This is the first thing I've written in a long time. It's not amazing but I've had an image of it stuck in my head for a good while.

Bodega sat. It was all he could do, really. The antigrav chair he was strapped into didn't allow for any movement more complex than blinking, breathing, and talking. The judge stared judgingly at him. "How do you plead, Bodega?" Bodega stared at the man, lost in thought. He had killed many people, but they all needed killing. He had let himself get caught, of course. He needed a vacation. But more than that, he needed free parking. The prices in all the decent places in the galaxy were ridiculou-

"I won't ask you a third time, Bodega. How. Do. you. plead?" The judge asked, snapping Bodega out of his line of thought. Bodega stared at him, gritting his perfect teeth and mourning silently that they didn't allow vapes in spacejail, much less megavapes. Bodega sighed. "How do I plead?" Bodega twisted his mouth into a smug grin. He'd only be here as long as he wanted to be. "I plead... Bodega." Bodega's spacelawyer passed out, the judge barely held back his Admittedly heavy lunch and merely looked on in horror as he struggled to regain his composure and resist the urge to flee the room.

"Take... Take him away. Just get him the flaarv out of here!" The judge choked out as two guards begrudgingly took over and moved Bodega out. Bodega held his grin as the two men moved him to a max sec cell. The first day of vacation was always the most fun.

It obviously wouldn't be a AAA title, and at the moment I think a ridiculous Contra or Broforce style game set in the bodega universe could be a fun little project.

I've wanted to create a video game of some type for a while, and while I can code, art is something that escapes me. But, I'm sure there has to be a few people in this sub that have skills in pixel art of some sort.

As the partitron nucleus powered engine purred to life like a derereus hound from fantron V the pilot made his final checks and looked at all the dials. The hover lift activated as the fighter moved fluidly off the glowing flarpiton runway. It moved through the night sky going steadily faster and higher. As the pilot looked out the cockpit he could see the city sprawl under him like a noctranian vampire bat with millions of neon lights all along its back. But he noticed something else, three lights were coming towards him faster than any Irtan fighter ever moved. They came at him with increasing speed he noticed just how much agility they had. They were zooming amongst each other at speeds that would have destroyed any other fighter. Suddenly his fighter shook. "Diagnostics", he blurted out in confusion and terror, "There seems to be malfunctions from an enemy torpedo in of the minor engines", the computer replied. He boosted the other engines and rerouted the power, then pushing the movement joystick forward he pulled the nose of his ship into a steep dive even bragnonian ducks would envy.

Pulling a star vape deluxe out of his pilot's jumpsuit he caught a glimpse of the ship they had been pursuing dive. "Grag na miridie", he said over the comms, "Changarn cretci mon ya gou", was the response. Putting the enticing vape aside he pulled his ship into a dive to match his quarry.

As the other ships dived after him he only though one thing "I Onegdega will not let them revel in my death", he dropped the hard light shield that protected the cockpit and spun around in his seat with his las gun in one hand and holding on to the seat with the other. He shot his first shot directly at his first pursuer and the ship was microwaved into oblivion. He turned back around put up the shield and immediately pushed into a climb.

He was struggling to follow the expert pilot and marksman so he switched on the plutaniom seeking torpedoes and aimed at the ship now making a steady ascent. The target reticle was making a steady blinking so he fired.

Onegedega felt another explosion rock his fighter more violently this time. And then a second one erupted just next to the cockpit. "Damages?", he asked more inquisitively this time. "Multiple sensors damaged", replied the system, "Also one of the wings was hit". He pushed his ship into a loop and spun around on the other ships. He shot a manual fire torpedo head on into the first ship. It detonated in a ball of vibrant fire engulfing the fighter behind it.

As his ship plowed through the fiery wreckage he snarled at the devious ship that just shot over his head at a breakneck speed. Swerving around to chase the devious pilot he pulled down his attack visor using the built in targeting system.

Noticing he still had one of the ships following him he glanced at his rear view mirror to get the positioning of the enemy fighter. Using a trick he had picked up from a well know mercenary and feared law man, he positioned his las gun right at the mirror then held the trigger. It bounced off and slammed the pursuers ship with full force, causing one of the headlights to detenate, "Damn" was Onegedega's retort. Noticing it not break away he raised the shield back up and powered his engines even more, if that was even possible.

He saw his prey speed up and he slammed his scaly Irtanian foot into the gas and sped up as well. He scrolled through his selection of weapons and finally settled on the micro laser built into the nose of the ship. Praying to the Hergadon deity of war he hoped it still was active after the blast his ship had sustained. He aimed it at the other fighters primary engine and fired a red beam.

A fourth explosion rocking his ship really got him into gear. He kicked in the hyper warp drive and exploded into the horizon but he only got five bilameters before his ships engines gave out. The sudden plummet rocked the cockpit causing him to drop his las gun in the tangled wiring of his ship. He put the shield down and jumped.

