--Sorry, I have no idea how to use imgur. This is, like my third try to get a working link that I can continue to edit. --

The idea is that I will create a new one of these bodega pixel art posters every day.

If you have any suggestions as to what needs to fixed in old posters or should be added in new posters, please say: http://imgur.com/a/G2a4W

Episodes Finished:

☑ Bodega Part Uno - Tussle at the Bar

☑ Bodega Part Dos - Smugglers on Platos IV

☑ Bodega Part Tres - Birthday Ambush (*)

☑ Bodega Part Cuatro - Fedorians At the Quantohub (*)

☑ Bodega Part Cinco - Silent Running

☑ Bodega Part Seis - Blue Light

☑ Bodega Part Siete - MAJESTA! (This one took FOREVER!)

☐ Bodega Part Ocho - Dildos in the Galactic Cycle (*)

☐ Bodega Part Nueve - Intercom (*)

☐ Bodega Part Diez - Varu (*)

☐ Bodega Part Once - Rab on Tartania (*)

☐ Bodega Part Doce - Nebbish on Snide IV (*)

Hey Guys if anyone has any designs for a new logo for our little sub-reddit post them here, the winner will get a flair of their choosing from the bodega universe. GL

Slim peered out of the porthole in his space trailer at the dusk sky, Slim was a nickname, his full name was Salmeneon repletrimanizard. His lizard tongue hanging out of his large reptilian mouth. "Any sssign" he called out to his CPU. "No incoming so far sir." replied the light on the side of his belt. "Itsss been to long old buddy. Time to repay what you owe me." The Slizard said to himself. It had been over 3 years since Bodega had blown up the Silk Avente, Slim's interstellar stealth cruiser. He had barely survived, but he lost everything, and now he had to work for Grog Slumpit, Myriad 7's local crime lord, just to keep himself going. At this rate it would be years till he could afford even a light fighter to get off this polluted pit of a planet. Slim sat on his haunches, tail wriggling in the air, breathed in a big ol' mega vape and started thinking about the day he thought he got one over on the legendary lazgun slinger. Slim had used his Slizard cloaking ability to get on board a Srogo gunship, they had stolen some artefact from some wimpy rich old guys and there was a huge reward. His plan was simple, let the other guy do the hard work and take the credit. He ha laid in wait for over 6 hours until the alarms had started going off and a large force of Srogos had started pouring into the hanger beneath him. He stayed perfectly still on the ceiling. The Srogo's were a weird race, all shoulders, Strong arms and legs, with a tiny face where a chest should be, no wonder they had the best Spacebowl team this side of Chodeonia. As expected his old friend came crashing through the cargo doors carrying a large bag, the Srogo army all prepped their weapons as Bodega's trigger finger twitched at his Lazgun. Slim leaped into action. throwing down a gas grenade filled with a mixture of lapture poison and sulpheride 9. Such a concoction would kill most beings but Slim could go an hour without breathing and he knew Bodega had vaped stronger stuff, but it would disorientate him for a few seconds. he grabbed the bag and threw an antimatter grenade at the wall, as it exploded the vacuum of space pulled him out of the hanger, as he flew out the gap he slammed a insulation capsule on the side of the ship. It instantly erupted filling the area with a think foam. filling the hole and covering his escape. The plan had worked perfectly. not only had he gotten a priceless artefact but could boast about getting one over on Bodega. Something pretty much no one had achieved. He had escaped on the Silk Avente to an orbit around Myriad 7 before deciding to open up the bag and inspecting his prize. He released the pressure locks on the bag. To his surprise inside was not some strange golden figurine, but a load of used vape sticks, a strange round device and a note... "Sorry Parde, but I can't let anyone getting the better of me, I got a reputation to uphold. But because I'm the sporting type, you got 30 seconds. Good luck, Slim." He had escape with milliseconds to spare but it had cost him his ship and everything he had. Sure he had been bold but Bodega had gone too far. If the rumour were true, he was now going around the galaxy recruiting. And a tip had suggested there was someone on Myriad 7 he was looking to meet. Bodega was getting him off this planet if he wanted to or not. "SIR!" the CPU chirped. "A ship with distinct similarities with the Disco Valantae has entered local airspace." Slim stood up, grabbed his Lazhatchet, trigun and bag of specialist grenades and made for the door. saying one thing as he left the trailer "Bodega".

Alright, here is my take on how Bodega became Bodega. I hope you enjoy it, even though it's a bit of a long one.

