Fanfic Challenges

## **001 - Mutant Pirate Brute**

The first Vessels fanfic challenge concluded on July 14th, 2021 (8:30pm BST).

**Prompt**

*"How did the Mutant Pirate Brute turn red? What is his favorite ride when he's out pillaging, and what does he like to pillage? What does the brute like to do on Sundays to unwind?"*

**Submissions**

Challenge 001 concluded with 8 submissions from the Vessels community, with contributions from @Chandrew, @MoneyPlaneIdol, @aj.trevor, @KOBRA, @revendar, @taniaaa, @Peduroh, and an honorary submission from @Goldy\_TGG!

**@Chandrew's submission**

1. He's constantly angry and now he can't get rid of the red hue

2. He rides his pet emu to pillage seeds

3. He likes to propagate his seeds to feed his crew

**@MoneyPlaneIdol's submission**

Turns out brewing liquor from the old reactor core can have side effects. Heidrun hadn’t quite figured out how to mitigate those drawbacks in his first couple batches before this brute stumbled onto an experimental batch and quaffed it. Over the course of “two rough weeks” locked in a cryosleep chamber he underwent a pretty drastic transformation, but mostly came out alright. The hulking frame, red skin, and underbite may have come from radiation exposure in time but that brew made it a certainty. At least he didn’t die. Heidrun seemed puzzled he hadn’t but was thankful nonetheless.

The brute used to favor a hover skateboard, but after the accident his size didn’t allow for much hovering. He had to upgrade to a hover bike, and even then it drags in the dirt on sharp turns. When he needs to blow off steam, you can find him pillaging rabbits from the colony’s bazaar.

**@aj.trevor's submission**

Born and then orphaned under the red hue of the reactor: The Pirate Brutes' mind and body were irreversibly altered by the radioactivity. The slow and painful transformation left his skin rough and red: and filled his mind with the dread of his existence. The Pirate Brute spends his nights pillaging for scraps and parts for his low-atmosphere ship. If you get on his bad side, it may just be a part of your roof you see him affixing to his ship next.

**@KOBRA's submission**

1. As an adolescent, the not yet mutated brute made a hobby of smashing bugs. Big ones, little ones, didn’t matter. Squashing, crushing, and stomping them to oblivion. One spring afternoon while terrorizing a giant ant colony in the woods, a fairy appears in the distance. Her glow caught the Brute’s attention; he approaches out of curiosity. She meets the Brute halfway, and in a somber tone issues a warning. She’s a guardian of the woods and warns him, “Your destruction and carelessness is hurting the forest, and her brother does not issue warnings.” Then before the Brute can reply, she’s gone. The Brute returns home confused more than anything.

The Brute turns to his only friend for advice. When his friend says to take it easy on the ants. Not getting the answer he wanted, he asks his parents. They too, warn not to mess with the ants and therefore the fairies. So the Brute tries to heed this warning. A week passes, but he’s now constantly bored without his favorite hobby. Then he notices a harmless spider crossing his window ledge and without thinking, SMASH. The Brute immediately remembers the warning, steps back, and looks around. No fairy, nothing.

Embolden, the Brute now feels like he’s safe and resumes his stomping ways. Before long, he’s back at the giant any colony crushing and laughing away. Out of nowhere, he passes out. When the Brute awakes, he feels sticky and the back of his head hurts. He looks down at his arms, and his normally pale grey skin is now bright red. He runs home, crying in confusion, and jumps in his mother’s arms. Only she doesn’t recognize the Brute and screams in terror. The Brute looks in the mirror. His fangs have matured like he’s an adult and his face has mutated making him even uglier than before. His family comes to understand, but now the Brute is an outcast and warning to other children.

2. The Mutant Pirate Brute’s chosen mount is a battle ready War Hog. Loyal to the death, his War Hog travels everywhere with the Mutant Pirate Brute, and always to battle and pillaging. The War Hog is easily twice as destructive as the Brute. While pillaging, the Brute always has his eye out for magical weapons and armor. His preference might be destruction, but he could always become more destructive with an enchanted War Hammer. His hog? He’s on the lookout for food. Anything he wants is fair game during the pillage and its far better than the sloop the Brute usually feeds.

3. The Pirate Mutant Brute is not one to wait for Sunday to unwind, but he does it with a barrel of mead while watching his favorite sport, Dragon Slaying. It’s a brutal game where most contestants die. The Pirate Mutant Brute has been boasting for years that he could take down not just one or two, but three Dragons alone. Of course, he’s never even tried, and no one thinks he ever will.

**@revendar's submission**

1/2. Brute is very much into pillaging precious metals as he drives through the universe. He happened to find a huge shiny asteriod one day and started drilling it to extract some diamonds. The asteriod’s core was made of ferric oxide which was under high pressure. Brute happened to hit a pressure hold which blew the red iron oxide on to his face. Unfortunately the red ore stuck too deep into his skin to be removed.

**@taniaaa's submission**

The Brute wasn’t always a mutant, but he was always a brute.

As a youth he worked the mines, harvesting toxic ruststone that would later be polished and refined into crimson gemstones for the elite. He made a sport of terrorizing his fellow miners, stealing hovercarts piled high with their hard-earned work, claiming the credit as his own. That was his first taste of pirating, and he liked it. Some dared to fight back, but they quickly learned that the Brute always got his way.

Like the other miners, his skin began to stain red over time. But unlike the others, his body changed too; into something hulking and deformed. Some say his horrible disposition must have combined with the chemicals in the mines, visibly turning him into the monster he already was inside.

Few know the truth: several disgruntled miners banded together to sabotage his drink with a rare and experimental drug they were able to acquire from the nearby dock. To their chagrin, the concoction didn’t kill the brute. It made him stronger.

The mines could not contain him for long and now the Brute enjoys terrorizing a larger swath of the population.

The only creature he has a fondness for is his mutant hound, Kraxen. The massive canine had also been transformed into a monster through some unlucky means during its time on the streets. Now it carries the Brute upon its back as they pillage and light things aflame.

At the week’s end, the Brute and Kraxen bring their spoils back to their remote hut and bathe in boiling and sulphureous hot springs that would kill an ordinary man.

But, of course, the Brute is no ordinary man.

**@Peduroh's submission**

1. There are many rumors about Mutant Pirate Brute’s red skin, with the most common rumor being that his skin turned a red hue from the blood of all the people he killed. While this explanation may match Brute’s intimidating demeanor and history of bloody violence, his red skin comes from a far less exciting origin. Before Brute became a space pirate, he was also a pirate of the sea from his home planet. Brute’s love for the sea wasn’t just from the bounties and booty taken from anyone unfortunate to encounter Brute. He also loves seafood. Specifically, he loves to eat shrimp. Lots and lots of shrimp. Over time, after consuming many pounds of shrimp everyday, his skin gradually turned red.

Reality oftentimes disappoints, and many people still believe the tales of violence and murder as the reason for Mutant Pirate Brute’s red skin. If you ask Brute himself, he’d scoff and respond, “Skin red from blood? Blood washes off quickly. I’ll show you.”

**@Goldy\_TGG's submission**

It came from beneath.

Without warning, a cataclysmic shift in the ocean floor caused methane to burst forth from the alien world’s core, unleashing an unstoppable surge of destructive chemicals and molten lava. Directly above the tectonic fracture, our unassuming pirate was quietly plotting his next bootlegging adventure aboard his prized ship.

A fine and chiseled specimen, albeit slightly bloated from his celebratory feast after winning the Tournament of Treacherous Sailors, the pirate had no idea that his life was about to change forever.

The exact details are still a bit blurry, but once the deadly pulse of methane reached the ocean surface, the pirate’s ship instantly burst into flames, sending every nail and plank skyward. Both a curse and a miracle, fate wove a fable fit for kings and queens when somehow, someway, the pirate survived the explosion.

Nobody knows for sure, but the salinity and temperature of the ocean was exactly right to preserve the pirate’s innards and keep his heart beating. But everything else had changed. His skin transformed into a murky red and rubbery substance, resilient and vulcanized from the heat and pressure, rendering the surface cells lifeless.

Tales are told how you could attack him with the sharpest of spears, and with a gargled and twisted laugh, he would feel nothing and simply continue on his way, searching, scheming, and plotting his next plundering escapade.

**Winner**

For this first challenge, all the participants were entered into a raffle for a Y-Series 000D - Gabe!

## **002 - The Corsair Captain**

The second Vessels fanfic challenge concluded Wednesday July 21st, 2021 (8:30 PM BST).

**Prompt**

*"Provide the following for the captain of the Corsair Ship 'K': Name; Age; Call Sign; Motto; Description; Bio"*

**Submissions**

There were 6 submissions from the Vessels community for Challenge 002, with entries from @Loki, @Chandrew, @Taniaaa, @MoneyPlaneIdol, @aj.trevor, and @Goldy\_TGG!

**@Loki's submission**

NAME: Kasper

AGE: 35

CALL SIGN: "Flatline"

MOTTO: "Dying's not so bad..."

DESCRIPTION: Asian woman, hair up so as to not interfere with her work, an assortment of geometric face/neck tattoos that speak to her life experiences

BIO (of sorts):

When she entered the bar, you could feel it. It wasn’t her appearance, it wasn’t how she acted; there was just something “other” about her, an aura (if you believe in that sort of thing). Drinks were on the house for what she’d done for the people around here, but she always insisted on paying.

Before she was the captain of the “K”, she had stood at the helm of the “Ragnarok”. If you’re from these parts, that’s all that needs to be said. If you’re not, all you need to know is that Kasper and her crew died protecting this place after being ambushed by three rogue ships.

Data from the auto-doc showed that she was dead for a full 6 minutes before being resuscitated. The rest of the “Ragnarok” weren’t as lucky.

She was different after. Some say it was PTSD, but if you ask me... I don't know where she went for those 6 minutes, but something came back with her…

**@Chandrew's submission**

Name: Chandrew

Age: <?ERROR?>

Call Sign: Do-Do (pronounced doh-doh, possibly)

Motto: Invest in people and treat them like family. They’ll return the favor 100 fold.

Description: <?ERROR?>

Bio: While the name Chandrew is fairly well known, nobody really knows who or what Chandrew is. People are either ecstatic or haunted by the name.

The Do-Do monicker, that may or may not have been confirmed, is said to have been the first words uttered from a baby that has stuck ever since.

One thing for certain, Chandrew appears and disappears as quickly as a shadow.

**@Taniaaa's submission**

NAME: W

AGE: 41

CALL SIGN: “Whisper”

MOTTO: Actions speak louder than words

DESCRIPTION: a person of indeterminate gender, slim stature with tan skin and long dark hair pulled into a braid. Their eyes blaze with intensity.

BIO:  W’s origins are a mystery, but their ruthless personality and nimble flying skills hint at a criminal past, perhaps as a pirate.

That, and the fact that they dubbed the royal vessel “The Corsair” only strengthens these suspicions.

The crew speculates that the superior who placed W in command of the ship owes a great debt to them, for only that could explain such an unorthodox pick for a captain.

W does not speak a word, but uses a combination of hand gestures and, on occasion, an electronic keypad to relay instructions. But most often a mere look is enough to send the crew scrambling to action. Because when W is angry, that often leads to one less crew member…and more work for the rest!

**@MoneyPlaneIdol's submission**

NAME: Benoit Arnault

AGE: 57

CALL SIGN: Easy Rider

MOTTO: Ça plane pour moi

DESCRIPTION: An gaunt Frenchman with a thin uneven mustache curled at the tips and sitting atop an affable smile. His weathered features and unkempt uniform take a back seat to his cheerful demeanor. It’s also hard to miss the horseshoe tattoo under his right eye.

BIO: The thing about Benoit Arnault is that he doesn’t seem like much of a captain. He doesn’t weed out problems in his crew before they go sour and end in a fistfight. His Captain’s uniform is never crisp, and most days he rolls out of bed at noon, give or take an hour. He’d never been much of a strategist either. The thing Benoit appears to have though is an obscene bit of luck. His commands are questionable, and sometimes ridiculous but they always seem to keep the crew alive another day. He may be a coward. He may be an odd duck. He may even be a secret savant. All I know is, there are a whole host of ways to die a horrible death on a strange planet, so serving under Benoit’s command is a very sought after post.

**@aj.trevor's submission**

NAME: Barbara “Barb” Starh

AGE: 48

CALL SIGN: Super Nova

MOTTO: “You either lead, follow, or get out of the f\*\*\* out of the way.”

DESCRIPTION: Short and stocky middle-aged woman, with broad shoulders and thick face, that make it look like she has no neck. Her dirty blonde hair and soft facial features make her seem approachable, but her dark eyes will tell you how she really feels.

BIO: Barb worked her way up to captain with hard work and dedication to the cause. Her loyalty was unquestioned, but her temperament took time to appreciate. Barb was not well-liked by her male colleagues, but they had to respect her success record. She spoke her mind and stood her ground which did not always land her on the right side of arguments, but she knew right from wrong. When dealing with her crew, she was understanding but demanded near perfection. Her Super Nova call sign was not a coincidence as she was known for her temper and often used expletives to get her point across.

**@Goldy\_TGG's submission**

NAME: Shylma Goghnar

AGE: 29

CALL SIGN: Heathen Hammer

MOTTO: "The job's not done until the final battle's won."

DESCRIPTION: A short, stocky, pale-skinned man with Viking roots. His brown-reddish hair is buzzed short on one side and long on the other side. He rocks a full beard and full-sleeve tattoos of black-ink bind runes, which run up and down both arms and tell a story about his forefathers and their glorious battles against the vicious Britons. Pock marks and scars are scattered across his body, which supposedly stem from one too many drunken knife fights and axe-throwing contests.

BIO: What if everything you dreamed were destined to come true, but nobody believed you? Driven to find truths hidden deep in his constantly recurring nightmares, Shylma is a lone wolf with wanderlust and a bit of a journeyman. His arrival in the Vessels colony is shrouded in mystery, but his reputation for flawless barrel rolls and crisp landings precedes him. Everyone knows about his dominance in the cockpit, but his constant struggles with sobriety has made it nearly impossible for him to befriend other Vessels in the colony. A slave to the 'wacky tobaccy' known as Black Pollen, Shylma can't stop himself from partaking and spending countless hours scribbling runic notes on parchment. He's trying to unravel the hidden mysteries of the universe on the dead winds of hope. If only someone would take the time to listen....

**Winner**

@Loki won Challenge 002 and the honor of having their entry join the Vessels universe. @Loki's Captain, Flatline, appeared as Vessels 154!

## **003 - Lord Snootypants**

The third Vessels fanfic challenge concluded July 30th, 2021 (8:30PM BST)

**Prompt**

*"What part of the Colony does Lord Snootypants lord over? What significance does the skull atop his head have? What sort of favors is he dealing behind the scenes?"*

**Submissions**

Challenge 003 had 4 community entries, with @Chandrew, @Taniaaa, @MoneyPlaneIdol, and @Goldy\_TGG contributing!

**@Chandrew's submission**

1. Raised and still currently overseeing the red light district in the slums, the community nicknamed him Lord Snootypants due to his obnoxious stuffy attitude.

2. The skull is an attempt to provoke strength and fear. If you look closely, it’s actually a well made paper mâché.

3. Snootypants deals in trafficking difficult to procure creature materials from outside the walls to the wealthy to stay in power.

**@Taniaaa's submission**

Deep inside, Lord Snootypants knows that being Lord of the Poxis not nearly as prestigious as being Lord of the Upper Glass, but he’ll never admit it. A lord is still a lord, after all.

Dressed like a prince, and surrounded by his impressive entourage, he roams the gambling halls and brothels with an air of pride as though they were banquet halls and theatre domes instead. The smell of his acrid perfume made from crushed banesuckle is enough to announce his presence, but woe be the person who wrinkles his nose at the sight of him.