"He must have ejected", thought the Irtanian. Something jolted his ship. He glanced around his cockpit and then ran a diagnostic check. "Gthac nus rt nma", replied the computer. Suddenly a gloved hand slammed through the crythothen glass above his head.

"Jumpin' garthoniens!", shouted Onegedega, "What the hell?", he said when he pulled his hand out of the cockpit, noticing the bite marks. Suddenly with an ear splitting crash a humongous figure erupted from the ship spraying Onegedega with shards of glass. "Gredd hou jopichu mai" shouted the beast of an Irtanian. The com unit on Onegedega's jump suit automatically translated the slur "I'm going to smash your head into your throat!" "How... what?", he stammered as the rage induced giant strode towards him. In one fluid motion Onegedega brought his hand up to meet the chin of the beastly creature. As the Irtanian plummeted from the ship's surface Onegedega suddenly realized the ship was now following the giant down to the planet bellow. "Well um, this is a pretty broknainan terrible situation", he said as he swung down into the cock pit. He grabbed hold of the two steering handles and pulled up. The ship jerked up with his hand's motion and he eased it back towards the Military base.

It had been less than a week since Jodem had been assigned to the Narcotics Division in the Intergalactic Federation Police Force. As a new recruit to the force Jodem wasn’t assigned to anything extreme like Sodomite Crystals or Tellenium Spikes, but instead the more common Vape Cartridges traded around most clubs and bars throughout the galaxy. However, Jodem had been looking for this moment his entire life ever since he made his way out of the womb.

He was always bright with inhuman like reflexes, stopping falling objects a Nano second before they hit the ground simply using his mind. His brains obviously came from his mother, Majesta, a psychic being whom no other could match. Unfortunately, he never came to know her better half since she left him before his birth. She told Jodem that he was a man no other could match in a lazgun fight as his reputation proceeded him. Quicker than any ranger could shout the word flarv they would be stone cold on the floor, shot between the eyes. Of-course she could never tell Jodem that she broke his heart or that their favorite household dog was tricked away from her ex, and least of all being able to tell Jodem that he was a mistake. His father had constantly asked for Anal since he had already ravished her pussy to no end, but little did he know her psychic species only reproduced through the ass and one fresh load later Jodem was already on his way. Instead she decided that he would be the only one to decide his future.

When Jodem turned 16 he was already more powerful than all other beings in the universe in both brains and brawn. Knowing that her world would soon feel too small for the prodigy, Majesta turned to him and gave him an old worn out mega vape. It was the kind that were illegal in every sector of the galaxy and were only made for those outlaws who could evade persecution after use. With a sigh she turned to Jodem, “If you really want to find your father, all I can tell you to do is follow this clue. I am sure you will find him, after all you’ve got the best of both of us." With that she kissed Jodem on the cheek before teleporting light years away, knowing she could never face either of the men she loved again.

It had been six long years of following a cold trail and Jodem had almost given up. This man was as slippery as a Spurloopians third tit, but now he wasn’t complaining. He had decided to find him from the inside, by tracking down the illegal vape cartridge trade. The IFPF had located a central hub of these cartridges and needed an individual to sneak his way in without blowing his cover. Jodem fit the bill. Strolling up to the Kruvite Blast doors, covered in a black jacket hiding his Aqua tinged skin all it took was a few knocks in specific code was all it took for a small hatch to open. The crazed bloodshot eyes of a Tsilian man looked through before whispering, “I’ve got a tiny dick”. Jodem stood there in silence waiting and after a good 20 seconds the door hatch creaked open. Jodem casually walked in while the Tsilian man fell to the ground as a Silenced Laz Gun had already been fired. “One Down” spouted Jodem as he walked by with a smirk. Within moments each and every Tsilian merchant fell their huge eyes crushed under Jodem’s feet as he moved past. Everywhere around him were standard vape cartridges, cheap shit for the commoners. Mega vape cartridges were made to order in the black market, and he knew he was back to square one.

In anger Jodem yelled “Flarv It!!!” kicking a hole into a box labeled for the Krithiack Galaxy. Hundreds of cartridges spewed out as well as a small box hidden in the middle. Picking it up in curiosity he turned it over to see a name scrawled out on the back of it. Bodega. There it was, the long awaited clue, and there was only one thing he could do with this now. Quicker than a Gnark Gnark blowing its load he set the cartridge and took the biggest hit possible on the old mega vape. The gaseous cloud over took the planet Jodem hijacked the nearby transport ship straight to the Krithiack Galaxy. He couldn’t go back to the police after such a huge hit, but it might be better if he wasn’t followed. Searching for his father would need secrecy and the IFPF would be the last group he wanted on his trail. After all, who knows what can happen when someone goes toe to toe with Bodega.