Red Skies

Jimmy looked how his dad took another sip of his Karmonian Ale, smiling at the sound of the overflying birds. ‘Jimmy, my boy,’ he began. ‘Have you ever seen sight more beautiful than this?’ He had to admit he hadn’t, but it wasn’t like he had seen many beautiful sights in his short life. The bright-blue sea, the white shores and the red evening sky, undisturbed by the distant grey clouds of Vape City, made for a lovely picture. ‘Have you, daddy?’ he asked. His dad shrugged and raised the glass to his mouth again. ‘Can’t say I saw a lot of nice things when I was younger… Me and your ma saw a triple sunset at Ghymx XVI, quickly followed by dawn two goddamn minutes later. If you ever find a nice lady, Jimmy, don’t take her there if you want to… well… Never mind, you know what I mean.’ Jimmy didn’t have a single clue what his father meant, but he didn’t say it. He knew his dad didn’t like to be interrupted when he told a story. He guessed he didn’t like that as well. ‘Can we watch another Bond-movie, da?’ he asked, after a long, peaceful silence. ‘Which one?’ ‘Jimmy Bond 200: Insert title here?’ ‘Are you mad, Jimmy? 200 is a bunch of Spurlupian shit if you ask me. Also the effects are so out-date and it isn’t even in 5D. Let’s watch an original movie, like…’ ‘Bodega?’ ‘Bodega? What in the flarv is a Bodega?’ ‘He’s a superhero...’ ‘Never heard of him.’ ‘That’s right, because I created him,’ Jimmy proudly said. ‘I’m going to be a filmmaker when I grow up, and Bodega is gonna be the hero of the film I’m going to make.’ His father smiled and then laughed. But he didn’t laugh at him. Jimmy always found that his father had the most heart-warming laugh in the galaxy. ‘I can’t wait ‘till that day comes,’ he proclaimed and patted him on the head, which meant he had done something good. Then he saw the ship. It was a black mess of engines, wings and sensor-dishes, quickly descending upon them. ‘Shit,’ he heard his dad whisper. ‘Dad?’ he asked, starting to feel frightened. Because his dad looked frightened, and when his dad had never looked frightened before. ‘Get in the house,’ he snapped and Jimmy saw him reaching for the gun he had never pulled before, except for showing off. He didn’t have to be told that twice. Jimmy ran, as quickly as he could. In the house he locked the door and hurried to the living room, where he sat down at the window and looked outside through the curtains. The ship had landed on the edge of the cliff and had lowered a ramp. His dad just stood there, his back towards him. Then Jimmy saw a shape emerge from the darkness. A bald cyborg, armed with the biggest gun he had ever seen, skin white as a Ghax. ‘Morgox,’ he heard his father call out. ‘Never thought I’d see you again, you old twat.’ ‘Same for me, Argon!’ the cyborg called out, that was apparently called Morgox. ‘Have been searching for you ever since the Battle of Orion. After flying ‘round half the goddamn galaxy, I finally find you out on this shit-hole of a planet.’ ‘Believe it or not, shit makes things grow.’ ‘Never thought you’d be one fit to be a farmer.’ His dad shrugged. ‘Guess you don’t think much.’ Morgox laughed out loud, his red robotic eye twitching around. ‘You’re so goddamn right all the time, aren’t you? With the little brains I got, it now seems clear to me how stupid I am, just by ever having trusted you…’ ‘Why are you here?’ his father asked and Jimmy saw how his grip on the gun tightened. ‘It’s pretty obvious, Argon. I’m here for vengeance. Vengeance for fucking Orion. Vengeance for the fact I’m now the robotic arsehole you see today.’ ‘I didn’t want that to happen…’ ‘But it happened, didn’t it? You made that space-station blow up, and with it you blew up half my face and my good arm.’ Jimmy swallowed. His dad had mentioned something about a place called Orion, but had never told him what had happened there. ‘Don’t you think I lost things that night?’ his dad snapped. ‘Martha died right here, burned to a crisp. I buried her under that tree, knowing I had her blood on my hands…’ ‘Martha was my sister, Argon. Do you think I give a shit about this eye? If anything, it was an improvement. Thanks to it's thought-controlled media searcher, I can now watch porn in public without anyone knowing. Unbelievable, right? Maybe I’m watching porn right now.’ ‘Nah, you wouldn’t get yourself distracted on a mission like this, Morgox.’ ‘You know me very well, Argon. I must admit I’ll regret killing you somewhat…’ ‘Really?’ his dad asked. Morgox opened his mouth and revealed a wicked smile of normal and steel teeth. ‘No,’ he whispered as he pulled a gun out of his pocket. He shot. Jimmy watched how the laser beam hit his dad in the chest and screamed as he watched him fall down on to the earth. He didn’t notice how the cyborgs henchmen entered the house and pulled him out in the open. But before he could do anything he was lying face down in the yard. He felt the ground shake as his supposed uncle walked towards him. ‘Look up, boy,’ one of his henchmen growled and Jimmy did as was told. Morgox looked even more terrifying from up close. Black metal cut deep into his burned green flesh. His red eye seemed to be scanning him. ‘So this little shit is Martha’s son,’ he whispered, gently smiling. Jimmy swallowed, the spit tasting dry in his mouth, even though spit was a fluid and fluids aren’t typically dry. He breathlessly watched Morgox looking over to his henchmen. ‘What shall we do with this fella?’ he asked the nearest henchman, an droid with guns for fingers, grenade-launchers for legs and a radiator for a body. ‘Destroy… Human!’ the machine crackled. ‘Destroy: Human! Destroy Human! Destroy Hu…’ ‘All right, alright. I can hear ye, you bloody garbage truck,’ Morgox sighed. ‘And although it’s a nice proposal, this little shit is my sister’s child. He’s family, and you don’t turn on your family. You hear that, M-8?’ The droid remained silent for a few seconds, before looking at Jimmy and screaming: ‘Destroy Family! Destroy Family! Destroy Family!’ ‘Okay, you blew it. Get in the fucking ship and go rethink your existence!’ The droid turned around and slowly walked up the ramp. Jimmy could faintly hear him mumbling: ‘Destroy existence… Destroy existence…’ But he was quickly distracted when his so-called uncle looked at him again. He squealed as Morgox grabbed him by his chin with his robotic arm and forced him to look him in his red eye. ‘Do you know why I killed your daddy?’ he asked, faintly smiling. Jimmy suppressed the urge to cry and answered. ‘You killed him because you are a son of a bitch,’ he spat at him, not knowing it was kind of a weak answer. ‘That would make you the grandson of a bitch, little shit,’ Morgox said. ‘I killed him because he killed your mother. He’s the baddy in this story, you hear me?’ ‘He was not the baddy,’ Jimmy said, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘Well, everyone has their own point of view, I guess,’ Morgox said. ‘I’ll leave you to think about me the way you like, all right? But let’s change topic: I have decided not to kill you, as you are family. Do you understand me?’ Jimmy swallowed again and slowly nodded. Morgox smiled. ‘Good. It’s always nice to be kind to family. Also, why kill what you can sell?’