Lord Snootypants once carried a golden monkey named Oro around with him everywhere, nestled in the crook of his arm. He could often be seen whispering into the ear of his precious pet and tying little notes to his tail to deliver to wealthy patrons of the Poxis. Sometimes these were invitations for private liasons in his Lordship’s bedchamber. Sometimes they were threats to sway the outcome of certain games. Oftentimes it was both at once.

Such a glittering presence Oro had amongst the dinge and scum of the Poxis, it was hard to ignore his sudden absence. Yet no one was brave enough to ask Lord Snootypants what had become of the little creature, especially after the Lord began sporting a tiny skull upon his head, as smooth and polished as an egg…

His good luck token, he would say, rubbing the skull fondly before an important horse race. His little charm.

**@MoneyPlaneIdol's submission**

Lord Snootypants had always hoped to join the ranks of high society on the new colony, though his upbringing was far from it. Growing up poor left a distaste in his mouth and an urge to be as far from it as possible. Through careful maneuvering and an unfortunate accident involving a business colleague and a combine harvester he found himself in control of a large share of the booming agricultural annex as well as a portion of the Vessel Colony Bazaar. He’d always hated the slums he came from, and the Snootypants moniker stuck as he chose to be carried around in a palanquin rather than associate with any of the 'local rubbish'.

Despite all the expensive finery, there was the curious case of the skull that adorned his brow. Rumors have said that it’s the skull of his long dead business partner or maybe even a former lover, though the forensics wouldn’t match that claim. Growing up the little lord had a pet monkey named Java that didn’t survive the encounter with a Dagger Wolf that had found its way into the colony.  Poor Java never stood a chance. Let it serve as a humble reminder that there are creatures that seek to do us harm if we’re not careful. Lord Snootypants always considered himself the Dagger Wolf in that story.

Behind the scenes, Lord Snootypants has been quietly acquiring additional land, holdings, and businesses through subsidiaries under the name of his associates. When the time is right, he’ll quietly fold them into his own enterprise and finally have the assets and wealth to ruin that awful woman Duchess Rockafella who once made a nasty comment about his attire at a dinner party. Never let a grudge go to waste.

**@Goldy\_TGG's submission**

Some of us are able to let things go. Others simply can't cope with the fact that we all must come to pass.

Rumors have been swirling throughout the colony for years that the brash and desolate Lord Snootypants loves his pets a little too much. But nobody knows for sure what type of pet would have been so cherished, so genuinely revered by our Lord, that its skull ended up on top of his head. So if you ask me, I believe it's something deeper. Something darker. Something a bit too sinister to speak about in front of our children.

Amidst all of the rumors, one thing we do know for sure: You don't become a Lord without a Lady. And when marriages are secretly consecrated, hidden from the masses, these shadows of the great unknown lead people to assume all kinds of things.

You see ... that skull isn't a pet. It's the Lord's one and only lover that he was cursed to destroy in silence -- before she could destroy his family name and his legacy of fame. Pure genetics are only for the gifted, but death comes for us all. And when the former doesn't work out, the latter may come swifter than you think.

**Winner**

@Taniaaa won Challenge 003 and was awarded Vessels 115: 'Beetle' Mech Pilot!

## **004 - Waste Disposal Dude**

Submissions for the 4th Vessels challenge closed August 6th, 2021 (8:30PM BST).

**Prompt**

*"What kind of waste is this Dude taking out today? Why the military-grade gear? How did he end up working in waste disposal, and what would he rather be doing?"*

**Submissions**

Challenge 004 received 5 submissions from the Vessels community, with @Chandrew, @Flyghor, @Eris, @MoneyPlaneIdol, and @Taniaaa contributing.

**@Chandrew's submission**

1. He's named Waste Disposal Dude for a good reason. Mutated at birth, his body is unable to regulate its own internal systems so he needs the military-grade gear to dispose of his waste and convert it to nutrients. 2. His suit served as a prototype for long duration engagements outside the walls in the most hazardous zones. 3. He'd much rather be living a normal life without having to rely on technology, but has dedicated himself to military waste disposal research in hopes of improving his own livelihood.

**@Flyghor's submission**

There’s a perfect time for waste disposal. It’s early in the morning, when it’s too late for the bad guys to be patrolling, and too early for the good ones to see what you are doing. Today’s biologicals. Unused, expired meds. Magic concoctions, needles, hazardous materials. A very special waste category, which needs specific containers to prevent contaminations or robbery. Only waste disposal personnel can passepartout through them. And you never know what you can find inside one.

Collecting garbage? More like collecting treasures. Some crooked royals and higher ups in the social stratum know what’s going on, but most of the colony is unaware of how most drugs and enhancers reach the black market. It’s a closed, rich trade and if one is literally feet deep in it, it’s better to be geared up for protection. Not only against biological hazards and mutagens - a G2 would suffice for that - but against gangs, pirates, and the occasional gunner well, a G5 is never enough. And if you are in waste disposal, corpses are not an issue.

W.D.17 was born waste disposal. Not officially, but a kid needs to eat. Talent came later. And even if he didn’t want it, he’ll probably continue doing this for the rest of his life. His short life. You see, he didn’t always own G rated armor. As a kid, he went bare handed in the great garbage piles. Contamination is in his bones now, too late to get it out. But there’s still time for a final act. He is tired of all the corruption and greed, of all the inequality and hardship poor people need to go through every day, while royals and mobsters enjoy luxury. He has been collecting money and materials from the black market for years now, and he’s ready to rig and bomb royal ships and villas.

**@Eris's submission**

It’s a waste of time, man. You never gonna find it. — said a young man poorly dressed with rags, his mocking voice muffled by a gas mask. Through the scratched glass of the mask, he stares at that silent person wearing military-grade gear, tirelessly scavenging the most recently fallen-out-of-the-sky pile of trash.

— Today is the 3rd, right? — asked an anthropomorphic lobster-like creature, just behind the younger one, with a harsher and somewhat older voice. — That’s royal garbage, WDD’s favorite. Ahem, ours as well, but not for the same reasons.

— Yeah. WDD mumbles all night about some shit about a brooch of the court. — said the young man, moving his eyes away from “Waste Disposal Dude” - how the garbage community always referred to that peculiar figure - to the garbage pile in front of himself. — I mean, yeah, sure, someone can accidentally trash something like that, but what are the odds? Sweet! - the young man raises something from the pile, apparently a fancy energy cell, hopefully not entirely depleted.

— The elders tell stories about WDD. — Lobster-like creature, apparently invulnerable to the waste disposal toxic environment, made a brief pause to gather the story together — That armor is actually old, 60 years perhaps, long before you were born and when I was larval. Mid-rank officers used something similar, never allowed to take it off and stuff, much more intimidating than that worn-out shit, certainly. They say one day, a nobleman experimented with some brainwash methods on those officers and ordered them some impossible tasks to test how long they would try. Almost all of them eventually broke out of the brainwash. Guess who didn’t?

— Damn shiiiit. — young man’s tools read the fancy energy cell: it’s empty. — Yeah, yeah, alright, just as I said, never gonna find it.

The lobster-like creature realizes the young man was not that interested in the story. He guesses WDD would rather be anywhere but there. Perhaps WDD had a family somewhere in the capital. He’d never know.

**@MoneyPlaneIdol's submission**

In the morning, Zahra woke up and stifled a massive yawn. She was a mouse of a woman with jet black hair streaked with red. She lived in modest raised housing in the Mapleborough district of the colony, which was better than most of her colleagues. After some stretches and a bit of washing up it was off to work. A quick look in the mirror, a deep breath and a smile before getting suited up and into her new role.

Not a lot of people were eager to take the job of waste disposal on the colony. The work was tough, the sun was hot, and doubly so when you were trapped in a tin can. That armor had some pros though. It protected you from the byproducts of the terraforming that had come to a screeching halt. It also saved you the trouble of a clinic visit when some royal prick’s used needle pricked you.

When she initially signed up, they didn’t have VC-Di22 armor that could fit her for the job. With that she decided that she didn’t plan on working a single day cleaning up waste for those rich assholes anyway. She did like the way the suit looked though. She eventually came across an old VCM-Di13 model in the bazaar and got to work. The M in VCM stood for military, and their disposal unit mostly worked with bodies. Fine with her.

With some careful modifications, she was able to adjust the power suit internally to fit her frame. She couldn’t raise herself up far enough to see out of the led visor and was stuck seeing out of the mesh neck instead. Those red eyes atop her head still looked intimidating and with some careful practice it quickly became a breeze to maneuver with the mods.

She’d always fancied herself a mech pilot, fighting in the Grand Tournament. When she was younger, she studied well outside of normal school hours on operation of vehicles she wouldn’t be able to sit in for years. Once she got to academy training they had to put wood blocks on the pedals for her. The bullying was relentless. As much as she didn’t want to quit, she did. It’s tough being a kid. That resentment bubbled up to the surface more than she cared to admit. Operating the suit felt like being a mech pilot of sorts for her, and gave her the cover of military personnel throughout the colony.

Taking the suit for a drive, often aimlessly, she became simply known as the friendly neighborhood ‘Waste Disposal Dude’. Strangely enough, some rich asshole approached WDD and offered him a retainer. There was always demand for hired muscle. She didn't have a job, and without a voice modulator, she simply nodded. Later that night she quickly installed it and was able to make some weapons modifications that you’d be hard pressed to find a trash collector needing.

Today’s job could be tough one, an eviction of sorts. Some self-professed warlock in Shade Harbor had missed more than a few months of rent. Rich people hate when you don’t pay them. Her employer had said ‘bring them to me dead or alive’. It sounded hyperbolic, but rumors of colonists gaining explosive new powers swirled and you could never be too careful. It was still cheesy. She hated when her employer said 'dead or alive', as if she had some choice in the outcome. Once she was barking orders through the voice mod of the helmet, it was up to her mark if they wanted to listen or eat a bullet.

As she approached Shade Harbor, Zahra’s mind wandered. She pictured her name in lights, the fame and glory of being in the tournament. As much as she loved WDD and the suit, she wished she could just be herself. She felt exhausted hiding both personas from the people in her life.

Once outside the broken tenement she she took a deep breath and scowled under the armor. Those earlier musings lingered. Stupid distracting thoughts she shoved down deep as she kicked in the door and saw the warlock scramble for cover. It can be hard leading a double life.

**@Taniaaa's submission**

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Gonny was never supposed to be just another waste disposal dude. He had talent, for crying out loud.

Ever since he was a small boy he had dreams of being on the big holoscreen—and for a while it all seemed within reach. He was blessed with the looks to be a star, and though his physique was strong, his soft manicured hands weren’t accustomed to this hard work of transporting toxic waste from a future retail development site.

At least he had the suit. Heavy and uncomfortable though it could be, it at least afforded him some protection from the disgusting radioactive waste he had to shovel into the grumbling dump-tanks.

The suit was supposed to have temperature control too, but sweat pooled inside nonetheless. Terrible for the pores.

Gonny had been up for a big role; his big break. He was slated to play the part of the protagonist’s coworker at a junk-processing plant in the slums. The film was a big and juicy action adventure about the hero’s discovery of his latent powers. It had war and sacrifice and a beautiful gal: all the good stuff.

So fine, Gonny wasn’t the lead, but he was basically the right-hand man and that was good enough for him. He figured he’d dig into the role a bit. Do some method acting like the big players.

He signed up for this lousy waste-disposal gig, figuring it’d give him the chops he needed to really play the part. He only meant to do it for a day or two, tops. He’d never held a blue-collar job before and he needed to understand his character, a man down on his luck but someone a hero could count on.

Hell, who knows, maybe the director would even recognize the lengths Gonny went to for the role. Maybe he’d see leading man potential. Anything was possible in Holo-wood.

What Gonny didn’t expect was to be trapped here, playing a part he couldn’t escape. The job, it turned out, was binding. The suit was too. The minute he put it on, something just wasn’t right.

He couldn’t take it off. At first he figured it was a malfunctioning model, but when he tried to raise his concerns, his supervisor just laughed coldly.

Looking around, Gonny could now see the mechanical, plodding way the other waste disposal dudes moved as they did their work. They looked more machine than men, and Gonny began to understand.

This was the last role he’d ever play.

**Winner**

Jake simply couldn't pick a winner for Challenge 004, so he ran a poll on Twitter to decide between the top 4 entries! @MoneyPlaneIdol was selected by the community and received Vessels 120, "The Standoff", a story beat 1/1.

## **005 - The Queen's Jester**

Submissions for The Queen's Jester Challenge were due by September 6th, 2021 (6:30 AM BST).

**Prompt**

*"How did the jester get this job? What happened to the previous Queen's jester? Simply put, what's in it for him?"*

**Submissions**

Challenge 005 received 4 submissions from the Vessels community, with @Chandrew, @HdaoMaxi, @Flyghor, and @MoneyPlaneIdol contributing.

**@Chandrew's submission**

To secure his deep cover role, this assassin "retired" the previous Queen's Jester. Executing an intricate multi-year plan out of spite to get back at the British wanker, the King, who slept with his wife and daughter, the Jester hopes to cause dissent within the royal family and expose the King's sleazy ways.

**@HdaoMaxi's submission**

Jester 273 used to be the captain of an infamous pirate crew, known to terrorize and loot even the largest cities. After an effort that lead to the death of countless soldiers the Queen finally managed to capture him and sentence him to death. Even up to the moment of the execution he never lost his pirate's pride and never submitted to anyone! When prompted by the executioner about his final wish he exclaimed in a sarchastic tone 'a little kiss on me forehead ta wish me good night ya stinkin' bastard'. This amused the twisted queen so much she stopped the execution, beheaded her previous jester on the spot and took him in as the new Queen's Jester.

Just like the previous jester he too will face the same fate once the Queen finds a more amusing toy to play with, and until then he will live a life without pride.

**@Flyghor's submission**

It was not the first time for Henry.

The thrill was still there though, as high and fresh as that first, timid knife stab. He had come a long way since. His assassinations always more precise, always more silent, always more… risky. The first prey was just a friend of his, an invite for an innocent game between children has been enough. Then there was his teacher, then his parents, then… too many to count. He wanted more.

He began researching the highest profile people of the Colony, and he managed to kill each and every one of them, one by one. Well, not ALL of them. The Queen seemed like an impossible hit. No matter the amount of research, the security service of the Queen was just perfect. One day Henry was returning home, walking alone by the usual alleys. That's when he encountered that damn Jester. He was not wearing his costume, but Henry had spent so many hours looking at that face as a way to get to the Queen that he couldn't be mistaken. It was almost sunset, and Henry was ready to kill again.

The Queen and their service were too busy to notice any difference in their clumsy, poor Jester face. Henry was wearing some fake beard and mustache, and the color of the costume was hiding the blood stains from the other day. He slipped into the Palace without any issues, past the guards, straight into the Throne Room. He bowed to the Queen, smiling, grinning.

It was not the first time for Henry. But, maybe, this was his last.

**@MoneyPlaneIdol's submission**

Few knew who he was before he was the Queen’s Jester, but Pumagalli didn’t mind, he barely knew himself. He was pretty sure that wasn’t even his real name. He thought he was once a scholar of sorts and had read dizzying manuscripts of the occult, even venturing in search of what he had only read about. After that everything becomes a bit 'fuzzy'.  Monsters stalked his dreams; terrifying beings that defied reason and when he awoke, he found himself in the queen’s dungeon. Oh! Sure. They tortured him, put him in the stocks, ripped out his toenails, whatever it took to make him divulge the secrets that he himself had lost in his own fevered dreams. He assumed they failed to find the answers they sought because they simply wouldn’t leave him be.