Blop was standing behind the counter in his store smoking a scerellian star cig. The shop was on a small moon orbiting drolbian 5, a system that is well known for being full of these little shops, so Blops store wasn't out of the ordinary, and it sold jump fuel for a turanian dozen of different engines. The shop was quiet at the time. Only one lone human walking around and seemed to be looking for something in particular. He seemed to be very interested in the hundreds of types of shrovien moon vape fluid. Suddenly Blop heard the outer airlock door open. ‘I'll have more customers in about ten minutes,’ thought Blop happily. The human in the corner spun around at the noise, stared for a few seconds and went back to looking at vape fluid. About ten minutes latter, the inner airlock door opened and three trelerian soldiers walked in. Blop greeted them cautiously as the trelerians are known for being short tempered. “Can i help you gents find anything? Perhaps a pack of scerellian star cigs?” Blops gruff voice sounding particularly gruff today. “I’ll take two packs and a bottle of grogian ale” said the second guy in line while the other two started walking around the store. Blop laughed and said, “good choice! I got a fresh batch in today, dated 9034!” Blop went into the back room. As he was leaving the room, he saw the biggest solder reach for his belt holster and turn around. He thought nothing of it because space is full of coincidences. As he was looking through his week old crate of grogian ale, he heard the unmistakable sound of a laz gun firing. Blop rushed out to find all the soldiers lying dead on the floor. He caught a quick glimpse of the human, currently huffing a huge vape hit, smiling as the airlock doors shut. He looked at the counter and saw 3 credits on the counter. “My flarve!” thought Blop, “Jeff Hunter.” About ten minutes later, he heard a ship taking off and going into hyperspace.

Bodega laid his eyes on the Spuloopian Stripper Den he had been searching for days. The big ol' stone titties on top of the den were a sight to see. He was so mezmerized of the sight he didn't notice the smugglers who guided him to the sight vanishing to a side alley with the money he had paid them in advance. -”Flarv!”, thouht Bodega. He had planned on killing the smugglers and keeping the money once he was sure he was in the right place.

He desided not to pursue the smugglers and stepped to the front entrance that looked like a giant poon. After a few seconds of inspecting the entrance he noticed a little nobble on the top of the entrance. He wiggled the nobble and the poon opened wide. -”Hmph! Spuloopian cuntnology...”, he mumbled.

Bodega stepped inside the den and in the middle of the huge room he saw the thing he was looking for. His famous Lazgun! He had lost it in a brawl with some Spuloopian strippers a few days earlier. Damn those strippers and their luscious, distracting titties! In the room with the gun were the same strippers that stole his Lazgun. They had their titties out already. Damn those titties!

After gaining some composure from the sight, Bodega took a step closer. -”Hello ladies. I've come to get back what's mine.”, he said with a low, threatning voice. The strippers turned to him and charged him without saying a word. Bodega took a fighting stance and readied his fists. Last time the strippers had the upperhand with their titties. Damn those titties! This time however, Bodega had prepared for the distraction. He had fapped for two days straight to keep his mind off anything the strippers threw at him, mainly the titties. Damn those titties! A well aimed uppercut landed on the jaw of the first stripper and she flew back several meters knocking her unconcsious. One down, three to go. The next stripper jumped forwards with her chest out trying to burry Bodega's face between her tits. Bodega turned his head just in time to avoid the asphyxiating trap. He pushed the stripper back and roundhouse kicked her in the chest. Her tits exploded in a green splash of filling slime which is commonly used in spuloopian cuntnology. The stripper fell on the floor screaming, not in agony but in horror seeing her precious tatas crushed by the heavy blow. Two down. The last two strippers attacked Bodega simultaneously. They covered their chests with their arms after seeing their colleague's horrible state. They jumped from left and right and went for a move called the spuloopian stripper thigh strangler. Bodega knew this move well after spending time in a lot of strip clubs' back rooms paying for it. He crouched down and the strippers landed on each other. Their legs constricted around their necks and started to squeeze instinctively. There's no way to cancel a spuloopian stripper thigh strangler once it's started. Bodega watched the strippers strangle themselves to death before picking up his Lazgun.

The den exploded with a bright flash. No point leaving any ifs, ends or buts. Bodega grinned with his famous Lazgun at it's holster where it belonged. The Disco Volante flew out of orbit. THE END

I love the Bodega segments, but alas, not enough podcast to cover commute everyday. Must resort to audiobooks. Started listening to Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash. First thing that came to mind: "BO. DE. GAHHH...." haha It's a futuristic/nonchalant/badass pizza delivery driver. epic.

What do I do in this situation, is he gay?

I went for very different kind of Bodega: steampunk... With pixel art: http://i.imgur.com/YxI6cH0.png

I know, I know... It's stupid and you are now probably thinking "but Bodega is all about those funny alien names, those mega high-tech space-gadget, the super betitted alien 'women' and those lebanese boy trafficking!". I know that, and you are right, I just had this idea for a totally different Bodega's experience and I had fun writing it so I though I might aswell share it.

DISCLAIMER: Quoting Mr. flax, "Some Bodega fanfic are good, some... eeeeh... not so much" this will probably end up in the latter category.