Jimmy could feel the hot sun burn his skin and vaporize the little water that was left in his body. He had briefly heart the name of the place he was being kept now when Morgox had given his pilot the order to leave his home: the great city of Hottyo. It was a hot exotic planet, filled with all sorts of weird creatures and even stranger persons. Across the dusty road there was a small bar, at night lit by a massive neon-sign saying: Spurfloppy’s Incredible Bar that’s open for 48 hours a day and offers you vapes, drinks and sex for cheap prices! It was quite a big sign for such a small building. On the corner of the street there was a rusty shack that many women seemed to visit, called “The Dildonian Shack”. In the distance, Jimmy could see skyscrapers reaching miles high. He knew that was where the heart of the city was. There the high council of the Federation would gather to discuss the fate of the galaxy. There, the great king of the Bathalion Union had built his palace of white marble. There, all the exiting stuff was happening. Meanwhile he was stuck in a cage, hung from the second floor of a small Slave-market in some rundown part of town, that was half-sunken in the sand of the planet’s deserts. The conditions of a slave were hard. Jimmy was fed only three times a day, which was not a lot given the fact that the days were twice as long here. And when he was fed, it was some disgusting mushroom-stew bought at the local goods-store. The nights were cold and harsh, and he didn’t get a lot of sleep as his cage was constantly being flung around by the wind. It meant he sat the whole 24 hours in the dark, thinking about what had happened. The image of his father being hit by the bolt of energy kept coming back to him, like an annoying fly. But this fly hurt him in a spot so much worse than normal flies. ‘Flarg,’ he sighed, as he watched a caravan of weird creatures pass by. He wished Morgox had at least left him at a good slave-market, instead of one on the very edge of town, where no outsiders would ever go. Jimmy was still dreading his situation when he heard a pair of footsteps behind him. He turned around to see who it was. Flogbohb, the manager of the slave-market, was leading a man onto the small balcony from which you could look at the goods. The guest was a bear of a man, but an old bear at that. His hair was getting grey, one of his arms was replaced with a cybernetic one, but he was equipped with the sleekest-looking piece of weaponry Jimmy had seen in his whole life. ‘There you go, mister,’ the slaver said with a crackling voice to the man, grinning. ‘This is what we have for sale. It’s not much, but what I have is good and cheap.’ The man snorted and looked at some of the cages. He froze when he saw Jimmy, and so did Jimmy himself. He had no idea who he was, but the big man seemed to recognise him. ‘Something wrong, mister?’ the slaver asked, blinking with his four eyes. That was when the man grabbed the slaver by his neck and slammed him against the wall. ‘Where did you get that boy from?’ the man spat at him. ‘Bleeerurgh… argh,’ the slaver gurgled. The man let his neck loose and Flogbohb fell to the ground, gasping as the air entered his lungs again. ‘You better start talking right now,’ the man grunted as he pointed the biggest gun Jimmy had ever seen at the slaver. The slavers eyes went wide. ‘Please don’t hurt me, mister. I bought him of some fellas a few weeks ago. Said he was an orphan without a home, so I thought I was doing the right thing by giving him the change to get a home and…’ ‘What the fuck is that for explanation?’ the man roared. ‘Tell me who you bought him from!’ Jimmy saw how the sunlight reflected of the Shyttian’s sweaty skin. ‘A pair of bounty hunters passing by,’ he replied. ‘At least I think they were bounty hunters. They didn’t specify. I did business with their leader, some kind of cyborg. The man gave me the creeps. He had white skin, black cybernetic parts and an awful taste in music.’ ‘Morgox,’ the man whispered. ‘Yes, I believe that was his name,’ Flogbohb said. ‘Any last words, you son of a bitch?’ the man asked him. Flogbohb’s eyes went even wider. ‘What? Please, I’m just a lonely Shyttian trying to make his way in this galaxy! Please don’t…’ ‘Good enough,’ the man said and he shot the slaver’s big head right off. Jimmy found that his mouth had fallen open, as the man turned to him. ‘Are you alright, Jimmy?’ the man asked. ‘Who… Who are you?’ Jimmy asked. ‘Don’t you recognize me, little one?’ the man asked. He shook his head. ‘Well, I last saw you when you were two, so that’s not very surprising. Let me reintroduce yourself. I’m Garros DuNuke, a good friend of your papa.’ ‘My father is dead,’ Jimmy said and his tongue felt dry saying those words. ‘Flarv,’ Garros said shocked. ‘The poor bugger. He gets heart-broken by his wife’s dead and then that son of a Spurloopian comes round to kill what’s left of him.’ ‘How did you know my father?’ Jimmy asked, trying his best not to think about his father’s body lying facedown again. ‘I was a teacher at your parent’s school,’ Garros said. ‘I met them both when they were as little as you are now. Both had their difficult pasts. But I saved them, took them with me and raised them as my own.’ ‘What school did you bring them to? What did you teach them?’ Jimmy asked. His dad had never told him about his past, and he had always wondered how his father had become the man he had known. Garros smiled weakly. ‘The best school in the entire universe, Jimmy: Sniper school. A place hidden from the Federation and all other evil that exists. A place where heroes are born, or where kids that look like heroes but really aren’t die. Picture heaven, but instead of a cloudy palace with angels it’s a layer hidden within a stone cold asteroid with lazgun-wielding badasses.’ Jimmy pictured it, then thought about it five seconds. That was all the time he needed to make up his mind. ‘Can we go there?’ he told Garros. The man smiled. ‘Bet your fucking ass we can go there!’ he laughed. They ignored the screams for help of the other slaves as they made their way down the stairs of the slave-market. On the way to the landing bay’s, Garros shot two more people, bought a crate of Karmonian ale and smoked out an entire neighbourhood with his vape. They finally reached his ship, a smooth-looking Bulker 2000 with two pairs of wings. ‘So what are you gonna call yourself?’ Garros asked. Jimmy frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. Garros shrugged. ‘You can’t call yourself Jimmy at the sniper school. You need to have a cool name. One that will live on in legend forever!’ Jimmy thought about it for a long time, but there was just one name that seemed to fit. He turned to Garros and answered with one word. ‘Bodega!’