The vicious profanity laden rants that he didn’t remember having gave the guards quite the laugh he was told. So much so that when the 8th queen’s jester made light of her vicious demeanor, he was quickly met with that demeanor. Guess the queen didn’t find it funny but he did prove his point, with his life. Hard to put a head back on the neck once it’s gone for a little roll. It’s also hard to get the blood out of silks and find court jesters apparently. Straight from the stocks into the bloody frock of that last imbecile. It may not be freedom, but it did come with perks. Oh, what fun! He could finally throw jabs at those awful nobles and their stupid smirks and best laid machinations that he could see right through.

He had quite the routine. A spilled drink on dandy lord, a gentle ribbing of the stockier of the queen’s bodyguard twins, then a subtle threat leveled at the whole party. You know, the typical, 'Slumbering monster gods below would consume their souls, nay the entire settlement' type of threat. Nothing too crazy. Shocked gasps and hushed murmurs were the perfect sonata, then he’d crash into a waiter set to refill the wine glasses. That sweet music of uproarious laughter would greet him as a finale. He had the freedom to finally lash out so long as he never lobbed insults at the queen herself. It was the only way to keep his head on. What was left of it anyway.

**Winner**

@HdaoMaxi won Challenge 005 and was awarded their choice from Vessels 131-135! They chose Vessels 135: Tournament Promoter as a 1/1 and Vessels 131: 'Doc' as a 10/10.

## **006 - Tusk's Challenge**

Submissions for the 6th Vessels Fanfic challenge closed September 20, 2021 (6:30am BST).

**Prompt**

*"Describe a creature that the Big Game Hunters like to hunt. This is a whole new alien world, go wild!"*

**Submissions**

Challenge 006 ended with 4 entries from the community, with @KOBRA, @Eris, @MoneyPlaneIdol, and @Taniaaa contributing.

**@KOBRA's submission**

Tusk can hunt and kill anything. So when he’s hunting for sport, he prefers the danger and challenge of going after Megafauna.

Today, Tusk has set out to hunt the Great Swamp Hog. Great Swamp Hogs are actually not related to pigs, but rather it’s a gigantic alligator with a barrel shaped body. It also has a much shorter, rounder mouth. Between the two features, it looks more like a Hog than this swamps Apex predator. At nearly twenty tons and 13 feet long, it’s a massive target.

Great Swamp Hogs are fiercely territorial and they kill for sport. Dangerous though it may be, the hunt is simple. No need to find the Great Swamp Hog. Step foot on their territory and they will find you.

Tusk may not have any trouble locating his prey, but he will work to kill it. The giant beast is known for it’s armor like hide and otherworldly strength. Tusk has a special weapon, but even that requires a critical strike to the neck in order to be fatal. The battle will take several hours as the only way to land such a blow is to force the Great Swamp Hog to fight to the point of exhaustion. Only this creates an opportunity to strike a death blow.

Normally, hunting Megafauna like the Great Swamp Hog requires a full team and special equipment. Even then, hunters should expect their expedition to be deadly. Tusk does his Megafauna hunts solo, and for fun.

**@Eris's submission**

"Among all the creatures of the Megafauna, there is no deadlier hunt than the Nephorantula, a fearsome and fatal arachnid that makes its home in colossal, dense sulfur clouds that form around the highest mountains of regions with intense volcanic activity. Reaching 10 feet long with their legs extended, Nephorantulas have gray bodies covered with toxic yellowish fur, which is also helpful for camouflage in their natural habitat. Their bodies are slender and agile. Their tarsi at the ends of their legs have adapted over centuries to allow them to float in clouds of sulfur. Their golden webs are smoother than the smoothest of silks, and it is believed that they tied the clouds to the mountains. They are magnificent, valuable, worthy of royal ornaments, which is why hunters hunt Nephorantulas and eventually die from the bite of their sulfuric acid chelicerae. The weak point of Nephorantulas is their weak constitution: a well-placed shot to the head will kill them, and so will a sharp blow with a melee weapon, but be sure not to let the fur touch your skin. If they do, run away, or nausea will turn the hunter into the hunted.

Almost all the advantages are on the side of the Nephorantula, hunter, so think carefully before you move on. The air in their habitat is oxygen-poor, and Nephorantulas never walk alone; on the contrary, their offspring are numerous, and you will almost never encounter just one on your hunt. If you want the best golden webs, you will have to harvest them directly from a nest. It is impossible to approach a nest without proper equipment to glide through the sea of clouds, just as the Nephorantulas do. The battlefield is still a cloud, and you don't want to free-fall or let the valuable webs fly away with the wind. If you want a hunt that relies on brute force and firepower, I can suggest hundreds of others.

However, these valuable webs require, in addition to everything you are as a hunter, the dexterity of a Galactic Circus aerial skater, the quick and wide perception of compound-eyed species, and the precision of an atomic watchmaker. A real challenge."

Tusk's smile upon hearing those words had only one meaning: "Challenge accepted!"

**@MoneyPlaneIdol's submission**

Tusk liked his Megafauna hunts solo, and for fun. He'd never seen a dragon but he was sure he could kill that easily. He got bit by that boreal coral hisser but that wasn’t fair, he was sleeping off one hell of a drunken rampage. Tusk knew that any creature he came in contact was afraid of him. Only one creature he'd fought and not come away with the hide though. Sorta like his white whale. Like that dumb book he'd never read. You know the one. That damn Gennabakas Harpy still eluded him.

11 feet tall and running on two chicken legs, the rest of the beast’s torso resembled a beautiful woman with the wings of an eagle. You know, like one of those creatures you’d see in one of those old greek stories. Fast and smart, with wings that stretched 30 feet across, the harpy also came decked out in fascinating scale armor that covered all but the eyes. This also happened to include the feathers somehow, which cut like razor wire.

Tusk always wondered who fashioned it. He’d heard maybe they were born that way. Seemed stupid though, born in armor like a coward. He figured a side step and a blade right where the shoulder met the neck should put it down in a hurry but with no gaps in that armor his sword clanged off and he found himself met with a deafening screech that even to this day rang loud on quiet nights. Doctors called it tinnitus. Doctors were stupid, that bird witch cursed him.

Laying on the ground, blood dripping out of your ears with a screaming bird woman over you is not an ideal situation. She wasn’t that ugly to look at though, until she unhinged her jaw. Pink flesh, perfect for a sword. He loved when he could identify a weak spot. Silly Tusk just leap into the air and ram the sword down her throat.

Rolling out of the way as she lunged, he popped up to her side and leapt high, drawing this blade back and thrusting swiftly. The blade sounded off a muffled clang against her armored jaw and sent her staggering. Almost had her. As he landed, she spun and he was met with a swipe of her right wing that left deep gouges along his back, sending him sprawling onto his stomach. Her jaw must’ve been dislodged on the swing though, he felt something snap and it hung loose like an old sock on a door knob.

With that she took flight. A dot in the sky as Tusk rolled over to watch her disappear against a blinding sun. Filled with dirt, those cuts stung worse than the initial blow, and day turned to night as he drifted into a brief blackout. Close one. Guess next time he'd bring a crew. He’d never beat a Gennabakas Harpy, but he hadn’t lost neither.

**@Taniaaa's submission**

It was both a blessing and a curse when a herd of silvertongue knifebacks passed through the boy’s tribal territory. A blessing because the meat from just one of the gargantuan creatures was enough to feed his tribe for a month: roasted marrow and tender stews and meat jerky and succulent lard. The boy salivated just thinking of it! And it wasn’t just the food. The bones and hide would provide tools and clothing for all. The boy was quickly outgrowing his old rags made from the fur of a mangy wild cat. He wanted to dress like a man, in quilled knifeback armor that gleamed in the sun.

Yet it was also a curse when the giants appeared because certain death awaited many of the tribespeople who dared to join the hunt. The boy was an orphan because of those stupid knifebacks and he swore he’d take one down one day singlehandedly and avenge his parents. Whenever he said this, the other kids would laugh and jeer. Well, he’d show them!

For the past two days the tribal council had been holding meetings, strategizing for the next hunt. There wasn’t much time before the knifebacks would take flight and migrate north to the mountains, far out of reach. For now, the beasts were gathered by the hot springs, eating every creature in sight and destroying the surrounding vegetation with their sharp quills and powerful wings as they fought one another other for every scrap and morsel. They were quick to anger, and especially dangerous because of it.

The boy took advantage of the adults being distracted by their tiresome meetings to slip away and do some of his own reconnaissance. He slipped through the trees, using every skill his father had ever taught him to move as quietly as a mouse. Not even a single twig snapped beneath his feet as he climbed and crawled through the undergrowth to where six knifebacks were sunning on the flat stones surrounding the hot springs. Their heavy breaths rumbled through the air, vibrating the leaves on every branch.

The boy was brave, he really was, but seeing the creatures this close made him tremble uncontrollably. He was shorter than the smallest talon on a single foot! And the smell! His senses were flooded with the pungent odor of blood and musk. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t notice the strange fellow who suddenly appeared next to him. He was a tall man clad in bone-like armor, and a helmet crafted from the tusks of some wild animal. He gave the boy a conspiring grin.

“Big, aren’t they?” he whispered. “I do like a challenge.”

“W-who-“ the boy stammered.

“The name’s Tusk. Now, watch and learn.”

With a single graceful movement, the mysterious man leapt into the clearing. The boy gasped. The man was insane! Or suicidal! Or both!

The enormous beasts barely had a chance to react as Tusk danced acrobatically between them, his swords gleaming. The metal clanged off the thick hide of one knifeback, barely making a mark, but enraging it all the same. It turned to bite the man, but he had already rolled away and the creature instead gnashed down upon the tail of another knifeback whom the stranger had riled up as well. Chaos ensued, and the creatures began fighting one another in their bloodthirsty rage to be the first to devour Tusk who continued to dart and weave between them, taunting them with his blades. Trees fell as their long quills sliced through them, and blood flew through the air. The boy lost sight of Tusk, and for a moment he thought he might have been eaten. But then he appeared again, grinning like a mad man amidst the bloody melee.

The boy could barely believe his eyes as, one by one, each creature fell to the ground, causing the ground to tremor.

And then all was silent as Tusk stood in the center of the fallen knifebacks, slick with blood that wasn’t his own. Was he some sort of demon? How was this possible?

“That was fun,” Tusk said, using a sword to cut a quill from the back of the one of the beasts. He tossed it to the boy, who almost collapsed under its weight. “It’s thanks to you,” he added. “I perform best when there’s an audience.”

And without another word he leapt off into the jungle, disappearing from sight.

The boy stood there, clutching the quill to his body. Nobody from his tribe would believe him if he told them what he had seen.

So he decided he might as well take the credit!

**Winner**

@Taniaaa won Tusk's Challenge and her creature, the SILVERTONGUED KNIFEBACK, was enshrined in the Vessels universe as Vessels 148! All participants were awarded a token, with the remaining tokens being raffled off and @Taniaaa earning a share of the sales!

## **007 - A Good Old Fashioned Bar Fight**

The seventh fanfic challenge started October 11, 2021. The submission deadline was October 14, 2021 (8 PM BST).

**Prompt**

*"If you wanted a pub that catered to the hardest people in the Vessel colony, The Fisherman's Robot is your most likely destination. Last night there was one hell of a blood brawl at the Fisherman's Robot. Thing is, I was in a bit of a bad way and blacked out before the whole row went down. Mind filling me in?*

*1) Who started the bar fight*

*2) Who from the Vessel Colony threw down?*

*3) What happened next and who won?"*

**Submissions**

Challenge 007 ended with 5 submission from the community, with @valkyr, @Flyghor, @Taniaaa, @Zxamyri, and @Eris contributing.

**@valkyr's submission**

Angry Jane came to; the sound of rough footsteps and creaking wood ushered her back. The aroma of spirits and grime that permeated the Fisherman’s Robot hit next and she suppressed a groan. Nothing felt broken...a good sign. Jane felt icy tingling receding from her fingers and toes, like her hands and feet had fallen asleep. She snapped her eyes open. Looming directly above her was the impassive visage of Cyber Punk Doorman, with half a dozen, much less imposing, Vessel Security Force officers, milling around behind him throughout the Robot. The warm yellow light of the lantern sconces bathed the room.

Jane darted her eyes away from Doorman’s unflinching gaze and stole a quick glance around the room. She smirked as she saw two crumpled forms, lying in a heap in the ruins of a table. Those two had been easy to dispatch; they had been on the brink of fighting the entire night, trading tales of scrapes, conquests, and daring adventures that seemed to generate little rewards, but plentiful scars. A pair of VSF medics were picking their way toward them, kicking bits of chair and table top fragments out of the way.

The wooden fixtures were part of the charm of Fisherman’s Robot, evoking the memories of a distant home, but they seemed so impractical after nights like this. Too easily broken when things got heated and difficult to clean to boot. The wood seemed to capture scents, preserving and absorbing the memories of the patrons of the Fisherman’s Robot. And where were the proprietors, those eerie Pix Twins, sourcing replacement furniture? Genuine wood was near impossible to find these days and a shipment would usually guarantee at least a year’s wages for a successful crew. Perhaps there was more to this place than appearances might suggest.

Jane’s musings were interrupted by a polite cough from Cyber Punk Doorman. “What have you gotten yourself into now, V-”

“We agreed not to use those names while we’re here, Cy,” she curtly interrupted. “Just Jane. Plain Jane. Anything will do so long as you don’t call me ‘Angry Jane’. Ironically, that would make me...irritated.” She glowered at Cy, then softened into a soft smile as she brushed her raven hair behind her ear. “Help me up and I’ll tell you what I remember before I wound up lying here.”

Cyber Punk Doorman, or Cy as the regulars of The Fisherman’s Robot referred to him, returned Jane’s smile, his visor hiding any conflicting feelings he might have had. He extended a gauntleted hand and helped Jane to her feet, ushering her onto a stool. “Yes, please do Jane. The officers have already started taking statements. No doubt one will be around shortly.”

He motioned to the VSF personnel, now dispersing throughout the bar. The Pix Twins were behind the Robot’s bar, taking turns talking to a tall, lanky VSF officer. The officer was frantically looking back and forth as the Twins took turns cleaning glasses, organizing bottles of spirits, and wiping down the bar. They seamlessly exchanged tasks, with the other picking up the sentence precisely where the first left off.

Jane did not know their names and she wasn’t even certain they were twins, or even related. They did seem to have a connection, be it familial or otherwise. Fortunately, one was never without his golden mask. She much preferred dealing with him than his horned counterpart. They were extremely odd, but they never pressured Jane to pay her tab and they employed Cy to keep the riffraff out, so she supposed she liked them well enough, albeit cautiously.

In the heap of broken tables and chairs, the medics had extricated the two men and were joined by a pair of diminutive VSF officers. The roused men each looked a little worse for the wear, but Jane had some difficulty telling which of their scars and bruises came from the night’s festivities and those they had brought with them. The shirtless Brawler lit a cigarette and eyed the bald man with disdain as they began responding to the VSF. Jane didn’t remember either of their names, but had a vague recollection of his tales of adventure involving lots of fire and scars.

In the opposite corner of the room, Jane saw a nervous-looking younger man clutching a clipboard, nodding submissively as he listened to a powerful Beast Slayer, as his carapace-like armor denoted. This one in particular, Garr, was relatively unknown to Jane, having only recently started frequenting The Fisherman’s Robot. She had heard him talking with the Pix a few times and he must have been a capable hunter - the Order was always so meticulous in evaluating those eager to join their ranks. Garr had obviously done enough to earn renown as Beast Slayer; the only hunters she had heard of with more power and influence were Dragon Hunters. Jane had never seen a Dragon Hunter in person, but she knew of the exploits of Dragon Hunter Idol as well as anyone who had visited the Vessel. It was hard not to, what with the constant holoreel news alerts and special features.

Jane had always found it hard to believe that anyone so widely celebrated could actually be worthy of the acclaim and she found herself quickly becoming sick of seeing Idol’s cheery face blasted in her news feed unbidden. The holoreels always praised the Order’s champions, who were always cheery men, cleanly coiffed with armour and weapons sparking. Figureheads. Never women, Jane venomously noted. To Garr’s credit, he at least looked the part of a warrior. And she had never seen his face plastered on holoscreens, so he must have to work for a living.