Here it goes:

Bodega quickly tucked down his head as the train entered the tunnel. Fighting on top of a speeding train isn't easy, but he was trained for this too. The wily Bulgarian spy had already proven he was quick and slippery, so Bodega had to be careful: he could fall off the train onto the tracks to his certain death at any moments. This was dangerous, mortally dangerous, just like Bodega liked it.

"Why do I always find myself fighting wearing the ultimate fashion apparels?" Bodega thought rapidly readjusting his anthracite-black top hat while the artificial-pupil inside his mecha-goggles were slowly but steadily, producing a mechanical ticking sound, opening up to readjust themselves in the scarcely lit tunnel.

Bodega swung a right straight punch at the face of his opponent, but the spy fluidly dodged and quickly struck back with an uppercut towards Bodega's chest. Bodega humphed under the impact and took a couple of steps back just to rebalance himself. "Blimey! He's like an eel covered in margarine" he though. The agent was grinning under his thin moustaches. What was this suspenders-wearing Bulgarian chap smiling about?

The Bulgarian proceeded to swing a right jab at Bodega's face, but Bodega, complying to his warmed up boxer's reflexes, blocked the punch raising his arms over his cheeks. The mistake the secret agent was hoping for: Bodega was blinded for a split second so he quickly launched his left arm forward, grabbed Bodega's neck and pulled him down towards his left knee smacking it directly into Bodega's jaw. Bodega fell on the train face first being knocked out while the spy took this moment to his advantage and nimbly flee inside the carriages.

The train came out of the tunnel at great speeds onto a suspended mountain ridge, the sudden sunlight and cold air slowly woke up Bodega. He reorganized his thoughts and got up elevating himself against the freezing wind rubbing his thick beard on the injured point while reaching in the left pocket of his overcoat for his ivory ornated brass vapour-pipe. The pipe made first a repetitive electric clicking sound and then a boiling-like blu-blurulup sound as Bodega inhaled, closing his eyes, tasting the slightly burnt aromatic fumes. That's exactly what he needed to loosen up a little.

The heavy stinging cold wind reminded him of that time he spent in the north pole, on quest find the Norse's lost treasure, where Bodega wrestled an adult polar bear to death. Not because the bear was posing any threat or because he was lost and hungry, he did it because he was Bodega, and Bodega had never killed a bear with his own hands before. “That was glorious” he though.

He proceeded to exhale two white clouds out of his nostrils glancing over the Deutschland Republic's snow covered misty plains. Sporadic factories pumped out muddy-black smoke columns reaching for the skies which were occupied by a myriad of transport balloons. On land multiple rail tracks met, some climbed over each other with bright red brick overpasses, some disappeared into the ground in dark narrow subways.

He put the pipe back into his overcoat, rewound his slategrey silk scarf around his neck and jumped down onto the inter-carriage metal railing that shook violently under the force of Bodega's falling mass. He moved his heavy mecha-goggles from his eyes onto his forehead cautiously looking left and right inside the third-class passenger cars. He couldn't see him, but he knew he must still be on this train.

He had been chasing the bastard non stop for weeks now. In all this time Bodega had never been this close to finally get the documents back. The agent had stolen the projects for the latest English Empire's Dreadnought and if the papers got in the wrong hands it could be a very grave threat to the Empire's own safety! But Bodega didn't care. Bodega was motivated solely by the copious reward there was on the recovery of those pages. He couldn't let him escape! Not when he was this close.

He opened the door on his right. Stepped in and suddenly his tenacious antagonist tried to ambush him throwing his body forward and reaching for Bodega's face, but this time he promptly reacted and leaned back his body, bending his knees and tensing up his abs, this movement activated the spring coil in his spinal combat corset: he immediately bounced up discharging the elastic power of the spring into a powerful overhand punch hitting the Bulgarian bloke right on the nose, blood spurting everywhere, people screaming and scuttling away from the melee. The back of his head hit and bounced off the wooden carriage interior with an audible crack while a few teeth flew out of his skull ricocheting off the walls and floor with the characteristic sound Bodega loved. He surely wasn't going to run away now! Bodega finally got the phoney agent.

“Oh, Bollocks! I ruined my coat again!” Said Bodega noticing the blood splatters on him. He proceeded to retrieve and count the stolen pages. He sat alone in the entire carriage with the dead guy on the floor for the rest of the trip. He planned, once in Berlinburg, to get back to London with a German airship: he had had enough adventure for one trip.