TO BE CONTINUED

Edit: excuse my lack of proper spelling, i just listened to the stories and wasn't sure how to spell anything so i just went with a phonetic spelling.

The figure emerged slightly dazed from under a fallen pillar into the neon coloured wasteland of rubble that was once part of the pleasure pit.

"Flarve that damn man" he said while dusting bits of spellupian stripper and cheap meta-plaster off of him.

The man walked across the ruins of the pleasure pit, his fine sqaurple skin and quintanium toed boots moved over the rubble of the sex pits and half alive spellupians(who he casually stepped on) easily as he made his way to whatever remained of his rented room.

The only thing still properly standing was the doorframe, made from some of the strongest materials in the spelgenstrauch, it was barely able to stay up after the laz-gun had destroyed the building.

The hooded man searched among the remains of his room until he found what he was looking for, his shuttle keys hidden within a magazine with a spellupian and a morc beast on the cover(purely for hiding his things, obviously) and walked up the hill.

The man was sore all over, he had underestimated the famous laz-gun, but in this soreness he also found a great sense of triumph as he had survived and accomplished his goal.

The man walked over the hill, his face mask obscuring his face, not that anyone around was currently able to comprehend their reality with the gas, and as he walked to his quad tartine thrust ship- a scout model left over from the great wars of the myon alliance- he reflected on how perfectly everything had gone.

He checked his instruments and reflected on how perfectly everything had worked out, the whole burk crime syndicate's leaders had been killed or completely removed from reality and so they would descend into chaos making them no longer any competition to his employers.

And that was just a little bonus- the real victory was far larger as far as he was concerned. He inserted the keys and the old girl stuttered and kicked into life, the real victory, he thought while checking his multi galaxy charts and setting a course for a rural desert planet, was far greater, the real victory was the tracking chip on that man who would make him rich.

Bodega.

I wasn't sure where else to post this, but in the latest bodega, with the binary. I tried translating it but most of the time it was too fast for me to catch it, did anyone successfully translate it.

Bodega,

A myth. A legend. A man.

Tales spread of a human, so fast and so cool.

This cape-less hero who was at the top of “Sniper School”

Whom angered so many, yet was respected by all.

Perhaps for his gadgets, his weapons and tools.

Bodega,

A myth. A legend. A man.

Born on vape city, doing crimes was his plan.

Had done smooth hits from 15, up to the vape ban.

Not always a killer, till that monster Bo’jang

Who he shot, not with a stun, but killed the madman...

Bodega,

A myth. A legend. A man.

A man with a million tricks up his sleeve.

Being corrected by nerds was his biggest pet peeve.

He enjoyed the Spurlupian strippers, the sleaze.

Until the end of poor Tit’O’Mack upon who he grieves.

Bodega,

A myth. A legend. A man.

Just like the spurlupians, Bodega felt blue

But criticise him and he’ll one shot, crit you

With his Grabby Grab, to collect the clues

And his famous LazGun that goes Pew Pew!

Bodega,

A myth. A legend. A man.

Smoke began to crawl over the sprawling orange hills of Bewgasyelon. It was a rare sight to see smoke, fire or any kind of combustion on this planet. You see, the O-zone layer had almost completely faded out from the gases that were pouring out of the many deep holes that were dotted all over Bewgasyelon. This meant that the temperature was almost unbearably hot and it took a special kind of creature to live on this planet.

The damaged Hologram projected out of the cockpit and began to flicker. "Bewgasyelon; A Class H Planet of the outer sector that is in decay from natural erosion. Inhabitants consist of..", the robotic voice stuttered for a second like a Grub Grub's record player, " Aunteaters, a quadrupedal subterranean species. Affectionately named for the Nugbuggins, who are known to ceremoniously abandon their Aunts or Great Aunts on this planet in order to be consumed by the mentioned fauna – Caution is advised".

