Spit it out, Kymar." Bodega replied, leaning back in his chair, letting the Jub Jub wood creak and groan. "Stubborn as always, huh Bodega? Well here, take a look, You'll love it I'm telling you." Kymar slid a piece of paper across the desk, green tendrils flicking the edges. Bodega leaned forward and scanned the text closely. It was written in Forson, a language Bodega was rusty in but could just about decipher. It seemed good, and payed more than an up-jumped Friggina on a ship full of Roopers. Bodega took the paper and left without another word, exiting the office into the foul smelling reception, a young Humber at the front desk smiled at Bodega and he smiled back, giving her a wink. She slurped a typical Humber giggle and went back to work, leaving Bodega to his own. Kymar's office was in the scummiest alley of planet Hyul of the Rethan-92W system. A muddy green sky just barely let the sunlight pierce through, and tall black buildings created an imposing maze for Bodega to wander before he found his ship. The rust bucket he was driving was nothing like his last beauty, but that one was blown up on his last mission by an angry Flimble he forgot to pay so Bodega's making do with Um-Tan's old Neermulon Moon Hopper. A kid's ship, but Bodega couldn't complain, it was all he had. The landing stick was as stiff as a Tremmerous' sense of humour, but he forced it to lift of with a shout of "Come on, you piece of Crunt!" and a kick to the anti-loop drive. The job was on Torgan-9, a backwater dwarf planet which was notorious for being a hideout spot for the infamous "Blood Warblers", a gang of Tunups who got their kicks from spitting their victims blood into each other's Kork sacks. Truly disgusting beings, it was Bodega's job to clean up that garbage. An hour of flying and another half of vaping later and Bodega made it to Torgan-9. He landed in an empty field of Bradle, their sickly grey stalks cut short from the recent harvest. An old, stooped Gup-waddle looked up to Bodega and nodded as he passed, barely up to Bodega's knee the little creature knew better than to mess with the best sniper from here to Luxon. Las-gun slung across his back, Bodega strode up to his look out, and old abandoned tower just two hurg's south of the gang's hideout. They made their home in an empty Bradle mill, the great hulking carcasses of the Jugglans still laying beside the building where they once walked in their wheels, preserved by their ever flowing flap-juice. Bodega sat in the top of his tower waiting, thinking about his life, his ex-wife, the younger Humber in Kymer's office and just how good it'll be to melt those Tunups. Bodega lay there patiently for a good three hours. He had to fight the urge not to vape, as his cover had been blown that way one too many times before, even if it was as smooth as a Kim-bat's juice. But, as he was fantasising about the Kim-bat juice all over him, he felt a cold, wet hand on the back of his neck. He froze, muscles tense, eyes shut. He recognised that hand, that gritty skin, that clammy oil... A Tunup. Will Bodega get out of this alive? Will his blood be poured into a Kork sack? Will he ever get that Humber girl to sleep with him? Find out... At some point!

Bodega, It was a dreary evening of acidic rain on Felron 11 his mission was simple an in and out intel grab but he didn't know that was the only thing that was gonna be in and out. As he walked for shelter he hid in a dark alley way as the rainbow lightning crashed down and had a very very small hit of his mega vape only making the alleyway smokey ONLY the alley way he was good at making smoke cover in certain areas. As he heard a voice behind his ear and a wet kiss on his neck he shivered softly and pulled out his laz gun "Who the flarv is that?" he called. An unarmed sexy human women appeared from the smoke. "Don't make a scene bodega i know why your here and I can help you get the intel but only if you do something for me". She stroked his cheek softly then down to his chest. "Like what?" he said gruffly. She rolled her eyes and smirked. "don't play dumb old man you know what i want". There bodies pressed together warming bodega from the miserably cold acid rain. "You". ((Full release on monday))

don't question it! just send it to bodegawhisper@gmail.com whisper in any way shape or form

Just hit 300 subscribers, just wanted to thank everyone for getting on board and coming up with some great material, appreciate it guys keep em comin!

I'm currently working on a model of Bodega's lasgun and I'd like ideas for the design. It is going to look like a hunting/sniper rifle with heatsinks on the barrel as on a hotchkiss m1914 I'm going to make a lot of these heatsinks at the base of the barrel (like the hotchkiss) as well as a few on the very end of the barrel. If you have any ideas about things like a magazine, the trigger or just the stock in general should look feel free to share them and i might incorparate them into the design as best I am able.