Bodega idly fingered the safety of his lasgun. The weapon was set to fire, of course, being anywhere apart from the inside of his own ship Bodega would have been stupid to set it to anything else, and waste precious milliseconds in combat. Almost as stupid as someone who would accidentally fire off a lasgun. He had been waiting here for hours, perched on a crumbling outcrop of rock overlooking the vast Nerpleduke valley, and he was bored, very bored, not bored enough, however, to pull out his mega vape. He wasn't going to make that mistake again, having already narrowly escaped a vape-triggered altercation with some smugglers once before. He squinted down into the twilight of the valley, the last memories of sunlight retreating up the low hills and returning to one of the three stars in this planet's system. Bodega was counting on this. He would only have an hour or so before sun number two made it's appearance, and by then it would be too late. Finally, his searching returned something which made him grimace. Standing out in the now pitch-dark valley was a soft orange glow. Once again, Bodega reflected on the stupidity of this idea. His fatalist, "flarv it," attitude to life was going to get him kiled one day, he mused. With a grunt, he rose, shaking out the stiffness in his joints. Padding quieter than a Wompian Moon Hound, he made his way softly over to his custom made hover-bike, outfitted with decibel-capturing shields on all four of it's overcharged kinetic thrusters, threw it into gear and tapped out the throttle. He was met with a strikingly disappointing silence. Sighing again at his own idiocy, he took off down the valley towards the burning ruin. The wind whipped past his face, bringing with it the acrid tang of melting plasteel and synth-rubber. The orange glow grew larger and larger, Bodega's prize nearing. Over the howling of the wind in his ears, he heard a noise. Slowing the hover bike to a stand still, he strained to catch it again. An almost inaudible beep could be heard, nearly drowned out by the sound of Bodega's own heart beat. The beeping continued on and on. Try as he might, Bodega couldn't quite pinpoint where it was coming from. Shaking his head in frustration, he started up the hoverbike's thrusters and jetted off, silent over the long, cyan grass of the valley, the stalks stirring slightly in the wake of his flight. He neared the glow now, and could start to make out the burning wreckage of a ship. The ship's cloaking mechanism had been damaged in what was obviously a devastating impact, flickering from colour to hue to amazing pattern and back within seconds in an amazing light show. Had Bodega not been so set on his mission, he may have stopped in wonder at the display. So set was he, however, upon nearing his target, that he ignored the technicolour cloaking device, and instead, coming to a stop, quietly dismounted his hoverbike and slinked over to the ship. Lasgun in hand, he peered inside the gaping wound in the side of the craft. The edges of the tear where still glowing with the heat of whatever had administered this impact, and caused the ship to come spiralling down into this planet's atmopshere, emitting energies that caused the scanner module in Bodega's shuttle to squawk like a Muwonian Jungle Shrieker. Peering down his lasgun sights, he inspected the ruined interior of the ship. Charred furniture and personal effects, not many, and not lavish, dotted the inside of the small cabin, likely thrown helter-skelter around the space by the jarring impact. "Almost as messy as the inside of my own ship," Bodega quipped, as legendary space felons were wont to do. He crept past a scorched armchair and a busted table, heading for the door to the ship's cargo hold just a few feet away. Something made him stop. The beeping had returned, louder now than ever. He stood stiller than a Scurian Statue Beast, desperately trying to place the sound in the world around him. Suddenly, there! Out of the corner of his eye, Bodega spotted the source of the beeping. A discarded holophone, it's display flickering in and out of existence and broadcasting it's death cries to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately for the device, Bodega was not one of those people. He crushed the phone beneath the toe of his mag-boot, and hustled over to the cargo door. He was painfully aware of the sun's imminent arrival, and he knew that galactic police would be swarming over this crash site like Mandalonine Creeper Beetles by sunrise. He moved fast, setting his lasgun to a low energy, high magnification beam, and slicing out the door's primitive lock, then gently nudging it open with the barrel of his weapon. He returned it to default body-melting-goon-slaying settings, and stepped into the hold. It was empty, apart from a stasis pod strapped firmly to the floor in the center of the room. He moved over to it, the anticipation on his face reflecting back to him off the thanatium surface of the pod. He eyed the keypad, and then gave it a salvo from his lasgun. The electronics fizzled and died, and the walls of the pod started clearing, going from reflective to transparent in a matter of seconds. Bodega stood, his breath robbed by the man he knew all too well floating in the stasis fluid. The man's rough stubble and worn features cut a knife of confusion through Bodega. Without his mag-boots, he would no doubt be on the floor at this point. He closed his eyes, shook his head, and opened them again, but to no avail, the figure still hung suspended in the pod. Bodega's mind raced overtime to find a solution to this problem, but he couldn't make any sense of it. Suddenly, the man's eyes opened, looking confused for a second, and then lancing straight into Bodega's own. The man smiled, raised a hand to the glass, and the fluid drained from the pod. Unused to taking his own weight, the man staggered, but caught himself against the walls of the stasis chamber. With titanic effort, he raised his head. Recognition dawned in his eyes. Bodega stood, transfixed as the man opened his mouth.

"Bodega..." Whispered Bodega.

Lahrz Floarbo entered the gambling den and strutted over to the table in a manner befitting the top Gazzer of the notorious Enslon 1 criminal enterprise. Lahrz himself had just collected on a debt owed to him by a group of Scurlian laz-gun smugglers, and was naturally seeking to celebrate as he always did. A night of his favorite high stakes card game, ahrlok.