Garr looked up from the skittish VSF officer and locked eyes with Jane. Her lethal gaze didn’t seem to phase him. Garr turned away from the officer and raised his hand, signaling to the man to pause. He then offered a deep bow in Jane’s direction, crossing his armored fists in front of him pointing toward the ground. After straightening to his full height, Garr flashed Jane a respectful smile and turned back to the officer. The man hurriedly began taking notes again, his head bobbing enthusiastically.

“He honors you, Jane. That sign is generally reserved as a sign of respect between members of the Order, to signify a well-fought duel or after an impressive sparring session. He sees you as an equal on the battlefield.” remarked Cy.

“Heh.” Jane scoffed. “I wouldn’t expect anyone from the Order to acknowledge the presence of a woman unless he was trying to woo her. And hang on - the battlefield? Surely he’s never seen me fight.”

Cy shrugged, but he pulled at his moustache absently as he looked back and forth between Garr and Jane. “Please, Jane. What happened?”

“It was all Blue’s fault!” Jane exclaimed. “And where is he, by the way? He must have snuck out before the fuzz arrived. That smug bastard. I can’t wait until I get my hands on him. Did you see him leave, Cy?”

“No, Jane.” There was a twinge at the corner of Cy’s mustachioed mouth. The visor betrayed no other emotion, but there was a hint of anxiety in his voice.

“Ugh. Well anyway, he’s the one who started all this. You see those two distinguished gentlemen with all the bruises and scars?” She inclined her head toward the men. “Blue did his usual routine with them. He came in soft and eager, with wide eyed admiration, asking them to recount their most daring adventures. But we both know, behind that fresh-faced mask, a cunning scoundrel is always scheming.

Once he got them talking, he started feeding them drink after drink. They got rowdy, trying to outdo each other with tales of dragons and all manner of beasts on worlds far from here. They were at each other’s throats multiple times, but Blue always managed to distract them, asking for a detail here, praising there. They came up with the wildest stories - fighting Wendigos on Old Earth? Narrowly escaping an Oracle Fish with a cache of Oracle eggs? Utter nonsense.

He wound them up tight like a spring, getting them fully drunk and pliable. Then he turned them on me. You’ve heard the rumors recently, haven’t you Cy? Hauls coming back weeks behind schedule, if at all. Entire crews missing. Whispers of the ‘Deep One’ coming, although none of the stories describe the same thing. Everyone is on edge, fearing these monstrous phantoms out in the Deep. Well Blue thought it would be funny if he harnessed that terror to harass me.

He told them I was possessed by a ‘Deep One’ and that whoever freed me from its influence could earn my devotion and love. He said the influence was at its weakest at night and that they could free with a kiss, but if they weren’t careful I’d destroy them. I’m not sure if they thought I’m hiding tentacles underneath my cloak or what, but they believed him! These drunk idiots, wrapped in the fiction of their own heroics, thought they could make me their prize.

I tried to keep cool. I tried, Cy. But they wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t listen to reason and had the nerve to get mad at me when I wouldn’t oblige their advances. It was so annoying. I went around and around with them forever it seemed like, but I decided to try and convince them I needed a show of strength. They could battle for my affection.”

Jane gestured to the destruction surrounding the men. “Clearly it worked...a little too well. The bald one must have smuggled in a grenade or something, because the last thing I remember was a flash of green.

Now where the hell is Blue, I’m going to remind him why he gave me that fucking nickname. I swore I’d never do another deployment with him, but it might be worth it just to get a chance to push him out of an airlock.”

Before Cy could reply, a portly officer with a VSF lieutenant’s insignia interjected, “Now young woman, if you would be so gracious. We’ll have this sorted out in no time.” He was sweating already and shifting anxiously from side to side. He regarded Jane with a mixture of fear with a tiny hint of disgust. Odd, Jane thought. Men rarely reacted that way to her; usually they were far too familiar, even when she let her irritation with them show.

“Now ma’am, please put your hands on your head and turn to face the wall there.” He started fumbling with the manacles at his belt.

“Excuse me, WHAT? Why are you trying to arrest me? I just told Cy everything, this is all Blue’s fault!” Jane felt a tingle of icy fury spring to her fingertips.

Cutting Cy off with a wave of his hand, the officer responded, raising his voice and visibly trembling, “I’m sorry miss, we’ve spoken to the other patrons and they all point to you as the source of this disturbance and wreckage. No one has mentioned this ‘Blue’ character. If it weren’t for the heroic actions of Beast Hunter Garr over there, you might have killed Scarfire and Brawler. He knocked you unconscious before you could unleash...whatever it is you have in there.” He grimaced, looking at Jane, then turned a quick glance of admiration toward Garr.

Jane reached up, feeling a raised knot on the back of her head. So that’s how she ended up on the floor, but it doesn’t explain the bow. Did that idiot Beast Hunter think she was taking part in the melee? So much for the Order vetting its candidates.

She dismissed these thoughts and said, “Now officer, this just isn’t right. They harassed me, trying to kiss away the ‘Deep One’ and take me as their prize. I have a right to defend myself! It’s not my fault if they decided not to share and tore the place to pieces. Tell him, Cy. Blue snuck out of here after putting all this into motion!”

Cy shook his head softly, “I’m sorry, Jane. I haven’t seen Blue since our last haul together...over 5  years ago. I was at the door all night, no one else came in. I spoke with the Pix and Garr before you awoke and they confirmed that we 7 were the only ones here.”

“No! What do you mean?” Jane’s voice quivered.

“Miss, please. Look around you. The destruction is centered here, at your table. I’m sure we can straighten this out back at the department, but you need to come with us now.” The officer gestured his free arm at the broken tables and chairs all over the Fisherman’s Robot. Jane noticed he was telling the truth, it did seem like everything was pushed away from where she was now. In a neat circle, roughly 10 feet in diameter, the wooden furniture was untouched and unharmed. Beyond the circle, the destruction began. Tables and chairs, splintered and broken, push up against the near wall and up against the bar on the other side.

Jane shook her head in disbelief. The portly officer, now flanked by the rest of his VSF crew, stepped toward her again. “Miss, put your hands on your head and face the wall. If you don’t comply, we’ll be forced to use drastic measures.” His hand fidgeted at his belt, tracing the outline of his service weapon.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me.” The quivering was gone from Jane’s voice, replaced with a steely resolve, cold and flat. The officer drew his weapon and opened his mouth to bark another round of orders, but Jane never heard a word.

In an instant, Jane felt the tingling feeling spread back up her arms and through her chest, until it felt as if her entire body was being pelted by icy needles. This feeling then became muted, along with her other senses - Jane’s vision flattened and the The Fisherman’s Robot faded away, replaced with a faint ringing that steadily increased in volume. She became untethered from the moment, wrapped in her cold fury.

She noticed a rapid shift, but was hardly bothered by it. The faces of the VSF turned from anxious and apprehensive, to outright terror. All eyes turned toward Jane and the officers surrounding her recoiled several feet, giving Jane a wide berth. Something about the lighting in the Fisherman’s Robot had also changed, the yellow light slowly draining into a pale green, but what caused the change didn’t worry Jane. She didn’t care, so long as these buzzards would finally listen.

A cybernetic visor appeared in Jane’s field of view and the sudden grasp of powerful hands on her shoulders snapped her attention back. Cy stood before her, taking her quickly into a powerful but gentle embrace. She hardly felt the pinch of the needle this time, but the tsss of the pressurized injector was unmistakable. His sheer size and imposing figure hid the surprising deftness of his hands. Jane gave Cy a wry smile as he pulled her in, cradling her head into his chest.

“There, there sister. Let’s save that strength for a ‘Deep One’, eh?” he breathed quietly where the onlookers could not hear.

As the blackness enveloped her, Jane thought she certainly wouldn’t want to encounter a Deep One. And she didn’t feel strong.

All she felt was anger.

**@Flyghor's submission**

Toki was looking around, she was a bit lost. She has known of other worlds for a long time - AIs got that sorted out centuries ago, but physics were merciless. There was no way in the known universe to get to another civilization. Yet.. what was that portal? This world has a familiar structure to Earth, but at the same time.. so different. She knew from her training that the first step was to make some allies. But the alleys so far presented her only with walking zombies, weaklings, people plagued by the weight of an unequal social structure. Again, so different, but so similar. Where can she start?

Just as this thought was crossing her mind, she recognized the familiar structure of a 'meeting place'. The sign read "The Fisherman's Robot", and the pub was crowded with people that looked like no other. Big, strong, threatening. These are the people she was looking for. She made her way through the packed entrance, and she was in.

She has made a mistake. She instantly recognized the signs of a trap. A tall, slender guy with the face completely hidden by a black hood was looking straight at her, standing in the middle of a parted crowd. No signs of his face were visible, apart from a faint glimmer of red coming from where his eyes were supposed to be. "Well, well, well.. who do we have here?", a red fissure in his face opened to speak in a growling, rasping voice.

"Hey, Scary Dude! Check her tech, that must be valuable as..GLURG!" an anonymous voice in the crowd was suddenly silenced, followed by a strong THUD coming from the pub's pavement.

The hooded man spoke again, this time opening his hands as to show Toki her surroundings. "Welcome to the Fisherman's Robot, traveler. I know you come from far, far away.. now, do you know it is good manners to offer some gifts to the town's finest?"

Toki replied, in her characteristic computerized voice: "I sure bring many gifts. Come closer, and I'll show you". Scary Dude couldn't see most of her face, but he was sure she was.. grinning?

That was it. Scary Dude jumped at her, ready to cut her throat with one of his best, more silent and deadly moves. But something stopped him mid air: an arm, thin, but strong and firm. It was Blake - yes, the Broken - calmly but strongly keeping Scary Dude an inch away from Toki's cabled face. "Is that how you greet newcomers, Dude?" Blake spoke. The crowd was silent. Scary Dude was certainly, well, scary.. but the Broken, the Broken deserved respect. Nobody was going to go against him, not at the Fisherman's.

Scary Dude broke off in a fake, red smile. "Yeah, Blake.. you see, I was just messing around with the newcomer! Come, love.. let me buy you a drink! ..you can drink, right?" he said looking at her masked mouth.

Toki wasn't replying. Her stare was locked on something Blake was holding at his waistband. It was a display, an handheld device.. something from HER world. Her eyes met Blake's gaze. A sudden, brief glitter of a bright green came from deep behind his eyes. "He knows", she thought.

**@Taniaaa's submission**

Scarfire sighed heavily as he assessed the Fisherman’s Robot, his pride and joy. Empty now, it looked presentable enough, but each day it got harder and harder to repair the damage from the night before.

It wasn’t enough that Scarfire had to prepare the day’s stew and gather fresh ice for the brews he mixed. No, he had to make damn furniture repairs, sweep splinters and glass off the floor, and scrub blood off the walls.

He had often thought about replacing the brittle wooden furnishings with metal or plastisteel. But part of the charm of the place was its rustic old-world appearance that hearkened back to the days of Scarfire’s ancestors. So wood it was, and wood needed constant maintenance.

Sure, he could ask Lottie the barmaid to come in early and help, but the thought of having that sweet girl clean up after all that violence made Scarfire burn with shame.

The Fisherman’s Robot attracted all kinds of hard people, and the liquor flowed strong. It was no place for a girl like Lottie but, selfishly, Scarfire liked having her around to lighten up the place. She seemed to enjoy the work too…at least until things got rowdy.

Tonight, Scarfire vowed, he’d keep a tighter ship. There’d be no more of that behavior, period. He used to lead a garrison of troops, for godssake, surely he could keep things under control in his humble tavern. It was his responsibility, even though he had hired an imposing Cyber Punk Doorman to keep the riffraff out. The man did a decent job for the most part, but he couldn’t be expected to do everything. It was Scarfire’s bar, after all.

The regulars began to trickle in: Angry Jane and Garr the Beast Slayer, braying about whatever conquests they had made that day. The Brawler who always looked like he was spoiling for a fight and a stiff drink . Blue, who could barely speak a word, except to ask for his favorite brew, a Bogwood Ale. There were always a few strangers too, some hidden behind hoods or masks, who just wanted a bowl of stew and corner to, well, stew in.

Lottie arrived, cheerful as ever, but Scarfire didn’t miss the way she still flinched a little when she greeted him. He knew the jagged scars that cut across his face were intimidating. One of his eyes was milky white, its sight taken by some kind of venomous hellhound. He knew he looked like a man of war, and he wished Lottie could see past that, to the tender man that lived within.

The tavern soon filled with the sound of music and chatter and the night was going remarkably well. There were a few little scuffles over a game of cards, a few drunken swipes. Nothing the Cyber Punk Doorman couldn’t handle.

In fact, things were going so well, Scarfire decided he earned a little drink for himself. Maybe tonight he’d even get the courage to ask Lottie on a proper date, show her his tender side.

During a quiet moment he ducked below the bar to pour himself a shot glass of the really good stuff. Dragonfire Whiskey, made from actual Dragons’ blood, or so it was said. This wasn’t on the menu; it was Scarfire’s special drink, reserved just for him.

The bottle had been a gift from a mysterious old man, whom Scarfire had saved from a pirate riot during his time as a commander. “Only someone with the strength of a dragon can handle this stuff,” the man had wheezed. “Take it. Please.”

Scarfire allowed himself just one shot a day, and the bottle was getting close to empty. Where the hell would he find more?

He tipped the shot glass back, and felt the fire race down his throat into his belly, as smooth and satisfying as a desert wind from his homeland. His blood came alive, sparking like circuitry burning beneath his skin.

He could handle it tonight. He could, dammit! He had the…strength…of…a…dragon.

But, no.

Rage washed over him and Scarfire let out a howl and swept the bar clean with one swipe of his powerful arm. Glasses shattered, and Scarfire leapt over the bar in a single bound.

Several patrons screamed as they ran towards the door. Not the regulars, who held their drinks close to their chests and shook their heads at the disruption.

“Alright, I’ve been waiting for this. Let’s go!” The Brawler yelled, rolling up his sleeves eagerly.

Just before Scarfire went black-out berserk, he could see Lottie’s teary face, mouthing words.

“Not again.”

**@Zxamyri's submission**

Whisky, said him

The bar´s newcomer wore a golden mask, although the expression of the mask itself being sad, his eyes hinted that there was a void in his soul that descended to hell itself.

After a couple of minutes, the bartender placed a glass, clin clin, an ice, wolp, wolp flowed the amber liquid

The shiny fluid rose, filling half old fashion glass, a single round ice cupping most of the space ... a piece of art,

A grimace peeked through the demonic gold mask and a word came out:

Straw

(of course, he couldn't drink from the glass with that mask)

The bartender's single eye, a rabbit with an unexpected fierce appearance, stared at him, screaming in disbelief and anger.

It took 2 seconds for Pixy to be with his face in a pool of blood and a metal straw sticking out from the back of his neck ... the blood gushed out of him, another piece of art.

**@Eris's submission**

The brute put his jaw back into place. His head was spinning and his ears were ringing. His blue blood stood out from his red skin.

A few minutes ago he had entered the pub full of attitude, a feared but frustrated pirate. His increasingly famous brutality throughout the colony made everything easier and easier. All it took was a word, a gesture of intimidation. "Take it! Take what you want! Let us go alive!". The day could not be complete without a little action, and the tavern was the right place to find someone who, through the effect of alcohol or equal need for violence, would accept the challenge.