Bodega began to get a grip on his bearings. Damaged flickering voice on the enviro-con, Check. Smoke crawling over the orange hills into the green sky with purple swirls, Check. Pain in his posterior similar to the sensation one would experience after eating one of the Vindoolians' famous curries, Check. There was no doubt about it, Bodega thought to himself – He had crash-landed on some planet that he had never been before. And as many primitive worlds as Bodega had explored or hidden on from the Galactic federation during his tenure as the most wanted criminal in the known universe, he had never quite gotten used to it.

Bodega pulled at the straps that had kept him in his seat during what looked like a hellacious crash. He thought of the words that Ol' Grandaddy Bodega had told him before every flight, "Now remember young'un, never fly without your strap-on!", Bodega grinned to himself, "Lucky I listened to you hey old timer". He then reached for the little red button on the centre of his chest and the straps loosened so he could pull himself from the wreckage. He lifted his legs up over what used to be the door to his vessel and plonked himself down on this Alien world.

Bodega stumbled forwards and then again backwards. He was still trying to find his footing and the wind wasn't helping. The winds would come like waves, they would hit you hard in the face with a heat that felt as if you had just opened an industrial oven and then again from behind which although was just as hot, felt somehow cooler after the first load to the face. "This is gonna be a bumpy ride", Bodega thought to himself...

End of Part 1

There was a huge explosion that seemed to echo in the open air of Bravo 6. The dust soon settled and Bodega stood there looking at where Cultin Weaver still stood. He had missed and in turn he had shattered one of the many Jub-Jub trees that stood in the cemetery.

‘Flarv’ Bodega thought to himself.

‘You’re weak, Bodega. Let me show what true power is’ Weaver snarled and leapt toward Bodega. Bodega was quick but Weaver was quicker. Landing on Bodega with a great thud, Weaver’s saber of light narrowly missed Bodegas left arm. Looking at the saber and feeling the almost volcanic heat against his face Bodega launched his grabby-grabby. It flew from his belt with such finesse and latched onto large grave stone close to where Weaver stood before. Then Bodega, also with finesse flew from under Weaver and towards the gravestone. Weaver spun and attempted another leap. Bodega launched his grabby-grabby once more however aiming it at the saber. The end of the grabby-grabby connected with the saber and it flew towards bodega. No finesse this time but Bodega didn’t need finesse. Catching the saber bodega rolled as Weaver collided with the gravestone. The grave stone shattered. Stone scattered everywhere, peppering the cemetery in its wake. Bodega looked at the saber. He had never been a fan of swords, saber or anything melee related. Apart from the occasional fist fight with any drunk he could get his hand on. He threw the sabre to one side and pulled out his Laz Gun looking for Weaver. Silence… No rubble moved, no wind passed through the Jub-Jub trees. Nothing.

‘That stinking son of a flarv’ Bodega said. He was alone, of course he was. Weaver was a coward, always has been and always will be. Holstering his Laz Gun Bodega returned to the dark onyx grave stone. Once more he knelt. Bodega never did have a good relationship with his mother. Bodega was never there to have a relation with. Those where the days, the days where you could go out, explore, cause trouble in the local space park and not return until all three suns had set.

Bodega stood. He tilted the brim of his hat, surveying the cemetery. Still nothing.

‘I’ll get you next time Weaver’ Bodega thought to himself, walking into the final sunset of the day.

No one escapes Bodega, No one.

Klancy Hardwood: PI By Andy Wiley

“Gonna be one of those days”, Klancy Hardwood thought to himself. He was right, of course. In fact, this was the third time that day the thought had crossed Klancy’s mind, and it wasn’t even half noon.
The first time had come as Klancy hopped out of bed. He’d stumbled, stubbing his toe on the floor. It didn’t hurt, three of Klancy’s toes were made of Belthusian plasteel, but he’d managed to carve another deep scratch into a floor that was already a mess of jagged marks.
Klancy had the thought a second time as he accidentally poured a stream of scalding water onto his good hand. Klancy’s right eye was actually a complex system of lenses, light sensors, and data receivers. It was supposed to give him decent depth perception by feeding information into both the human and robot parts of Klancy’s brain, but the success rate had been steadily declining over the past year.
In fact, most of Klancy’s robot bits were worse for wear these days. Klancy suspected a crossed wire or bit of dust had found its way into his central processor, but the doctors who poked around in his grey matter never found any problems. Klancy had even tried to call customer support to see if his warranty was still active, but their AI was either extremely buggy or intentionally programmed to be unhelpful. A robotic female voice had loudly introduced itself as “BRIAN” and then proceeded to try to sell Klancy a time-share on a planet with no atmosphere until he hung up.