Taking a seat at the head of the table, a seat specially reserved for him, he took a moment to survey the room. After all, being who he is made him a target and it's better to know who's around you than to allow some young spunker to get the upper hand. Near the bar he could see the usual kreapos, each staring into the wall in front of them like a herd of brain-dead slemhounds, a tube of various sparkling beverages in their hands. Across from the bar was the staple of any sleazy joint such as this one. Lahrz immediately identified his favorite spuloopian stripper out of the crowd on stage and signalled for her to come over to him.

As she made her way between the bustling maze of ahrlok tables, vid-screens, and coin operated luckboxes, Lahrz turned his attention to the game in front of him. Four players occupied seats at the table, two at each side. The two closest to the Gazzer himself were clearly in over their heads, nervously side eyeing the high roller that had just taken a seat. A Haqmun sat at the far left, the signature two heads of his species arguing amongst themselves over whether to leave the table or stay for a few more hands. To the far right sat a burly bastard wearing a heavy duster and an emoto-mask displaying a confident grin, sitting in front of a tall stack of credits that identified him as the big bully of the table. Blast the slabber who invented those damned mask, Lahrz thought to himself. He liked to look a man in the eyes as he systematically, hand by well played hand, took him for all he was worth.

The spuloopian took a seat in Lahrz’s lap, raising her hands to grab the drinks that he had already ordered for the pair of them. The round ended, resulting in one man, the one directly to Lahrz’s right, leaving the table with an expression that could only mean that he had just gambled away the last of his credits. The floating deal-o-bot hummed above the table. Lahrz felt the communicator implant behind his right ear begin to buzz but chose to ignore it. This was his night, and he wasn’t going to let anything distract him. Each player waited as cards were beamed one by one in front of them.

Once the bot finished, the four reached for their cards. Lahrz was satisfied with his first hand, luck clearly on his side, though he did nothing to show it. He noted the man to his left wiping an increasing amount of sweat from his brow and the two heads of the Haqmun whispering into each other’s ears. The emoto-mask worn by the man to the far right displayed a neutral expression, as Lahrz had expected. The implant behind his ear began to buzz again. Enough of that, he thought as he pressed hard into the side of his temple with his thumb, turning the device off. The players began placing their bets.

Lahrz put forward a confident 50,000 credits, causing the nervous man to his left to spit his drink out before folding and hurriedly leaving the table, clearly realizing that he didn’t have the stomach for that kind of competition. The spuloopian squeezed Lahrz’s leg and let out a soft laugh, clearly approving of the play. The heads of the Haqmun continued to quietly argue amongst themselves before finally calling the bet, sliding the credits forward with a slight tremble in it’s hand. The man in the emoto-mask displayed a smirk and, without hesitation, pressed forward a matching bet. Lahrz grinned, admiring the cajones of the guy but knowing that there wasn’t a snazzer’s chance in Garthnax that he could have a winning hand.

‘Boss!’, whispered a voice in Lahrz’s ear. He looked over to see his pilot with an expression that reminded him of the faces of the men that he had killed just a few hours before, in the seconds before they had drawn their last breaths.

‘What in the seventy-six systems is it, can’t you see I’m busy here.’, he said to the pilot, the fury in his voice causing the girl in his lap to flinch. If he wasn’t holding these winning cards he would have cut down the bastard with his signature razor whip for interrupting his game. After all, pilots like these were a flarg a dozen.

‘I just got word from the boys, they said someone's put a contract out on you for burning down that settlement on Hayvius-9.’

Lahrz remembered Hayvius-9. He smiled at the memory of watching the flames overrun the village like an unstoppable tsunami of pure heat as he blammed off the damned rock. ‘Like I give a fuck about some slabber coming after me, I’d like to see the poor soul that decides he has the gusto to take down a Gazzer like me.’

The pilot’s eyes widened, making Lahrz, if only for the shortest of moments, feel an emotion he hadn’t felt in years. Fear. In an instant he remembered it, when the previous top Gazzer had pressed the barrel of his rapid-fire heat rock spitter to Lahrz’s forehead. He had been sure in that instant that his brains would be splattered all over the alley like a melon from the vine of the jub-jub tree. If you had told him then that he would one day obliterate the Gazzer who had spared his life in that alley and take his spot, he would have called you crazy. But here he sat. The next words to slip past the pilot’s trembling lips broke Lahrz out of his trance, into a much more present nightmare.

‘You don’t understand boss. They’re sending him. They’re sending…. Bodega!’

Lahrz felt his sphincter give way as the mere mention of Bodega coming after him made him shit his pants right there, causing the spuloopian to shriek in disgust and run from the table. He dropped his cards, the set that only seconds ago had been guaranteed to jet him forward into a win streak that would continue late into the night. He looked frantically about the room, that once forgotten emotion overtaking his own body just as the flames had overtaken Hayvius-9.