He slammed the door with a kick, roaring like a barbarian. Everyone shuddered, suddenly turning their eyes in the pirate's direction. The troublemaker turned to the exceptions. A strange creature clad in smelly old military armor next to an old man and a child seemed oblivious to his intimidation. A slender man with a debauched grin and a helmet of the horns of some Megafauna creature held a dart and glared at the pirate. An old thin man in a Dragonsquad armor sitting at the counter drinking his whiskey raised his eyebrow curiously. The bartender, a green ogre, stared at him wondering what would happen. He addressed the bartender, hands raised, fingers pointing, approaching the counter.

"YOU! ME AND MY MEN BETTER HAVE SOME FREE BOOZE TONIGHT, YOU HEAR ME? AND IF ANYONE HAS A PROBLEM WITH THAT..."

POW! Metal hit the brute's mouth. His senses shot out of his body by a firm fist.

He looked up, the old Bob in his Dragonsquad armor was cleaning his hand. His eyes cold, his mustache soaked in alcohol. The face of someone who had faced dragons on a daily basis, years of experience in surviving in the most inhospitable places. At this moment, the brute realized that he was too comfortable with intimidation but not being intimidated. The old bob offered him booze.

“Have here some free booze on me, let’s keep this place as it is. Does anyone have a problem with that?

The Old Bob looked to the other pirates, who went as silent as the Brute. The ogre barman grinned and thanked the Old Bob.

**Winner**

The winner of this challenge was decided by community vote in the discord. @valkyr won the community vote and was awarded an Alpha Series Tezzard FCKR!

## **008 - A Motley Crew**

The eighth Vessels fanfic challenge happened in the Vessels discord[link], starting October 21, 2021 and ending October 28, 2021 (6:30 AM BST). This fanfic challenge coincided with the first-ever Vessels Crew Challenge[link].

**Prompt**

*"A valuable anti-gravity engine has torn loose from the vessel and landed in the city, blowing a decent sized, flaming crater in an area of the colony where – fortunately – only poor people lived. Chock full of salvageable metals, potential weapons, technology, and radioactive goo that you can probably use for something sci-fi-y, the race is on to be the first to strip the engine. But before anyone can start a-plunderin’ they must assemble a ragtag crew! You decide! A hero to lead them in, a ship to arrive on the scene, your choice of muscle, scientific experts, or gearheads to strip the engine. Write the meeting of your crew on the outskirts of the crater, but beware! When assembling a rag tag crew on a moment’s notice there’s no time to fully vet them. One of your crew must dramatically reveal themselves to be a traitor to the cause, either sabotaging your effort, stealing it for themselves or rival crew, or in it just to cause chaos."*

**Submissions**

Challenge 008 ended with 4 submissions from the community, with @Sweatshophoodie, @valkyr, @Eris, and @Flip contributing.

**@Sweatshophoodie's submission:**

The night sky began to grow dark once more as the massive object smoldered amongst a field that had become a blaze. The few onlookers that witnessed the crash rushed to the neighboring dwellings to search for victims in the wake. Amongst the radiant heat of the fire, gazed a rancher of native reptilian species. The naive bystanders that gathered around the wreckage became entranced by the radiant glow of the neon flames and one by one they slowly entered the fire. Soon every living organism within miles of the fallout would forever be changed..

**@valkyr's submission:**

As the Corsair ship ‘Glatisant’ began its descent on the outskirts of the smoldering wreckage, Captain Samson surveyed the scene with a grimace. Even though no valuable buildings had been damaged, senseless loss of life always disappointed Samson. Little fires were burning along the remaining rooftops, while the charred skeletons of the poor district’s houses crumpled in on themselves. He turned away from the bridge and took stock of his hastily assembled crew; they had never worked together, but he hoped they would be cooperative enough to recover the valuable cargo.

Pushing his thick golden mane out of his eyes, he gave Rebecca, Chief Botanist, a knowing smile. He was glad to have her along at least, as she had mended him a few times after plans went awry. She met his eyes, but did not return the smile, instead glancing suspiciously between the two crew they had picked up for this mission. Rebecca gave the shirtless Brawler a scowl; if he saw her, his face didn’t betray it. He gave her a grunt and stood, cinching a toolbelt tight as he turned to walk toward the airlock.

Samson extended a hand to Rebecca and said, “It’ll be alright - he has survived worse than this, I’d wager. In and out, we’ll grab the weapons and be back on board in no time. You can even bring along any cool plants you find.” “What about her?” Rebecca retorted flatly, nodding toward the strange woman seated at the ship’s controls. She was listed as Genesis Mind on the manifest, but neither Samson nor Rebecca had heard her speak a word on the trip over. Her glowing eyes stared straight ahead - if the sight of this destruction and suffering bothered her, she did not show it.

“Lock the doors behind us, but be ready to get us out of here if there’s any trouble,” Samson said to Genesis Mind. He took her slight nod as agreement and headed toward the doors, with Rebecca following reluctantly.

The bay doors opened with a mechanical hiss and the heat hit first, followed swiftly by the smell. The poor lived in such miserable conditions, so tightly packed together, that the impact and explosion of the engine had done so much more damage than it would have elsewhere in the city. As the burning oil and chemicals, mixed with the unmistakable odor of burning flesh, wafted in, Brawler took a hesitant step back.

Samson gritted his teeth and pushed past him, grunting, “Let’s be quick about this; once we secure the cargo we can make sure these people are taken care of. But if any thieves realize the bounty that has fallen into their lap, there will be bloodshed.”

As the crew made their way toward the engine core, they lost sight of the Glatisant, descending into the flaming crater. Rebecca’s mood seemed improved, as she was scooping up samples of all sorts of oozing liquids, flakes of grime, and bits of burned wreckage. Samson realized shortly after that the destruction of this place was not as total as it had looked from the air - he felt the presence of people all around him and could hear the scraping and shifting debris of scavengers in the rubble around him.

Samson heaved a fallen beam out of his path and saw their prize in front of them, just a few meters away. He glanced at Brawler and they both lunged toward the engine, tools in hand. They got to work removing the outer housing, causing a fair bit of noise. Samson looked up and saw eyes. First one pair, then two, three, a dozen. He turned back toward the path and saw Rebecca, idly examining some lichen that had somehow survived the detonation, with 20 scavengers beginning to encircle her.

Hearing a BANG, Samson swung back toward the engine to see Brawler slumped over the engine housing, with another dozen scavengers hovering over him.

“Shit.”

He grabbed his commlink to radio Genesis Mind, “We’re going to need you down here. We’ve got a situation.”

The commlink beeped back at him 3 times - message undeliverable.

“Genesis! GET DOWN HERE NOW! We’re surrounded!”

3 Beeps.

Suddenly, the sound of engines ripped through the air, causing the scavengers to dive out of the way. Samson seized on this opportunity to throw Brawler over his shoulder and retreat back toward Rebecca. He looked up to the sky for the source of the sound and saw the Glatisant’s silver wings and distinctive red lights.

Samson’s relief soon washed away into dread as the Glatisant’s bow turned away from him and heard the roar of the engines start to get louder. The ship gained speed and launched into the distance, winking out of sight in an instant, drowning out Samson’s anguished cry.

It was time to bargain...if Samson could explain what they were after, perhaps he could convince them to let him and the crew go. With Brawler unconscious, fighting wasn’t an option, not against this many...

\\

On the bridge of the Glatisant, Genesis Mind finally smiled. It had been surprisingly easy, all things considered. They hadn’t suspected her for a minute. She hoped they would survive, but she needed this ship. She would finally be able to make things right.

**@Eris's submission:**

"Do you know what that was?" - The young scavenger asked. The gloves in good condition found that very morning pointed to the trail of energy that warped the night sky like the bursting of chromatic aberration bubbles. - "That right there for sure is a fucking antigravity engine. Literally, money falling from the sky!"

Beside the young man, his co-worker and father figure, a humanoid lobster, glared, annoyed. The boy ignored the flames crackling from the spot where the engine had fallen. It was not the capital and its noble people who were melting over nuclear heat, but poor people, a little less poor than them, from the Gorlam district, whose garbage was usually ignored by the community of garbage collectors. He knew that the rich and powerful would not care to contain the damage quickly since the flames and smoke were too far from their chambers sealed off from the filth of the rest of the colony. He also knew that, had such an engine fallen on their heads at that moment, there would not even be any help. So he stiffened his claws and went about getting up from the pile of vehicles from which they watched the rubble horizon and the city gates.

"Kori, I know what you want to do..." - At being called by his name, the boy squinted his eyes, surprised. Surprise soon turned to excitement. Things would get serious from then on. Lobster continued. - "...because that's what every scoundrel in the colony wants to do now. We need to be quick and, more than ever, effective."

"What's the plan, Grinder?" - Kori answered with a twinkle in his eyes. He knew that Grinder, who knew every alley in the colony like every ring of his antennae, was already planning the best route to get there as fast as possible.

"We need muscle, someone not afraid to die and who can lift debris like it's nothing. We'll also need someone with combat experience and firepower, especially in case we run into groups we have conflicts of interest with."

"I'll go after the second one then, time to call in a favor." - Kori replied, placing his gas mask on his face.

"We'll meet at Fisherman's Robot in half an hour. Go." - Before Grinder had even finished speaking, the two separated, running in different directions. Kori was heading in the direction of the city. Grinder's path ran parallel to the walls in search of the lodgings of another garbage collector.

"Mmmmm......Mmmmmm...."

A few steps before entering the plastic container whose walls were holed with fist marks, Grinder could already hear the pensive, depressing mutterings of WDD. Of all the plastic containers and carbon-fiber tents that dotted the flattened campgrounds, that one was the furthest away of all. Not because it was on the outskirts of the camp, but because no one would want to be woken up by the noise made by WDD, from their sad moans to their occasional punches on the wall. It was only natural that a radius of vacancy would form around that tormented parallelepiped.

Grinder entered the container by tapping his claw lightly on its walls, warning WDD of his presence. He didn't want to wake them up. He gradually knocked harder, which was answered by louder murmurs. From the entrance, since the container didn't have a door - WDD didn't care about many things, and privacy was one of them - Grinder began rhythmically poking the edge of the portal.

"Brooch... Court... Brooch... Court..." - Grinder cadenced these words like someone trying to hypnotize another. The rhythm of his clamps intercutting each syllable. WDD, lying on the floor of the almost empty container, except for a tray where good souls had possibly brought food for the poor tormented scavenger, some boxes and a desk that had been there since before WDD had taken up residence, began to get up. It was impossible to be sure what was going to happen. Though worn and dirty, the military outfit didn't allow Grinder to have any notion about the mood of the newly awakened WDD.

"W-W-herrre?" - WDD's broken voice came out muffled by the metal alloy that made up his helmet. It was a tired, old voice devoid of personality. It could be anyone. It could be anything under that helmet.

"Brooch... Court... Royal... Trash... In… City… I… Help… Come...Come..." - Grinder continued to get WDD's attention, moving away from the door, watching the minded man's reaction.

When WDD stood up and started walking towards Grinder, the crustacean sighed. WDD was perfect for the mission. Durable reinforced equipment, incapable of stopping, and perfectly disposable. No, not in such a cruel way. To Grinder, a final and definitive service of WDD in that circumstance was something commendable, an ode to scavenging. They would cease to be an outcast among outcasts and become a legend.

Kori walked through the gates with quick steps, busy hands, and attentive ears. Getting to his target as quickly as possible was essential; ensuring that the batteries, blades, and lasers of his multifaceted scavenging device - a small Swiss Army knife-shaped aberration of his own making - were properly charged and available was important; eavesdropping on any information about the antigravity engine, the accident, the fire, and subsequent looting could be helpful. A mixture of fear and curiosity covered the poor and astonished population of that district near the gates. A conversation between members of a militia interested in getting to the engine already showed Kori that getting to the engine first would be the main factor in the endeavor. "Fuck, it's all in the hand of the old lobster then..." he thought to himself, crossing the city and resuming his run to an area a little further away from the racket of the gates.

A few alleys, a few jumps over walls, and other gates later, the young scavenger arrived at the door of a well-kept residence in district 9, a middle-class area that seemed like a paradise for Kori. Walking there was a bit dangerous for a scruffy young man like him, but Kori knew how to avoid being seen. Before he could slam the door, it opened. On the other side of the door, Julia the Great's vibrant eyes were watching Kori. Her expression was serious and intimidating. The upright posture solidified by combat training compensated for her short stature. Although he was a few inches taller than Julia, Kori still felt that the woman looked down on him. His heart stopped, his stomach froze, and, possibly and involuntarily, his skin blushed at the sight of the warrior. It took a few seconds for Kori to return to his greedy normal.

"Julia, I need to call in that favor."

"If it's what I'm thinking, boy, the favor will be a discount." - Julia walked inside her quarters, heading toward the hack where the part of the armor she wasn't wearing still hung.

"Yeah, all right. I mean, maybe we'll get there before the others. Grinder, my comrade, knows the best routes very well." - Julia was already finishing buckling the breastplate of her armor and beginning to fasten her helmet. "I heard some militia and gang members commenting on the crash site, so..." - Kori did not finish his sentence. It was too obvious. "I'm up for it, but any damage to my equipment will be at your expense as well." A flick of her arms and two small plasma cannons detached themselves from the forearm of the armor, the sights parallel to Julia's closed fists. Kori merely nodded, already walking toward the door through which he entered.

"Not that way, boy. This way." - Julia was walking in the opposite direction. The two followed corridors to a dark room with a wide programmable metal gate and a dark tarp over a row of elongated objects. They were Floatsliders.

"The meeting point will be at Fisherman's Robot." - Announced Kori as Julia pulled up the tarp, mounted on one of the floatsliders. The metal gate folded like paper, opening and revealing the street just ahead.

"Can you fly?" - In response, Kori mounted on another floatslider and pulled the throttle, making the machine growl.

It was a typical night at the Fisherman's Robot. It wasn't every day that an antigravity engine fell from the sky, but the tavern-goers didn't seem to mind so much. As long as their tables were not in danger of evaporating, there was nothing to do but have a good drink and join a betting table. Those who were not there would undoubtedly be preparing their own gangs and gangs to follow to the scene of the accident. At least, that was what Julia and Kori thought as they opened the door and poked their heads in, scanning the place for Grinder. Bob, Tusk, Loki, Scarfire... no humanoid lobster. Blue was not there. The tavern keeper, a big green ogre with a friendly smile from which two teeth escaped on the right side, nodded to Julia. She quickly returned the nod and stepped back, closing the door behind her. Next to the two sliders, Julia observed her surroundings with her arms crossed.

"Err... did everything work out with that dark crystal wave rectifier?" - Kori's face was trying to transmute into a carefree smile.

"Yes. I had to swap it out afterward, but I completed the mission, and that's all that matters." "Yeah... that's it, lucky for you, I was in the right place at the right time."

"And unlucky the son of a bitch who hit my thrusters. You should have seen his face when I intercepted him afterward. I returned the favor, but he couldn't redirect the power and land properly, broke several bones when he hit the ground." - The clenched fists and adjacent plasma cannon glinted in the lighting of the tavern's outdoor area.

"Anyway, he must be rotting in some hole right now." - Kori watched the words come out of Julia's mouth as Julia watched in the direction of the horizon. "Finally." - Kori turned forward and saw the silhouette of Grinder and, just behind him, WDD and his dirty military armor. Kori could not contain himself and began to laugh. After the quartet met, they moved away from the tavern entrance, taking the floatsliders with them. Without wasting any time, Grinder gestured to Kori, who removed from his belt a square device with a black screen from which a hologram emerged, showing a low-res map of the city. Grinder pinched the hologram, pulled it down, and rotated his claw. Kori simultaneously moved his fingers beneath the device, accessing a hidden interface he had developed for the machine himself. As the pair moved and reconfigured the hologram, Julia's eyes widened. She and Kori were too young to know those pipes. Grinder had been a smuggler in his youth... and a good one, the kind that no one ever caught because he always knew precisely where to disappear and always appeared in the most opportune place. It was the only viable explanation, although it meant that Grinder must have faked his death during the Night of the Hunt.

