In the boundless stretch of the universe, life takes on many forms—some eerily similar to Earth's, others completely alien. Across systems and stars, civilizations thrive, including those on habitable planets like Kepler, a sun-scorched world where chaos brews as easily as ale.
In the dry outskirts of its western quadrant, a rundown tavern buzzed with tension. Neon lights flickered, sand spilled through the cracks in the walls, and smoke from unknown sources clouded the air like a fog of secrets.
At the center table, a young man with cocky charm laid down his final card with a loud slap.
"Boom! Full spread. I'll be taking that starship power core now." His voice was rich with smug satisfaction as he leaned back in his seat, brushing imaginary dust off his pristine white jacket. His red booster boots clicked as he crossed his legs atop the table.
The table of grizzled competitors exchanged uneasy glances.
"Another round to settle it fair?" the boss said coolly, reclining in his seat. The tilt of his chair revealed the blaster at his hip—a silent threat with a grin attached.
"Or…" he added, sitting forward, "you can pay up for cheating, Sky boy."
The young man arched a brow and grinned. "Cheating? Please. I just outplayed you with charm and an above-average understanding of probability." He gestured to himself dramatically. "And it's SkyRaider, thank you very much. Unless you'd prefer I call you 'Captain Desperate-for-Relevance'?"
The insult drew a few quiet chuckles and a lot of stares.
He flicked his thumb across his personalized belt buckle—etched with a flashy red R—before flashing a wink. His slick black hair was kept in place by a crimson bandana, and his entire aura screamed "trouble wearing good cologne."
Before tensions could boil over, a voice cut in—sharp, gravelly, and impatient.
"Alright, alright. Enough posturing."
A red fox, upright on two legs and dressed in crimson tactical overalls, sauntered up beside SkyRaider. A combat knife hung at his hip. His black boots crunched the floor with every confident step, his tail swaying with every word.
"You lost. Fair and square. Let's not embarrass ourselves further with another round of bluff-and-growl, yeah?" the fox said, his tone thick with irritation.
He tossed a heavy sack onto the table. "Two hundred thousand units, as promised. And Randall, if you quote Arthur Eros again, I swear I'll crash this whole tavern through a wormhole."
SkyRaider rolled his eyes. "Ugh. You wound me, Gunz."
"Not yet," the fox muttered.
The bandit boss's crew hesitated. The bag sat ominously between them like an unsolved riddle.
"Boss, maybe check the bag first?" one muttered.
"Shut it," the boss snapped. Still, paranoia crept into his tone. He grabbed a handful of coins from the bag and tossed them into the air—then fired a shot.
A single coin exploded midair. The room went silent.
"Fake," he snarled, eyes blazing.
But the two con artists were already gone—bolting through the tavern doors, laughter echoing behind them.
Outside, the red-and-blue starship purred to life under Kepler's dying sun. Smoke flared from the boosters as SkyRaider and Gunz sprinted toward it, chased by shouts, curses, and a few stray blaster shots.
***
The crimson starship, streaked with blue accents and gleaming tented windows, hovered silently in low orbit above Kepler. Inside, the faint hum of power thrummed through the ship's bones.
From a modest sleeping chamber, a blue-skinned woman emerged, her long limbs tangled in a bed sheet hastily wrapped around her. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and padded barefoot toward the command deck. Dutch, an old flame from Randall's wilder days
"Randall? Are you awake? Oh—uhm…"
She froze.
Standing near the control console were three masked figures dressed in jet-black enforcer uniforms. One stood out—tall, calm, with half his head shaved into a sleek mohawk. His blue skin matched hers, but his aura radiated nothing but military steel.
The unmasked man gave a polite nod. "Miss Dutch, I presume. I take it you're expecting the arrival of the Sky Raider… and his accomplice, the red fox who goes by the alias Gunz."
Dutch blinked. "He still calls himself that?" She sighed dramatically, brushing her vibrant hair over one shoulder. "I'm sorry. Yes, I'm waiting for him—again."