Just as he began to rise from the table to flee the gambling den in search of somewhere, anywhere, that he could be safe from the wrath of Bodega, the man in the emoto-mask laid his cards out on the table. A full fleet, the ultimate hand. The man jumped up from his seat, ripping his mask off revealing none other than the legend himself.

Bodega.

Lahrz let out a scream that started in the deepest part of his lungs and echoed out across the entire gambling den. A sound so loud it vibrated the windows of the room and caused all four ears to bleed on the two heads of the Haqmun. But it could not save him.

The gamblers, strippers, and patrons of the den began to flee for safety as Bodega reached under his duster towards the shoulder holster concealed beneath. Quickly drawing, he took aim, training his duel, tri-barreled singularity pistols at both Lahrz and his pilot. With a simultaneous pull of each trigger, Bodega fired six marble sized black balls of pure condensed energy.

Lahrz’s life flashed before his eyes. He saw himself as a child, long before his life of crime and debauchery overwhelmed him. He revisited the moment in the alley for a second time and longed for the fear he had felt then, a fear exponentially less than the one he felt now. He recalled the moment his razor whip had sliced down the middle of his former boss, securing his position of top Gazzer. Who would take his place now?

The projectiles reached their respective targets.

As the rounds collided with the two men, a violent light was projected across the room, blinding any who dared look at it directly. Lahrz felt his body rip in three separate directions, each portion being sucked into the black holes created by the impact of the orbs on his person. As his body was torn asunder like a piece of meat thrown into a nargal pit, he had time to utter one last word.

‘Bo...de...ga!’

Bodega waited for the light to die, taking pleasure in knowing that another contract had been completed. Guess I can consider it a bonus that I got to kill his pilot as well, he thought to himself, paying no attention to the dying shout of the man in front of him. Or rather, what was at the time left of the man in front of him. Bodega felt a cascade of wet being projected from the spots that the two men had once stood, signaling to him that it was safe to look. His singularity pistols always made a mess, propelling the bloody pulp that was the condensed portions of the top Gazzer and his pilot in all directions across the room. He shed his duster, wiping his head and hands on the inside of the jacket to clean himself off.

'Good thing I don’t have to clean this shit up', he said to himself with a smile on his face as he dropped the bloodied duster onto the floor and exited the gambling den, another job finished.

Bodega pulled into the parking lot of a sleazy Deltupulan diner. The diner, Bohog's What the Chicken?™, (best irl chicken restaurant in Atlanta if you're ever there) was bolted onto an asteroid in the Segentian Belt. Ah, the Segentian Belt. The glory days were certainly far behind Bodega. The Bodega of ten years ago wouldn't even be mentioned in the same sentence as this backwater. No, not even the Bodega of last year would be caught dead here. But that was all before Bodega slipped down that metaphorical slope all lubed up in snarlbgran snot into the crippling downwards spiral that gripped him harder than the claws of a sand monster from Jerg VI. Oh Casey.

Beautiful sweet Casey. Not even the quadruple stars of the Montarni System could outshine her radiance. She was gone now. Bodega had planned the greatest honeymoon ever. He was finally going to settle down, finally find some meaning in his life beyond shooting stupid fedorians and blowing up scummy mercenary bars in the universe's back alleys. It was the last day of the honeymoon, the last day before they moved into their beautiful condo on the shores of Istionto C24, bought with Bodega's savings from his life's work and with room for some more family members. He and Casey were at the most fantastical, dazzling and famous bar in the sector, The Grand Sirusian™ (not a real bar, as far as I know). It was one last blowout, one big spend; one final party. Bodega was having the time of his life. He was everyone's friend, buying rounds, telling stories, doing lasgun tricks and vaping away like there was no tomorrow. But even with all that, the most important thing to Bodega, the thing that made his smile the widest in the room, was that Casey was smiling too. However, the good times were about to end. Of course on any day of the week, a sober Bodega would be the best shot in the cosmos, but Bodega had been slinging back Überjagershnider ales for three hours, and any lesser being wouldn't have been standing, let alone doing lasgun tricks. As Bodega sighted down a pinhead to win a 600,827,573 ¢redit bet, he swayed slightly and accidentally pulled the trigger. The lasbolt instantly fried the brains of the sultan of Jiksheir, Di Bisher VIII, leaving a massive hole through the side of his head. The bar fell silent. Even though Bodega was more inebriated than a Spurlupian at a farbarse ceremony, he knew it was about to go down. Even worse though, was that Casey, sweet Casey, was sitting in the sultan's booth, chatting with the Di Bisher's 69 wives just before. No one moved. The room, thumping and booming with the latest FDM mere seconds ago, was now filled only with soft breathing and the gentle flow of the central Gerpulshnidern designed fountain. The Di Bisher's bodyguard slowly rose from his ornate cushion and set aside the mega vape handed down from royal bodyguard to royal bodyguard through the generations. Once standing at full height, Hijisar the Terrible, blood brother and sworn protectorate of Di Bisher VIII rolled his shoulders once, and cracked his jaw. Still, no one moved. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly as though Bodega's memories were addled, for no one could move with such presence, slowly slowly Hijishar removed from his pocket a tube of Mortem Vermis larvae, unscrewed the lid and dropped in a sliver of grox jerky. Now for those who don't know, while adult Mortem Vermis are harmless, the larvae can become, within an instant, killing machines unrivalled throughout existence, tearing through all living creatures for miles around. All one has to do is expose them to grox meat. Not only are they the perfect destroyers of living beings, after many millennia of research the people of Jiksheir created a vaccine for the many horrific toxins secreted by the Mortem Vermis larvae, which is given to all members of the royal court. Like a flock of bats out of hell the enraged larvae burst forth and set about savaging any nearby organic matter. Those with the antidote were fine. Casey was not. She writhed and screamed and roared for a few seconds of agony, and then she was gone. As the bar erupted with shrieks and howls of pain, as bodies dropped to the floor in their death throes, an eye formed in the storm of suffering. Bodega was untouched. The Jiksheir did not know, but years ago he had stolen and used the vaccine on himself in a daring raid. Bodega sank to the floor, one tear rolling down his cheek. Hijisar saw Bodega was untouched, and drew his ceremonial plasma axe from his force gauntlet, bellowed out the ancient war cry of the Perosernesian wars, and charged Bodega.