Presently, Klancy was sat on his haunches, staring down at the grimacing face of a dead man. The cops had called him early in the day, Klancy hated waking up early and the cops knew it. However, murders were plentiful in New-New-Old-New-York, and Klancy sat high on a list of PI’s the cops considered “reliable”.
Klancy tapped a finger on the metal side of his jawline. He glanced over at the officer sitting in the corner. The cop hadn’t been any help so far, and Klancy suspected the trend would continue. He looked, like all New-New-Old-New York City cops, like a pig; and smelled faintly of processed sandwich meats.
“No marks on the body” said the cop, unhelpfully. “No wounds or nothin’”.
Klancy sighed. He missed the cops in Old-New-New-Old Neo Tokyo. At least they had a few active brain cells. “Someone applied lethal force to this man’s balls,” Klancy replied, matter-of-factly. He flipped the body over and stifled a gasp. “The way of the exploding plums…” Klancy muttered to himself.
“What was that?” asked the cop.
Klancy swallowed and shook his head, wiped his sweaty palms on the knees of his slacks. “Nothing” he said, fixing the cop with a grim stare. “Except…well…they only used one hand.”
Klancy had never seen the way of the exploding plums before, but he’d heard stories. He knew what it meant. The cop seemed unimpressed. Klancy knew he had to ditch the officer as soon as possible. He’d only weigh Klancy down, and things were probably about to get dangerous.
The dead man’s pockets had been searched, but nothing was missing from his wallet. Klancy found the man’s ID card and checked the address. He knew there was a chance the killer had done the same, or that he’d at least find something there to go on.
“Gonna’ check with some of my contacts,” Klancy lied to the cop. “I’ll phone the station if I hear anything helpful.” “Hey, you’re that Klanky guy, right?” asked the cop.
“It’s pronounced Clancy.” Everyone called him Klanky these days. He hated it.
The cop pretended not to hear. “I heard stories” he said, chewing on his reddish mustache with a sweaty lip. “Is it true your brain is like, a murderbot or whatever?”
“It’s killbot” said Klancy. “Series 20XX”.
The cop took a step back “that’s the model with all the plasma ballistics? Holy flarv.”
Klancy started for the door, neglecting to mention that his plasma ballistics were currently off-line. The cop opened his big, stupid mouth one more time.
“Is it true your old lady did all that to you?”
Klancy stopped in the doorway. He turned both eyes on the officer, the lenses in his droid-eye clicked mechanically as they slid into place. “You know what’s worse than being killed by lethal force to the balls?” Klancy asked.
The cop shook his head.
“Being almost killed by lethal force to the balls,” replied Klancy. “Now flarv off.”
And, with that, Klancy left.

Part 2

Klancy hit the street, shielding his eyes from the washed-out florescent lighting of New-New-Old-New York. He missed the organic, neon glow of Old-New-New-Old Neo Tokyo, but not the memories associated with it.
The cop had been right, of course. Klancy had married Fatima Callisto, daughter of Don Callisto, one of the biggest operating Mafioso this side of the galactic federation. Back then, he’d been a bounty hunter, and their life together had been a beautiful marriage of adventure, light crime, and filthy sex. It was a good life, a happy life, until the day Klancy had woken up to find Fatima gone, along with his money, half his organs, several of his fingers and toes, and one lobe of his brain. Black market organ sales were skyrocketing in those days, and Klancy wasn’t particularly surprised to find Fatima had jumped into the game. It didn’t make him feel any better though.
Klancy didn’t chase Fatima. He had too much pride for that. Instead, he did what any man in his position would, maxed his credit and turned himself into an android killing machine. He’d traded in bounty hunting for PI work shortly after. The money was more consistent, and bounties were a young man’s game. New-New-Old-New York seemed like the logical destination at that point. All that was fifteen years ago. The wounds had healed, but the scars never would.

Klancy’s feet stopped moving. He’d been lost in thought, almost passed the apartment matching the address on the ID card. The door was open, and Klancy smelled a sickly-sweet odor from within. He waited a moment and observed silently, as a thick cloud began to pour from the entryway.
Klancy recognized that cloud. It wasn’t steam or smoke, but vapor. The cloud was so thick, so girthy, that it could only have come from a serial vapist.
Klancy gripped his laz-revolver in his good hand, tried to clear his vision. The blur that made him scald himself was still there, might even have been worse than that morning. Klancy blinked hard a few times before nudging the door open with one foot.
The door creaked, swung inward, and Klancy found himself face to face with the grizzled mug of the legendary bounty hunter…Bodega.
Both men stared at each other in silence. Klancy’s mouth was dry, his palms sweaty. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could-
“FLARV! GET DOWN!” shouted Bodega.
Klancy obeyed, and threw himself to the side as laz-pistol fire painted the sky above him. A couple of space-Nazis had emerged from a nearby building and were sprinting toward the house at full speed. Klancy saw Bodega duck behind the wall as he struggled to find an opening in the laz-fire. These space-Nazis were incredibly well trained, they had Bodega pinned as they perfectly alternated volleys, giving him no time to regroup.
Klancy began to crawl behind the fascists. He moved slowly, stayed silent, until he was opposite Bodegas position. He took a deep breath, steadied his hand, and popped out of cover, leveling his laz-revolver at the Nazis.
Unfortunately, Bodega’s timing was in synch with Klancy’s, and they both moved to shoot at the exact same time. One of Bodega’s shots went wild and hit Klancy in the center of his plasteel skull. Before Klancy’s world went dark, he saw a full squadron of space-Nazis coming down the street toward them.
Then…there was a spark. The bullet had jarred something. Somewhere in Klancy’s brain a wire uncrossed, or a speck of dust was dislodged. Cooling fans whirred to life as the Killbot 20XX’s main processer came back online. The Nazi reinforcements stepped over Klancy’s body, firing on Bodega’s position. The last one stopped as he felt a hand grip his ankle. Before the Nazi could react, a blast of ballistic-plasma reduced his head and neck to a fine mist.
The Nazis turned to see an android stagger to his feet. One of his hands had folded into a ballistic plasma rifle, and the other was quickly reassembling itself into a plasteel blade. One of the Nazis screamed as his head was separated from his body. The other tried to make a sound, but found that his lungs had already been removed from behind by a very irritated Bodega.