She plopped into the pilot's seat, tossing the sheet a little tighter around her. "He swore he'd stay out of trouble with the law this time. I should've made him sign it in blood."
The lead enforcer offered a faint, surprisingly soft smile. "We've all made poor promises before. Some of us just make them louder than others."
That earned a reluctant laugh from Dutch. "Well, you don't seem as terrifying as the usual badge-wearing jackboot SABER enforcers."
"My name's Putnum," he said calmly, adjusting the utility belt at his hip. "Formerly with SABER. Now… let's just say I work on my own terms."
Dutch raised an eyebrow, examining his uniform. "So, what did Randall do this time to earn a visit from the calmest ex-enforcer I've ever met?"
Before he could respond, the door burst open with a mechanical hiss—and slammed shut behind a pair of chaotic intruders.
"Hurry! Install the damn things before they count the coins!" shouted Gunz, stomping in with a pair of power cores under each arm.
He skidded to a stop.
Putnum, Dutch, and the other enforcers stared at him. The fox's ears twitched. "Oh great. Company. And our pilot's wearing nothing but Randall's dignity. Randall, it's time for a change."
From behind him came SkyRaider, nearly tripping on his own smug entrance. "Well. That escalated beautifully."
He held up his hands as the enforcers drew their weapons. "Easy, fellas. Nobody here needs to get all zappy about it."
Dutch turned, furious. "Randall. Please explain why SABER's finest are on my ship!"
"Hey, I didn't invite them in! Wait, your ship?" he protested, ducking as Gunz suddenly tackled him to the ground.
"Down!" the fox barked.
Gunfire erupted across the bridge—sleek stun rounds from the enforcers' rifles peppering the metal walls. Sparks flew. The air was filled with blaster shrieks and Dutch's screeching disbelief.
SkyRaider winced as a bolt zipped past his cheek. "Putnum! I thought we were flirting!"
Putnum barked an order—"Cease fire!"—and the enforcers, surprisingly, obeyed. Despite their dislike for the two con artists.
The silence was deafening.
Putnum exhaled and stepped forward. "We're not with SABER anymore. Not officially. We've broken ranks… and we're here to talk."
Gunz grunted, still atop SkyRaider. "You know, most people knock when they want to talk."
SkyRaider groaned under him. "Get off me, fuzzball. You're crushing my heroic mystique."
The tension still hung in the air like static. Then, with a small nod from Putnum, the enforcers lowered their weapons in perfect sync.
"We're not with SABER anymore," he said plainly. "We've broken away. Started something new—independent."
SkyRaider blinked. "Wait… you defected?"
Gunz squinted, ears twitching in suspicion. "Why the hell would an ex-enforcer walk away from a cushy fascist empire gig to knock on our door? Seems like a perfect trap that I'd walk into."
Putnum's eyes didn't flinch. "Because even the best lies wear thin eventually. And SABER's was no exception."
The two pirates exchanged a look—half amusement, half concern.
"Okay, well," SkyRaider clapped his hands once. "Points for drama. What do you want, exactly? I don't do charity work, and Gunz doesn't trust people unless they're bleeding because of him."
"Not wrong," Gunz muttered.
Putnum stepped closer, calm and composed. "I know where SABER is keeping a high-priority prisoner. One that could turn the tide against them. I need your ship, your chaos, and frankly—your recklessness."
SkyRaider arched an eyebrow. "You're really trying to pitch me on saving the galaxy right now?"
"No," Putnum replied. "I'm pitching you on getting even. With interest."
That caught their attention.
Dutch, now dressed and perched back in the co-pilot seat, glanced over her shoulder. "He's serious. Look at his eyes. That's not enforcer talk. That's vengeance."
SkyRaider scratched his chin. "Well… when you put it like that…"
Gunz sighed. "You're going to say yes, aren't you?"
"Oh, definitely."
The fox rolled his eyes. "Dumbest crew in the quadrant."
"Best crew in the quadrant," SkyRaider corrected, heading toward the cockpit. "And we're just getting started."