"We're going after the core. It's the most valuable element of the engine. Let's leave the casing, wiring, valves, rectifiers, everything else to the laggers; we don't have a ship. We get there first, get the treasure, and disappear before the others get there. Understood?" - Grinder's raspy voice seemed to regain some of its joviality as he gave those instructions. - "Brooch... Court... Come..." - He turned to WDD, the hypnotic rhythm combined with the pounding of his lobster fangs. Kori's expression was practically a "WTF????". Grinder walked toward one of the sliders, followed by WDD, guiding and preparing for the ride. Julia moved along with him, riding the other slider.

It was inevitable for Kori to feel the blood rising to his head as he mounted on Julia's back and held onto her waist.

A few minutes later, they were underground racing through gigantic, perfectly round metal tunnels, the speedometers on the floatsliders reading over 150 km/h. The only light was coming from the flashlights on the floatsliders, showing the dangers ahead only as far as it took for a highly trained pilot to react. That was the bet: they would get there before everyone else if they didn't die on their knees in the tunnels. Grinder was a little further ahead; he knew all the way, in theory. Julia, just behind, in the prime of her nerves, accurately reproduced Grinder's every move. A buried part covered about half of the tunnel just ahead: the floatsliders were buzzing and, with their speed, were able to run briefly along the walls and ceiling of the tunnel in a veritable cylinder of death. A simple claw movement and Julia knew how tight the next turn would be, sometimes followed by loops around the tunnel surface.

After one of these turns, with the goal near, Grinder came across something unexpected. A block of steel floated just ahead. In a move that only their experience could orchestrate, Grinder slowed down, and Julia accelerated. As quickly as they switched positions, Julia raised her right fist with a punch in the air, releasing the cannon and clenching her palm. The beam of light buzzed ahead and imploded the floating block, turning it into dust and smoke.

"THERE'S MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM, IT'S THE ENGINE GETTING MORE AND MORE UNSTABLE! WE'RE GETTING CLOSE!" - Shouted Kori, his voice echoing between the new shots Julia was firing at other gravitational anomalies: more debris floated by, and the looser rings of the tunnel ceiling distorted into jagged metallic stalactites.

"EXIT IS NEAR! CLOSED RIGHT TURN AND EXIT THROUGH THE CEILING IN 5.8 SECONDS!" - Yelled Grinder, alerting Julia of the rest of the route.

"NO PROBLEM." - Answered Julia, adrenaline pulsing throughout her body.

"MMMM!"

Julia needed to throw her body towards the ground to make that closed curve, only to find her path obstructed: part of the tunnel had collapsed. A space barely more extensive than the volume of the floatslider laid to the left of the circular section of the underground path. With her body fully leaning to the right, she slowed down and pulled even further to that side, climbing through the ceiling and making a complete loop at that same closed angle as she had made that turn. The right cannon, in continuous mode, was now a plasma beam, shot into the center of the obstruction, destabilizing the matter. As Julia passed on the ceiling, Grinder continued straight toward the obstruction, accelerating and lifting the front of his floatslider. When Julia ceased the plasma beam, Grinder pulled the floatslider's regulator, launching it high and up, using WDD's body weight to hit the rubble with the vehicle's bottoms.

Kori saw Grinder fly through the stone and dust as Julia crossed the small space to the left of the tunnel. He felt his head hit a rock that crumbled immediately due to the effect of Julia's weapons. Grinder ahead was skillfully dodging the rubble, and 5.8 seconds later was climbing up the wall to an exit in the ceiling. Julia followed him. The floatsliders were climbing side by side at an almost 80-degree angle, and the temperature increased as they approached their target. A short signal and Julia again launched her beams forward, destroying a metal hatch and causing smelly water to start running down that pipe. They could already see the exit light.

The sliders flew out of the old tunnel. They were in a typical sewer and could see the burning city a little beyond the service gates ahead. They accelerated again. There was no sign of life. Blue flames covered the shacks and buildings. Charred bodies everywhere. And, of course, gravitational anomalies were occurring randomly. Explosions and shock waves caused earthquakes and landslides. They accelerated further until they came across a massive crater in the exact spot where Grinder had calculated. In the center of the hole was the technological monolith, a powerful energy chamber the size of a small ship, capable of keeping a cruiser stable even in the most violent gravitational storm.

"MY TURN, LFGGGGGGGG!" - Kori shouted excitedly, the adrenaline also pulsing through his veins and dulling his senses. "THERE JULIA!" - He pointed in the direction of a spherical section that made up the engine, one part among so many, representing not much more than 1/10th of the volume of the mechanism.

The floatsliders stopped. Julia used her right plasma cannon to break through the engine fuselage, lowering its potency to avoid blowing everything up. Grinder, crouched down, brought his claws together at Kori's chest height, who came running and, propelled by Grinder's claws, leaped onto the engine roof. His eyes scoured the surface for a panel. He found it. With his Swiss Army knife of scavenging in hand, the young man began disabling one by one all the security locks and system directives native to the engine hardware and its core.

"A FEW MORE... THIS ONE HERE... " - Sweat was running down Kori's forehead. Little did he care about the flames; that was just excitement. "ALL READY!" - Kori jumped back to the ground, rolling to avoid breaking any bones.

Julia finished destabilizing the fuselage and jumped into the floatslider; Kori soon joined her. Grinder then lightly tapped the carcass with his claw; his eyes turned to WDD, inert, mechanical, and bereft of will as always.

"BROOCH... COURT... HERE... INSIDE... BROOCH... COURT... BLACK... SHINY!" - Each word caused WDD to glance from Grinder to where the humanoid lobster was hitting.

"mmm... mmmMMM... MMMMMMMM... BROOCH!" - WDD had understood. He had punched where Grinder was hitting, breaking through the steel like old wood.

Grinder climbed onto his slider and, along with Julia and Kori, began to pull away.

"Now we just have to hope that shit doesn't explode!" - Kori said, not containing a strange smile of excitement.

BAM! BAM! BAM! WDD's blows were heard by the trio as they stopped at the edge of the crater. That's when they saw the mindless man's arm fully enter the spherical engine section and return with a sort of glass egg in which a black orb glowed. Success.

They accelerated the sliders at the same time they heard the sound of ships coming from the skies. The laggers could take everything else, but that very valuable core was theirs. Grinder pulled out WDD, who was holding the glass egg like a child, and mounted them on the slider. He turned around, followed by Julia and Kori, going the same way they came. They saw a white ship emit a beam of light in their direction before entering the sewer galleries again. Too late, suckers.

…

The safest place was still outside the city, at the dump, the home of Kori and Grinder. There, they all got off the floatsliders. Kori and Grinder were exhausted but visibly happy. Julia seemed to show some satisfaction, but her crossed arms showed no sign of relaxation. WDD stared mesmerized at the treasure.

"We did it, old man!" - Kori exclaimed. Grinder nodded and looked at Julia.

"Boy, repairs on my floatsliders are on you." - Julia said, looking at Kori. She then turned back to Grinder, who was already watching her beforehand, predicting what the warrior would talk about. "So, Grinder, if there were a bounty on your head, how much would it be worth today adjusted for inflation?"

"Far less than you would imagine, Julia." - Grinder did not flinch or hesitate. He needed firmness. He would not be able to escape from Julia in that situation. Damn, the whole mission, she hadn't used her left cannon. "Far less than our newly acquired core. We will sell it and reward you very well for your services. WDD... Me... Give..." - Grinder extended his claw to WDD.

WDD looked at the treasure and at Grinder's claw. It was the first time Kori and Grinder had heard WDD grunt like that. It was guttural, angry, and intimidating. WDD closed their hand completely around the core.

"Holy crap..."

**@Flip's submission:**

Garr smirked as he saw the wreckage from the vessel leaving a scorching scar on the city below. “Payday”, he said with gruff satisfaction,
“Dante, set a course for the payload. Bert, prepare the crew for a scavenging mission. “Aye, Captain” they both said in unison. “Send that old scientist to the bridge as you ready the crew as well, Bert.” Metal doors hissed open and closed as the mechanic hurried out of the bridge.

“We won’t be the only ones who noticed the engine breaking loose from the vessel, Captain” mentioned Dante as he dialed in the coordinates of the payload. “So, ensure we are the first to arrive”, Garr ordered. With a slight nod, Dante engaged the Glatisant’s engines. Garr glanced over his shoulder hearing the bridge door’s familiar opening swoosh and metallic clang as it closed.

“You wanted to see me?” asked a pale, smug old man. Garr’s face tightened with irritation as he spoke. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned being a chief scientist on the vessel before you found your way onto my ship.” “That is correct”, said the old man looking uninterested in what Garr had to say, “until a difference of opinion between myself and the other so-called men of science saw me removed from my position. Now what is it you need?”

“A vessel engine found itself separated from the ship and on its way into my possession. You will extract every ounce of worth from it as we travel to my fence to make the sale. Every member of my crew has earned their place on my ship. Your fancy “chief scientist” title means nothing in this business. Prove your worth or get of my ship” Garr’s frustration grew as he saw the blank stare of the old man. Garr hated having the old man on his ship, but not more than he loved a steady flow of cash into his coffers. A sigh slipped from his mouth as he turned to Dante to get an ETA and discuss exit strategies.

An unnerving smile began to form on a one ghostly, emotionless face. His plan was going much smoother than he anticipated. The fool Garr was too blinded by greed to properly vet the old man. A promise of easy money and tech upgrades bought an all expenses paid seat on the Glatisant.

“Where is that damned fool Bert at”, shouted an increasingly angry Garr. “I don’t know why I haven’t thrown the worthless idiot off the ship yet.”

“Cheap labor”, chuckled Dante. A flashing red light, and beeping alarm cut Dante’s amusement short. “Uh, Cap there is something wrong with the ship’s ventilation system.” A nervous furrow formed in the man’s neatly groomed mustache. Cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his vision blurred. Dante slumped in his chair unconscious.

“What the fuck is going on” screamed Garr as he fought the involuntary shut down of his body.” He struggled over to the old man, suspiciously unaffected by whatever was in the air. Garr fell to one knee as he grew weaker and weaker. What did you do, old man?” The toxin had almost worn through the beast slayers resolve. Garr’s breathes grew shorter and shorter. A hazy ghost of a man moved into view. It whispered into Garr’s ear, “You are mine now.”

Garr grasped onto the old man’s collar and managed a weak “f-fuck you” before he fell limp onto the floor.

Bright lights flashed in and out of existence. There were sounds but they seemed so far away. Slowly reality seemed to come back into focus. Images became less and less blurry. Sounds became closer and closer. Fear found its way into the heart of a man who had hardly acknowledged its existence. It held him tight in its clutches. He couldn’t move his hand or feet. A strip of cloth shielded the world from his words. Garr panicked as reality sank in. He was trapped. He was helpless. Trying to glean any information that would be helpful, he looked around. Fear-filled eyes soaked in the images of strange creatures floating in pods. What were these things? Why was he here? Is that a man-sized rabbit wearing knight’s armor walking toward him? Was the bunny knight talking to a giant lizard?

“You are awake” a familiar voice said. “what was it you were called? Garr the Beast Slayer, right?” A bony hand lifted Garr’s face until their eyes met. “You murdered so many of my creations to get that title. I lost so many pets to your blade. That will happen no longer. Meet your new brothers and sisters.” Said the old man gesturing toward the creatures filling the room.

“Hello, Garr” said two unnervingly familiar voices. A mustached bunny knight and a giant, clumsy lizard greeted the beast slayer. The old man laughed, in a manner so eerie it would haunt the dead, as Garr’s eyes widened with realization.

Garr struggled against his restraints as the three men began to walk away. Light faded from existence once more and the last thing he heard was,

“You will be a magnificent beast when I am through with you, Slayer”

**Winner**

@Eris won Fanfic Challenge 008! They were awarded a ship and crew member for the crew challenge, Vessels 156:'Glatisant' and Vessels 153: Chief Scientist!

Jake and Drew were so impressed with the submissions that the other three contributors were also awarded C-series creatures as a reward!

## **009 - The Mech Tourney**

The ninth Vessels fanfic challenge happened in the Vessels discord starting November 22nd. The submission deadline was December 6th, 2021 (6 AM GMT).

**Prompt**

*Hundreds of powered battle-suits enter – only one leaves. Sometimes not even one, if the last two mechs destroy each other, though that only*
usually happens at the REALLY good tournaments. The knights who pilot these vehicles into battle are exceptionally courageous or exceptionally stupid, or often both at the same time. And though they might often claim to be lone warriors, charging fearlessly into single combat with only their wits and several tons of armour and high-tech weaponry to protect them, they couldn’t do it without their team - the crew of people behind the scenes who prep and maintain their equipment, run their post-tournament baths (on the rare occasions they end the tournament in a state where they still need to bathe), and generally make sure their knights are in a position to fight. The size of the teams vary, but usually consist of a squire to help the knight don their suit and to lug their gear around, two or three mechanics who make any necessary repairs to the tech, and a doctor who is trained in emergency limb-reattachment and is on good terms with the local mortician.

*Some say the behind the scenes rivalries and clashes between the different teams are even more dramatic than the events in the arena. Admittedly, not many people say this, ‘cause come on… it’s people in giant robot suits smashing the crap out of each other – but the confrontations behind the scenes are often QUITE interesting as well. Write the story of one of these teams prepping for their first foray into the first round of a major tourney! They’ll be facing their long-term rivals, a team that’s dragged itself out of the same gutter as them and wants to make it to the next round of the tournament every bit as badly as they do. Who will survive and make it to the next round? What dramatic secrets from the past will be revealed? Will anyone make it to the post-match bath? If not, can I use it? I mean, it seems a shame to waste the*
hot water? ONLY YOU CAN DECIDE!

**Submissions**

There were 4 submissions for Challenge 009, with contributions from @valkyr, @Flip, @MoneyPlaneIdol, and @! Lab 2 Ruby - Recker.

**@valkyr's submission:**

Ratty rummaged through his tools, not really sure what he was looking for. The Sneak Thieves had never done much of Mech work before, unless it involved making certain valuable parts disappear without a trace. He picked up a spanner and tossed it in Moley’s direction - let the mechanic sort it out.  The lumpy fellow looked at him through thick-lensed glasses, covered in grime already somehow even though they had only been here 10 minutes, and gleefully grabbed the spanner and turned back to the Mech.

Ratty hadn’t seen Toady yet this morning, but hopefully the oaf would remember to sort out a lab coat before showing up. If they were going to convince this idiotic knight that they were a real Mech crew, they should at least look the part. And if he managed not to get himself killed out there, the Sneak Thieves wouldn’t complain. Attending to a winning knight could allow them behind certain doors that had remained firmly shut to them so far. As a bonus, Ratty knew that winning this first bout would mean a loss for The Bookbringers. While Ratty had made quite the name for himself running his turf in the time since The Bookbringers moved on to bigger and better things, he always resented how quickly they abandoned their roots, acting as if they were far too important to mingle with their former comrades of The Den.

Taming his moustache, Ratty ducked out of the workshop and out onto the street. As squire, he would be in charge of assisting the knight - ‘Beetle’ or something - before and after the battle, but their crew needed one more member to look official. Someone to do the heavy lifting for Moley, in any case. He spotted a Generic Peasant Boy hanging out on a step nearby and waved him over.

“Hey kid, how’d you like to afford a nice meal this evening? You know your way around a Mech?” he flashed the boy a grin as he drew two silver pieces from his pocket with a flourish.

The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the coins and he nodded enthusiastically, “Well sure, they’re all over aren’t they? I know more about takin’ ‘em apart, truth be told.”

“You’ll do great, old sport!” He tossed the lad the coins, smirking, “Just keep our moley friend company, do what he says, and you’ll have 10 times that amount.”