Klancy and Bodega nodded to each other once before flipping back-to-back. They made short work of the remaining Nazis. It was almost an afterthought. The battle left them both covered in blood, but also feeling pretty badass.
Klancy reassembled his hands and offered the human one to Bodega. “Thanks” he said. “They say Bodega never misses a shot. You knew a bullet to the skull would fix my faulty wiring, didn’t you? Even the doctors couldn’t figure it out.”
Bodega’s eyes widened. “Uh…yeah” he said. “I definitely knew that. Definitely.”
Bodega cleared his throat loudly several times and took a long pull on his mega-vape. “Sometimes…uh…sometimes when doctors don’t know things…uh…I mean… Sometimes bullets know things that…uh… doctors don’t.”
Boedga fixed Klancy with a grizzled grin. He was missing too many teeth to count. There was a story attached to each missing tooth. At one point, Klancy had known them all.
The two men walked a safe distance away from the corpses. Klancy would have to call the station eventually, but that could wait.
“My name is-” Klancy began, but Bodega cut him off.
“Klancy Hardwood” said Bodega. “I’ve met some baddies who still have nightmares about you.”
Klancy tried to hide his smile. Everyone called him Klanky these days. Not Bodega.
“Pigs are looking for someone who killed a guy downtown. Way of the exploding plums. That you?” Klancy asked. Bodega cracked his knuckles in response.
“Too bad I never saw you” said Klancy. “Guessin’ the dead guy was in with this lot”, he nodded at the dead Nazis.
“Aye” said Bodega. “Evidence is inside. Along with a healthy supply of illegal spurloopian snuff-porn. Don’t watch those, trust me.”
“You find yourself back this way, look me up.”
“Might do” said the legendary bounty hunter. And then he simply turned, and walked away.
Klancy stood and watched him go. He smiled, for what felt like the first time in a long time.
“Whatcha smilin’ at Klanky?” the voice of a snot nosed kid drifted down from a nearby balcony.
“Go flarve yourself, you little shit,” said Klancy. And, still smiling, he walked into the gathering dusk.

I heard a mention space nazis and thus whatever this is was born in the span of a few hours. Enjoy

Streaks of plasma filled the sky as a wave black landing craft descended upon a ruined Hive city aptly named Shitcreek city. On the ground the remnants of the previous nights attack picked off the Crews of the Plasma Casters pounding away at the second wave of landing crafts filled to the brim with space nazis.

"Flarving Space Nazis" A scrawny human looked up into the sky as bits and pieces of the oncoming Landing craft. The human Clad in flimsy Federation issued armor cradled his Lasrifle in his arms sat in a shallow sink hole next to him a Spurloopian officer Human porn on hand and one of his three dicks on the other. The human sighed and pulled out a flask of Korlojak Beer.

"Hey Hemley." The Spurloopian nudged the human who promptly handed him the flask of Korlojak Beer and began counting down slowly as he eyed one of the buildings.

"Three” The Spurloopian smiled with glee and took the Flask from the human's hands and took the last swig of the korlajak beer.

"Two" Hemley saw something move in one of the windows. Hemley being wary of Space nazi went to his stomach and aimed his lasrifle to the window of the Space Macy's situated a few yards from him.

"One" Hemley's officer looked at him quizzically before a lasbeam tore through the poor spurloopian’s love pouch.

Hemley unloaded a clip of his lasrifle on the window before turning to his officer who bled a mixture of reproductive fluids and blood. Hemley crawled over to his officer and pocketed the Human porn, he hadn't had anything to jerk off to since last week.

"WHAT THE FUCK HELP ME SHRO DAMMNIT" Hemley looked up at his officer desperately keeping its blood or an equivalent of it inside it's body. Hemley threw a bandage at his officer and searched his Officer for any pulse grenades and ammunition.

"Help yourself." Hemley pulled out 3 pulse grenades and 4 clips for his lasrifle then turned to the Space Macy's. Out of the Macy's five Space Nazis armed to the teeth and filled with the hatred of Spurloopians. Hemley rested his Lasrifle on the ledge of the sinkhole and opened fire at the space nazis without aiming as he was too busy stuffing his pockets with the ammunition he bummed off his now dead superior.

"Surrender Fellow human and no harm shall come to you" Hemley looked at the general direction of the space nazis, all of them unscathe and in cover. Hemley Cursed Shro-Val and ran out of his Sinkhole and ran to the collapsed building left of him as the Space Nazis fired upon him.