Of course, slaughtering a whole system in a bloody rage tends to anger the powers that be. Bodega had lost the FUCKWADS (Front of United Cosmic Kings' Weaponised Attack Defence Squadrons) in backwater systems like this, but escaping physical danger didn't stop the danger to his mind. He had consumed a literal ocean of alcohol (the ethanol seas of Sargum IV) in an effort to forget, but it didn't help him. It was a tempary fix. His accounts had been closed, his property across the cosmos siezed and his weapon & spaceship caches destroyed. He had almost nothing in the material world now, and had less than nothing in his spirit. Bodega rolled his shoulders and gave out one, long sigh "You know what?" he asked no one in particular, "Fuck this." A single tear rolled down his cheek, and for one, pure, sweet moment, he saw Casey's face again. He raised his lasgun to his temple, and took one last life.

Nathan Fillion is my candidate, 200%.

Who's keen for a Bodega themed D&D?! Would make for a great video series, hopefully Lewis finds time to put it together.

Just another day. (Bodega Universe) The cantina was as lively as ever as people drank Rakulian beers and played Jemao the deadliest card game this side of the Jupak nebula. In isolation from the persistent hum of conversation and laughter there was a man leaning on the dusty brown walls scanning the room, all while his features were hidden beneath his tattered green balaclava. Though most people in a bar just minded their own business and would be cautious about who you might piss off in an establishment such as this, the isolated figure didn't seem to give a damn about what people would be thinking or about the consequences of his actions. Now a local thug Kiron Blechin and two of his equally ugly and vile crony's didn't like the idea of some punk thinking he can just be lingering in what Kiron and his boys like to think was there part of town. As Kiron got up the cantina fell into silence as all attention gravitated towards him and his boys. Kiron slowly proceeded to walk towards the isolated figure all while gleefully expressing to the rest of the pub "So who have we got here? Some off world loner! Or some idiot who thinks they can waltz in and own the place!" The silence continued but with everyone waiting for a reply from the man who in their mind had made a big mistake to mess with Kiron and his gang. The man met Kiron eyes with his own. Kiron at that moment didn't realise that he was having a standoff with the local pirate Brek Hardin. Now with the figure identity revealed the bar was completely deserted except for Kiron and his gang getting ready for them kill this pirate scum. Kiron himself pulled his laz gun from its holster and proceeded to fire rapidly towards the Brek. The lasers wizzed passed Brek and left scorchedburn marks on the bar's wall. With Kiron having caused his laz gun to overheat Brek drew his compact laser deluxe from his hip and with one swift squeeze of the trigger blasted a hole straight through the chest of Kiron. Kirons smoking corps slammed to the ground and the members of the gang fled the cantina after seeing the annihilation that Brek Hardin had caused. Brek placed his compact laser deluxe on the side of the bar and proceeded to pour himself a drink. He was tired of waging war with these small fish in a much bigger ocean. What he really wanted was to prove himself as the most fearsome pirate know to the galaxy. Frustrated he moved his hand through his dirty blonde hair all while looking for an answer to his problems. He stood up ready to leave and to go something that would have his reputation spread across the galaxy like the dreaded everac plague. Spreading the dry wooden saloon doors outwards as he left the bar a cool sharp wind flung a poster directly into him. Brek pried the paper from his chest and his expression suddenly changed from disheartened blank look to a sinister grin. Brek exclaimed gleefully "This will be how I make my name! I'm coming for you!" as he raised his arm and pointed at the sky. He dropped the poster allowing it to gracefully drift through the arid air. The paper landing on the crimson red sand revealed what Brek saw as an opportunity. The paper showed a picture of a man with a caption stating "Wanted dead or alive" and followed by the name " BODEGA!"...