The streets were filling with colonists starting their days and with this being a tournament week, street vendors were out in full force. With the peasant boy in tow, Ratty made his way through the crowd. It came naturally to him, melting into the hustle and bustle as he maneuvered toward one of the more crowded food carts. Ratty swiped a half dozen baked goods and two steaming coffees before vanishing back into the sea of busy colonists. Sneaking up behind the Peasant Boy, who looked completely bewildered at having lost sight of his benefactor, Ratty chucked a croissant at the lad’s head. The pastry found its mark and the boy turned sheepishly, scooping up and dusting off his breakfast as he fell in behind the Sneak Thief.

Ratty charted his way through the congested streets, careful to move with enough predictability to allow the boy to follow. Banners with the crests of the various knights emblazoned hung from the eaves of the buildings and spectators waved flags and scarves of their champion’s colors. Children, dressed in bright colors befitting their favorite knights, played with miniature Mechs, acting out the heroics they hoped to see later. Sweeping between a sea of red, green, and orange, the pair ducked into the little workshop nestled in the shadow of the tournament arena.

The ‘Beetle’ Knight was waiting as the Peasant boy shut the door behind them, with Moley and Toady fidgeting nervously behind him. Dressed in his signature purple and yellow beetle armor, Ratty thought he didn’t look half bad for a radioactive knight...although the fact that he had to hire the Sneak Thieves meant he wasn’t too successful yet. Regardless, he had the coin to pay them, and Ratty had already taken great pains to ensure his victory and put the Bookbringers in their place.

With a graceful bow, Ratty presented ‘Beetle’ with a pastry and coffee. He knew exactly how to butter up these royalty-chaser types. ‘Beetle’ smiled and took the offering, mumbling a thank you as he turned to walk over to his Mech armor. Ratty shrugged and tossed a pastry to Toady and Moley; he approached the pair and sipped his coffee.

“Well I’m glad you remembered the coat, Toady. I found you an assistant, Moley. Make sure he leaves with all his fingers and toes, if you please. Did our dashing knight have anything important for us?”

“I’ll have you know, I’d have made an excellent physician if I had put my mind to it,” Toady croaked. “Our hero seems a little...odd? He keeps digging in the dirt, but he hasn’t said a word to either of us.”

Ratty shrugged, “Well that’s fine by me. As long as he can stay alive long enough, our ‘modifications’ to that Crowd Pummeler should see us through to the next round.”

Just then, a chime rang out on the intercom system, followed by the distinguished voice of a woman, “The next bout will commence in 2 minutes. The Battlin’ Beetle versus The Bookbringer’s Crowd Pummeler! Combatants, please don your Mechs and make your way to the arena.”

Ratty scurried over to assist the Beetle, who was already crawling into his armor. The Knight’s mech matched his plumage, purple undertones with bright yellow plates to resemble a beetle on its hind legs, with 2 pairs of arms and giant pincers coming from the top of the cockpit. Ratty could tell he had spent a lot of time customizing this Mech, as he fit almost seamlessly, flexing the joints and doing his final checks.

“Anything you need, my liege? You’ll do great out there and we’ll be here to put you all back together again afterwards.” He flashed another smile and leaned up on his tiptoes to get closer to the knight. “And between you and me...watch out for the mace and aim for the left hip.” He winked at Beetle, who stared back at him with rapidly blinking eyes.

“Uh ok...thank you, squire. Forgive me, I should have introduced myself before, but I’m really eager about this bout. If I win, I’ll get to meet The Queen!”

“That’s quite all right. I’m Ratty, those two handsome fellows are Toady and Moley - they’ll mend your limbs and circuits, respectively. The young lad is Moley’s apprentice, but he’s shown himself very capable. Your Mech is at full power and Moley made some modifications to the mobility core - you should be able to dodge nearly everything they can throw at you.”

“Thank you, Ratty. And for the croissant!”

The lights surrounding the inner door of the workshop flashed red and the intercom chimed again. “Combatants, the doors will open in 10 seconds. Prepare for battle.”

The knight piloted his mech toward the door, skittering in a very insectlike manner, giving the mandibles a few test snaps for good measure. The red lights stopped blinking and went full as the doors swung open. The beetle mech clambered out to the roar of the crowd.

Across the arena stood the Crowd Pummeler, towering above the Battlin Beetle with long legs, a spiked chassis of purple and white plates, long arms and an enormous spiked mace. Ratty suspected the Bookbringers had spent their ill-gotten gains on this behemoth...and they seemed to like spikes.

That’s exactly why the Sneak Thieves had taken matters into their own hands...while Toady and Moley wreaked havoc on the Bookbringers workshop, Ratty had made a few quick, precise “adjustments” to the Crowd Pummeler’s leg joints. He had been careful, but an expert mechanic would have caught it. Hopefully the Bookbringers had been hung over enough and distracted enough by the mess. The lads had really done a good job with the diversion, it looked like a few Sand Snifflers had gotten loose in there.

Under the bright lights of the arena, the crowd was roaring as the Mechs circled each other. The Beetle would have to be quick to get under the immense wingspan of the Pummeler. The Mechs circled each other and the crowd quieted, leaning forward in anticipation of the clash. The Pummeler raised the mace menacingly before feinting left and then spinning back to the right, attempting to catch the beetle with a backhanded swipe.

The spiked gauntlet grazed the armored Beetle, sending sparks flying and whipping the crowd up again, but the damage was minimal and cosmetic. However, the Pummeler kept pressing, alternating swings with its giant mace with leaps and bounds. The beetle skittered side to side, parrying deftly with the giant mandibles on its head, but never really gaining ground. Sparks flew as the Mechs collided, with Beetle managing to fend off the direct hits, but taking small hits consistently with each exchange. The golden yellow chitinous plates were quickly showing signs of damage.

“Aim for the left hip! Get in close!” Ratty yelled.

Whether Beetle heard him or not, Ratty couldn’t tell. However, Ratty was pleased by the Mech’s movement - the speed modifications were the only thing keeping him alive. If Beetle survived, he’d have to thank Moley for that.

The crowd chanted for destruction as the Mechs traded salvos. Little by little, Beetle was gaining ground - he kept rotating so that the Pummeler was forced to plant his left leg and pivot to keep raining blows with the mace. Picking up speed, the Beetle found an opening and caught the mace in his mandibles, which gave him and opportunity to connect with some punches - having 6 legs instead of 2 was a big advantage up close.

Sparks flew as the blows landed and Ratty looked for signs of hope. Scrap metal littered the floor of the arena and both mechs had begun to leak hydraulic fluid as the battle raged on. The crowd gasped as Beetle attempted a daring maneuver - he engaged insect mode, crawling along on all 6 legs and he attempted to ram the Pummeler with the metallic mandibles. While the Beetle was quick, the Pummeler reacted instantly and dodged out of the way, sending Beetle crashing into the wall of the arena. As Beetle attempted to dislodge his mandibles, Pummeler rounded on him and prepared a massive overhead smash.

Pummeler buried his mace in Beetle’s exposed back, sending a shower of sparks and fluid. The armored plates flexed and cracked, exposing the circuitry underneath. The force of the blow sent the Beetle to the ground, dislodging the left mandible. The right mandible remained in the wall, separating from the Beetle Mech’s head with a mighty crack.

The Pummeler took a step back, preparing a final leaping slam on Beetle’s back. As the knees bent; however, a loud SNAP echoed through the arena and sparks shot from its left leg. Hydraulic fluid gushed down the left side of the Mech and the leg gave out completely. The Pummeler was too tall to maintain balance on one leg and toppled over, mace flying out of it’s hand.

Beetle used this opportunity to regain his footing and he prepared another charge. He used his remaining mandible as a spear, stabbing violently at the exposed Pummeler, shearing metal joints and exposing more wires. He tore through the Pummeler, leaving the chassis limbless.

Over the roar of the crowd, the intercom chimed again, “The Battlin’ Beetle is victorious! Three cheers for your champion.”

Ratty smiled at the other Sneak Thieves and said, “Looks like we’re moving up, boys!”

**@Flip's submission:**

Constance had been a mech pilot most of her life. No one could remember a time she wasn't in the arena creating sparks. She always took care of the other mech pilots, teaching new combatants and throwing back beers with the veteran pilots. The older pilots joked with Constance always calling her mom because she was always giving advice whether you wanted it or not. All jokes aside she had been a mom to most of the combatants that entered the arena. Most of them wouldn't be where they are without her compassion and guidance. Constance wore the nickname like a badge of honor.

A sad smile formed on the woman's face as she set down a framed photo. Tears began to form in her eyes. She wiped her eyes and brushed her silver hair out of her face tying it back with her signature red bandana.

"Hey, Mom look what I found at the market today!," shouted a young boy running towards Constance. The boy's excitement lifted her spirits instantly. "Whatcha got there, Ollie?" chuckled Constance. Ollie quickly unwrapped the object in his hands. "It's an electromagnetic module!" he shouted with great jubilation, "Just think of all the ways we can use this! Can I install it, Mom. Please, please let me install it!".

"Ok, Ok but we have a fight coming up soon so make it quick and do it right", Constance said with a smile.

"Mom, they just released the roster. We are up against Randall this round", panted a girl nearly running over Mom in her excitement. Mom knelt down looking at the girl, "Alice, catch your breath little one. Ollie found us a new mod for the mech, run over and give him a hand with the install." She rustled the girls hair and stood up to get her thoughts together before the fight. Mom hadn't faced Randall in many years. Not since the incident.

Alice noticed the anger forming in Mom's eyes and grabbed her hand. "It's ok, Mom. Please don't get upset. Ollie and me will be here waiting for you after the fight. Go show Ole Randy what you're made of!" the girl told mom with a reassuring voice. When she noticed Mom's face return to its usual state of calmness, Alice walked over to the work station to help Ollie.

These kids don't realize that I need them just as much as they need me. Maybe more thought Mom. Alice could always keep her from spiraling into a vortex of anger and contempt. It was just a year ago that Mom caught Alice and Ollie trying to scavenge parts from her bot. Rather than turn them over to the police, she made them a deal. The kids obviously had untapped potential. Most of the mech pit crews didn't know their way around a bot like these kids did. Mom proposed that the two work as her pit crew instead of risking their lives as scavengers. At first the kids thought she was trying to trick them. After a lot of reassuring and a hot meal, they agreed to work for Mom. The two kids felt something they never thought they would feel again: Hope. They belonged somewhere now.

Reality set back in as Mom felt Ollie tugging at her sleeve. She looked down at the boy with loving eyes.

"Mom, this tech is amazing! You can turn any part of the mech into a super magnet now. isn't that amazing?" Ollie asked looking for reassurance. "Why I can't think of anything more amazing, my boy. You never cease to amaze me with your ingenuity. Keep at it and you will go far.", Mom squeezed Ollie tight in a bear hug. "Time to suit up, kids".

Mom's mech was a deep purple with silver trim. She never cared for the flashy mechs. Her's was a simple yet elegant fighter. She never used a weapon in a fight. Hand-to-hand combat felt more personal to Constance. Alice is a an adept fabricator and even fashioned a replica of Mom's signature red bandana for the bot. Mom couldn't hide her tears when the kids surprised her with that gift. It suited her mech well. The bot had the same steely, calm demeanor Constance was known for. Her favorite part of the mech was the silver inscription on the back of the mech's head. It read: Built for Mom by Ollie and Alice.

The children walked with Mom the life gate leading to the arena. They watched in awe as Mom piloted the mech. "Go get 'em, Mom!", they both shouted in unison as the gate opened.

"Ladies and gentlemen,  we have one hell of a match up tonight", an announcer shouted over the roar of the crowd. "In one corner we have The Mighty Fenrir piloted by Randall and in the other corner we have everyone's favorite mech, The Benefactor, piloted by one the arena's fiercest pilots, Constance!", cried the announcer, "you folks probably know her simply as, Mom. A nickname she has earned time and time again through her decades long career!"

Constance wasn't one for flattery and gave the crowd a small bow of The Benefactor's head in acknowledgement before returning her gaze to her opponent. She took several deep breaths as she cleared her mind for the fight.

"Alright folks, the moment you have all been waiting for has finally arrived. Pilots ready your mechs because it's time to FIGHT!"

Thunderous echoes of pounding footsteps, mixed with the mechanical tune of the mech parts working in unison to follow pilot commands, and roaring chants from the adrenaline fueled crowed bounced around the arena in the glorious cacophony that is mech fighting. The Benefactor landed the first blows in a blur of left and right jabs. Speed would be Mom's greatest advantage over the hulking beast that was Fenrir. Dodging just a little too late The Benefactor took a glancing blow to the shoulder throwing it off balance. Fenrir was quick to capitalize on this opportunity landing a powerful kick to The Benefactor's chest. The mech was sent hurtling backwards with a metallic crunch. Fenir began sprinting toward the downed Benefactor. A shower of sparks filled the air as metal collided with metal. Fenrir did not stop once it reached The Benefactor, and instead kept running, opponent slung over its shoulder, on a direct path to the arena wall.

A collective sigh moved through the audience and mech connected with solid concrete. The Benefactor remained in the crater created from the collision as Fenrir backed away. The mech raised both hands in a victorious pose. Randall expected more applause from the crowd. Ungrateful cretins. I'll give them something to cheer about, He thought. Fenrir revealed the hidden blade in his gauntlet and spun preparing for the killing blow. To Randall's surprise The Benefactor was no longer where he thought. A horrendous screech pierced the air as the blade lodged itself in the wall.

Gotcha you rotten bastard, smirked Constance. She engaged the electromagnet Ollie installed earlier that day and latched on to Fenrir's free arm with a distinct clang. The mech found itself stuck between a wall and one pissed off Mom. Despite all of the struggling, Fenrir could not break free from its prison. In one fluid motion The Benefactor spun, throwing its adversary in a wide arc. Bolts gave loose, hydraulic lines tore and burst open, and one arm remained in the wall as it's owner departed and subsequently landed in a magnificent fountain of sparks, flame, and dirt. Mom disengaged the magnet, letting Fenrir's remaining arm fall limp to the ground. The Benefactor pinned the other mech to the ground with one foot and then separated limb from chassis. Shiiiiiing! cried out the other hidden blade. The Benefactor brought its new armament overhead and swiftly drove it through Fenrir's head.

The arena exploded with thunderous cheering from the crowd. High fives and fist bumps were shared among many a friend and stranger alike.

"What a show folks! Mom puts on a show like no one else! Let's hear it for your VICTOR!!!", exclaimed with unbounded excitement from the battle.

Ollie you're a God damn genius, thought Mom as her heart swelled with pride. She guided her mech back to the repair bay and set off to find Alice and Ollie.

Mom was tackled by the kids as they sprinted through the crowd to hug her. "That was freaking amazing! You totally destroyed Randall's mech", shouted Ollie.

"We are so proud of you, Mom", Alice said, still latched on to Mom.

"I couldn't have done it without you kids", Mom said, wrapping her arms tight around the two children. "Your electromagnet won the match, kid." She rustled Ollie's hair as she said it. "Alice, The Benefactor looked spectacular as always. You have an eye for mech design. Why don't we go out for some victory ice cream?", said Mom, getting no opposition from the children.

As they were leaving the arena, Constance stopped by her workbench. She untied her bandana and set it in front of the framed photo. "That victory was for you", whispered Constance as she touched the picture frame. Constance turned to leave with the children. Pictured in the photo was a younger Constance with a boy at her side. A red bandana was tied around his neck...

…

Meanwhile a figure snuck through the shadows and into the victors' bath hall. A robe fell to the floor as the man slowly sunk down into the steaming, hot bath. "Now this is the life", exhaled Drew as he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

**@MoneyPlaneIdol's submission:**

Today was a glorious day. Triumph awaited those who were destined for greatness and Enid could have no less faith in the man before her. Tufts of blonde hair draped over the edge of the porcelain bath, his eyes closed in what she knew was a deep web of thought, laying out an impenetrable strategum as he soaked in the murky water.