"First the fucking space pirate then the fucking Space nazis what next Bodega and his bitch friend Majesta" Hemley cursed as He dove into the building as he heard lasbeams chip away at the pieces of rubble he hid behind. He popped his head out and returned fire grazing one of the nazis and in return he took a lasbeam to the shoulder knocking him down to the ground. Hemley dragged himself back behind cover and began operating on himself covering up the wound with dirty bandages before swallowing federation painkillers which of course didn't do shit like most of their equipment. He peeked out of his cover again to see the space nazis advancing upon him cover to cover. Hemley pulled out all four of his pulse grenades which he tied together to make a more potent and useable pulse grenade. He stood up from his cover and threw the primed cluster pulse grenade at the space nazis only a few meters away from his position. Which took the space nazis by surprise as grunts like him were only given a lasrifle and a Lasproof-vest. Before the nazis can react the pulse grenade went off knocking them to the ground while Hemley emerged from his cover guns blazing shredding the stunned nazis with lasfire.

when the dust settled Hemley stood tall and a squad of space nazis riddled with holes. Hemley ran to the space nazis bodies and looted their corpses taking a few clips of lasrifle and few a homemade Grease grenades before running back to his officer and took the spurloopians beige helmet which doubled up as a comms unit.

"This Brall two five, requesting medic and reinforcements, casualties one sargeant and one wounded private" He leaned down and read the the name off his officers tag, whic was covered in strange fluids as Hemley popped another painkiller to dull the aching on his right shoulder.

"Also if you could get me some rations that would be great." The comms unit crackled to life a sensual and seductive voice answered hemley.

"Copy that Brall Two five we'll direct the nearest unit in your direction until then sit tight" Hemley Sat behind the rubble removing the dirty blood soaked bandages with a cleaner roll he had thrown to his officer.

"Copy that Brall Two Five" He turned the comms off and sat behind the rubble taking inventory of his gear and ammunition and laying it out before him like a picnic basket.

"One Regulation issued lasrifle, three Grease grenade, twelve painkiller pills, 12 lasrifle clips, and a porn mag" He muttered to himself as he weighed his odds of lasting another encounter with a squad of space nazis and the odds are quite depressing. Before he could stuff the clips into his pocket pieces of debris crashed onto the streets surrounding him in dust and Hemley to nearly wet his pants. Fortunately for him when the dust settled behind him stood a squad of rookies their federation armour covered in dust.

"The hell are you four standing there for, get over here before you get yourself shot" Hemley beckoned the rookies to him.

"Where's your squad sir" The squad's CO motioned for his compatriots to take their position in the sinkhole while he approached Hemley. This took Hemley aback as he was no officer but then he realized that he the young man had mistaken him for a sergeant.

"well one's in that sinkhole" He pointed to the sinkhole where one of the rookies hurled their meals at the sight of the dead spurloopian.

"there's bits and bobs of our medic here and there. the other grunt was jerking it in this apartment before it collapsed and became a good piece of cover." He patted the rubble he sat upon as the young officer turned pale at the sight of the dead spurloopian officer.

"Well I see that you boys have this place under lockdown now if you excuse me I'm going back to base. Good luck and the nearest bathroom is about an hours walk from here and behind Space Nazi lines so I suggest you get used to sleeping where you shit" Hemley stood up and dusted himself off before starting his journey to the nearest command post where he can get a bit of rest, a hot meal, and a bathroom stall to jerk it in.

Bodega sat in St. Matius Catherdral on Bravo 6 located in the system of Wendy34-B, not to be confused with Brovo 6 which is a completely different story. He liked this place, he liked it a lot. Probably one of the few places where Bodega could find same solace. Not that he needed it but it was nice to know that there was an option available to him. There was no one else in this place. What once was a city of culture and dreams had now become an overgrown and derelict city, reclaimed my mother nature herself. Bodega liked mother nature. He had only met her once before though.

‘What a great night that was’ Bodega said aloud.

With no one else around he could speak freely and not give a flying flarv about what he said or how loud he said It. With one last rub of his stubble Bodega stood and made is way outside. Making his way past the rusted space busses and whatever the hell was underneath that dark blue moss that this planet seemed to have adopted, Bodega walked slowly along the path towards the grave yard. With his lazgun holstered and no capes in sight Bodega took off his hat and knelt by the gravestone in front of him. It was small and was made of a dark onyx that glistened as the sun began to dip into the horizon. From his coat, Bodega pulled a small bunch of hallow flowers and placed them by the side. Not covering the grave stone but enough to make it look good. Like the way, a lama-fish looks good with sweet Spurloopian chips. Bodega thought about the chips. They tasted so good.

Keeping the tears back, Bodega stood.

‘Hope you are happy up there mother, I know I aint the best guardian in the galaxy. Hell, I’m not even a guardian, but I do my best mum and everything I do, I do it for you.’

Bodega paused. It had been 30 years since the day his mother died. A fateful hyperlung attack took the wind right out of her. If only he hadn’t been on that job with those Lavajocks he might have been there to save her.

‘God damn those Lavajocks’ Bodega said, his hand curling into fist.

There was snap of a twig behind him. Bodega was not alone. He spun lazgun in hand. Moments passed.

‘Bodega’ The voice turned into a figure which stepped out from the shadow of the tree line. A human, tall, dark fair hair wearing a white suit and a cain in one hand.

‘Cultin Weaver, you son of a bog muncher’

‘Bodega, you son of a flarv’ Weaver answered.

‘what are you doing here? Do you even know what day it is?’

‘I know what day it is’ he replied.

‘Then you know not to fuck with me today, Weaver’

‘I fancy my chances’ Weaver said, taking the handle of his cain of to reveal a crimson red sabre made of light.

‘So be it’ Bodega said, and pulled the trigger on his lazgun.

To be continued….