Destiny was a funny thing. She’d known Gareth since they were kids, and he’d always set out to see himself atop the throne. The kids all laughed, but some listened, then more followed. It was hard not to be drawn in to Gareth. His voice commanded a conversation and impassioned was his only tone. When he spoke you believed, a craft honed his entire life, so it was only a matter of time before more followed.

What a following it became though. Their home wasn’t the kindest district in the Vessel colony but the Mapleborough Royals had carved out their own little kingdom and ruled it with an importance that demanded respect. The goal wasn’t to stop there, but people were happy. Happiness leads to complacency. The struggles of being a good king. Today would serve as a reminder to the greater goal.

The coffers overflowed in a time of peace for the district and with the tournament in sight, they were able to afford an unparalleled mech, sword and shield in hand ready to claim what had always been theirs to take. Their first match was none other than the Queen’s champion himself, Brunor. A brutal man she would best describe as a festering wound, another stain on this monarchy that Gareth assured her would soon be nothing more than a stain on the pit floor. She spit into the dirt just thinking about the man, a bad habit that luckily Gareth did not notice.

As she scrubbed at his legs beneath the soapy film, she heard the soft footsteps of Halliday approach behind her.

“Lord, your medicals have been cleared. The first step in a long road, but at least we found a way to give you an edge”. Halliday was a genius. While she didn’t like the idea of dosing on dragonscale, it did provide an edge in a competition that could end in death. Destiny would never allow that but just in case…

Gareth nodded softly. “Thank you doctor. That’s all for today. Enid you as well. I need a moment if you will”.

She obliged and walked out astride with the much taller doctor. He seemed distant, as if his faith wavered. So they walked in silence for a time until they reached the main hall of the estate.

“Enid…they found Lam.. This morning. I saw the body and have no doubt in the culprit.”

Lam had been their mechanic. A bright kid of no more than 16, his scrawny fingers perfect for getting in between the joints of the oversized mech.

“He’s dead Enid. The teeth bare the name of the Houndsman.”

Silence hung like black fog, heavy and weighing down any words between them, catching in their throats. They grieved the assault upon their house until after several minutes she nodded and gave a pleasant smile, the doctor visibly puzzled.

“I mourn Lam and his loss but you shan’t tell Gareth. If you ever needed confidence that what we are doing is right, let Lam’s death serve as the reminder. Our king is the sword that can pierce the heavens. The sun shall wash away this rot.”

Enid saw the squire boy, Safir, in the corner. He’d heard the whole exchange and trembled terribly. He’d been fast friends with Lam and now he was gone. There was no time for mourning however, the tournament was upon them. She snapped at him with her fingers.

“You as well, not a word. Ready the mech. You’re a mechanic now”

The sun shall wash away this rot. Today however, Gareth’s sword shall. Today, the Queen’s champion will answer for this.

She spit into the dirt, a bad habit.

**@! Lab 2 Ruby - Recker's submission**

It lingered above like a constant reminder, looming and casting a dark shadow as far as my human eyes could see. Dwelling on this new unfamiliar planet that exists much further from the source of heat and light I was oh too familiar with was difficult to adapt to. Natural light is scarce in this part of the Universe. With this planets massive size, distance from our Super Giant, and an orbital/rotational speed at a fraction of Earth's, we go many sleeps without ever seeing our new rocks Sun. The new shiny orb in the sky that I see less of than my father, has a temperature classification of B which is slightly hotter than my old mans temper and a luminosity rating of Ia. Which in fishermen terms means hot as hell and bright as a wizards magic! The "first feet," in there infinite brilliance have named our Super Giant Bia. The ongoing joke around here is "Bia flashlight, cause it'll be awhile before we see her light again!" When Bia is not in sight and her rays aren't wrapping around this sphere like my arms around Betsy, the arena is the brightest place at the center of this dark shadow.

I am Armason Solid, the son of the best fisherman on the planet!  Hahaha that sounds funny saying it out loud, but true nonetheless. My parents have done well for themselves in this place we call home. My father as previously stated is a world famous fisherman and a highly functioning drunk, much like the wizard I've seen stumbling around like a blind man with his shoes tied together. My mother, however, is a saint and the owner of, yes, I'm gonna say it, the best sushi restaurant around. But than again I might be bia-sed. Sorry, sun joke humor is trending at the moment. Anyways, I am very fortunate because my parents finance my obsession with becoming the greatest "Mech Warrior" this side of the shadow as long as I put in an honest days work on the boat or in the restaurant. Currently, that title belongs to Keith (the son of Julian Masters) owner of Master's Electronics, Master's Farms, Master's Mining, Master manipulators.... the list goes on and on. Basically, if you're not self employed, you work for the Masters, ironic right? As you can imagine, Keith is a self righteous, spoiled a-hole, and at the moment has the attention of my future girlfriend. I am ten times the knight he is and I'm determined to show Betsy what a true champion looks like. It's easy to build a battle suit made of Gadolinium, and 2 gauge gold strand wire when your daddy owns the mines and everything else. I've got my faithful mechanic Charlie who is also my dad's deckhand and boat mechanic.  Squints is my Squire, and he works for Master's Electronics. I am not even sure what his real name is, I sat next to him at my very first Mech Tournament when I was 7. Every time a warrior fell, he would, you guessed it... Squint. We have been best friends ever since. With a mediocre mechanic, a best friend who has the hook-up on electronics, and a thieving ferret Finneas we have assembled the second best battle suit known to the Vessels. We have worked hard to get where we are and this tournament is going to put us in a bracket with the current "chumpion."

You don't need directions to get to the arena, it is like Las Vegas on Planet Earth, you just follow the bright ass lights. You can't miss it! As we arrived, clouds of dust filled the air and the bright lights illuminated every particle like an outdoor Reggae festival on Earth. We circled around looking for Mech Bay 22. It was packed, this had to be the biggest showing of battle bots I'd ever seen. No doubt because winning this tournament would earn you enough token to live the life you want without any worries. Oddly enough, I'm living the life I want already. The only thing missing is Betsy. We finally arrive at bay-22, and low and behold, wonder-boy Keith has taken it upon himself to take his bay and mine, since he has 10 mechanics, 2 battle suits, multiple squires, and an entourage like Floyd Mayweather. However, the three of us combined with our trusting, mischievous, handy ferret, we were feeling really confident. We stormed the bay like we were total bad asses, turned off their blaring techno music, and demanded our bay be cleared out. Meanwhile, Finneas slyly on his own accord carried out a simple ferret plan to hinder Keith by chewing through Keith's battle suit's self-leveling system's wires and of course dropping a deuce on his instrument panel. When from out of my peripheral vison of my clear lens Oakley's, I see the gold Championship rings of Keith's right hand striking me across my face! 11 minutes later I woke up in the dirt parking lot with a shiner, no bay, and a bruised ego. But on the plus side, I woke up to Betsy's beautiful green eyes looking at my black eye, while holding a bag of ice on it, and ranting about what a loser Keith is. So in my eyes, this was the first win of the tournament and I'm now advancing to the next bracket. I cant wait to be standing over his battle suit with him begging for mercy while the crowd chants my name, Arma! Arma! Arma! First match is tomorrow morning at 7:15, got to get some rest as this will be a multiple day competition. I'll update you soon!

**Winner**

The Mech Tourney Challenge was won by @Flip, who earned the most votes in the Discord community poll, receiving a prize of Ziggurats #711 and the honor of his story's main character, 'Mom', being made into a future Vessels 1/1!

## **010 - Dutch's Casino**

The tenth Vessels fanfic challenge happened in the Vessels discord starting December 8th. The submission deadline was December 19th, 2021 (11:59 PM GMT).

**Prompt**

*Every year hometown heroes and local ringers all travel to Dutch's Palace to make a name for themselves, in the event that solidified the reputation of gambling legends such as Tony the Shark and even Dutch himself. For eight days these gentlemen will duke it out in the ISOP, Interstellar Series of Poker, to crown one whale champion over the rest. The buy-in is quite substantial, and most players spend years in hopes of earning a seat at the table. Dutch, founder of the ISOP, built the casino to provide ample opportunity to turn those hopes into profit.*

*Many attempts were made to cheat the system and every attempt was thwarted by the ever vigilant head of security, Cosper. Nothing happens in Dutch's Palace without Cosper knowing or approving it. There isn't a single game in the casino that she doesn't know inside and out. Of course, most of the games were of her own design anyway. As preparations for the tournaments were being made, a new face made an appearance in the casino. This stranger would go to any lengths to play in the ISOP. Why, this stranger was so hellbent on winning the championship, no one knows. Was it fame? Was it fortune? Or could there be some other motive? What new games await them in Dutch's Palace?*

**Submissions**

**@valkyr's submission:**

Lark looked down as she smoothed the front of her white tuxedo jacket. She straightened, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, and walked aboard the ‘Ounce of Luck’. She was the last to board and turned to look at the docks as the attendants hauled in the gangway. The docks of the Vessels Colony were still bustling with life as the sun set behind the city. They were full of fishermen bringing in the day’s catch and families inspecting their wares hoping for a delicious meal. Children dashed and darted over and around lobster pots, playing as the adults haggled and chatted; a daring few took turns jumping into the dark waters below, their squeals of joy adding to the hubbub of the port. As a child, Lark had spent many days on those docks, playing with her friends, chasing cats and rats, trying to catch the first glimpse of ‘the Puffin’ returning home with its catch; to this day, no Mech had ever lived up to that one in her eyes.

She adjusted the mask covering her face and was thankful that Dutch’s Palace valued the anonymity of its clientele. The other passengers headed to test their fortunes were similarly dressed, with covered heads and faces, though you could usually tell a high rolling member of the aristocracy by the garishness of their attire. The craft was more filled than usual; Lark suspected the Interstellar Series of Poker was drawing people in.

While the aristocrats would normally shy away entanglements with gambling, which the Queen had formally outlawed in the Colony, the ISOP promised enough prestige and wealth to entice even the most ardent supporters. Rumors swirled that members of the Royal family, including Princess Martha, made the pilgrimage to Dutch’s Palace for these types of events, although the casino’s emphasis on discretion would never allow these rumors to be confirmed. Dutch had been forced to move his casino outside the colony’s borders, but if anything the move had allowed him to make even more money.

Dutch’s Palace was indeed a splendid casino, but it was also a sophisticated ship. The Palace was always on the move, albeit slowly, and was capable of taking to the air as well as diving beneath the waves of the planet’s vast oceans. Lark surmised that today’s location was somewhere deep in the ocean because the ‘Ounce of Luck’ had raised shields and begun submerging rather rapidly. She wondered how Dutch was able to keep such a complex ship going, not to mention safe from the dangerous denizens of the Deep. She had heard that in addition to Cosper and ‘M.O.T.H.E.R.’ protecting the interior of the casino, the Palace had a team of Warlocks that added a layer of supernatural protection, warding off Deep Ones and whatever else roamed the skies and seas.

The transport descended quickly into the darkness beneath the waves. With twilight closing in above the surface, it wasn’t long until the rocks and vegetation of the ocean faded into inky smudges, just barely perceptible. Bioluminescent shapes in the murky depths flashed past and Lark took the opportunity to size up her fellow luck seekers. Lark hoped a few with deep pockets would be willing to test their luck outside the ISOP itself; maybe not quite deep enough to buy-in, but enough to lose plenty and fill Lark’s pockets. She spotted a fidgety, portly man with a nice enough cloak and began making her way toward him.

In the distance, Lark spotted a bright light, which quickly took shape as the transport approached its destination. Dutch’s Palace came into full view, resplendent even submerged hundreds of feet below the surface. The casino’s exterior was made of some type of metallic material Lark didn’t recognize; it seemed to absorb light, refracting it into a prismatic array, but in a controlled fashion. It was oddly smooth and it was impossible to tell exactly where the angles were. Light from within pierced the murky waters through portholes dotted along the exterior of the Palace, and towering spires near the center disguised both weaponry and communications tech. As the transport came closer, Dutch’s palace appeared to change from green to blue, then to a deep purple. It seemed to shift as they got closer and changed angles. Lark figured it must have been expensive. The “Ounce of Luck” docked with the Palace and a jet tunnel extended, allowing the passengers to disembark. Lark clinked the chips in her pocket for good luck and ducked to follow her portly quarry onto the casino floor.

Even though she had been to Dutch’s Palace many times over the last few months, Lark always felt giddy as she walked in. The place always had a vibe of energy and unlimited potential - dreams would be made and crushed every night of the week. Servers, some human, some robotic, weaved seamlessly among the patrons, carrying offerings of intoxicating drinks and delicious morsels. A lonely roulette table stood off to one side, as an homage to the world they had left behind, but the real attractions at Dutch’s Palace were the live betting hall and poker tables. Lark never had much luck betting on hovership races, but Mech fights were typically good to her. And while she had been known to sweep a few of the smaller poker events, she hadn’t made enough to enter tonight’s main event, the ISOP. Buy-ins closed at 10pm, so there was an outside shot she could scrape together the rest if her luck held. The purse for the ISOP was enough to totally reinvent herself and the prestige might gain her valuable connections. Lark was sure that those posh aristocrats of the Queen’s court would know something about Wren’s disappearance…she absentmindedly rubbed the chips in her pocket.

The portly man ambled his way toward the sports book, nervously glancing at the screen that displayed the information about upcoming events. Since they were underwater, there weren’t any hovership races scheduled, but back on the mainland, the Mech tourney was about to kick off: Battlin’ Beetle vs Crowd Pummeler, Mighty Fenrir vs Benefactor, and Zugzwang vs Bishop. The man grabbed a ticket and hunched over one of the high top tables to fill out his choices.

Lark did the same, giving him a roguish wink as she pulled up a chair across the table from him. The odds on Benefactor weren’t exactly great - Mom was a crowd favorite and even though Lark was sure the Fenrir was up to the task, the betting public loved to cheer for a hometown hero. Similarly, the Queen’s champion, Brunor, and his mech Bishop were favorites at 3:2. Beetle on the other hand, was relatively unknown and the Bookbringer monks had been gaining influence at court. The Crowd Pummeler was a 3:1 favorite. Wren had always loved collecting bugs along the shoreline when they had been children…

Lark had an odd relationship with Luck. She swore that sometimes she could *feel* Luck flowing into her. She didn’t always win, of course, and had let emotion chase some ill-conceived bets, but there were also times where she simply could not lose. Remembering Wren, she took a deep breath and felt *Lucky*. Brimming with confidence, Lark decided to do something foolish. She was going to bet a parlay: Beetle, Benefactor, and Zugswang all to win outright.

Lark put down her 10 tezos bet and walked out of the sportsbook. She spotted the portly man with the decent cloak making his way toward the roulette table. An odd choice, to be sure, but given his apprehension in the sportsbook, maybe he wasn’t a very savvy gambler. It was disappointing, because he wouldn’t be playing against her, but Lark had a good feeling about him. She didn’t dare attempt to pick his pockets, with M.O.T.H.E.R. and Cosper running security, no thief had ever successfully made it out of the Palace.

The man sat at the table and began stacking his chips; Lark estimated nearly 200 tezos in his stack. She sat down beside him and confidently placed a 10 tezos chip on red. The man nervously glanced at her, knocking one of his stacks over and sending 50 tezos out onto the board. He quickly stood to retrieve his chips, scattering them haphazardly across several numbers. The croupier waved his hand over the table with a flourish, signalling no more bets as the ball began to spin. It ticked and tacked across the numbers before finally coming to rest on Red 30. The forlorn man shook his head and watched as his chips were swept away. Again, he spread out 5 chips on random numbers, carefully changing one of the bets to 30. Lark let it ride on red. The ball bounced around once again…coming to rest on Red 9! The man uttered a quiet curse, looking nervously at Lark, who shot him an encouraging grin.

“What’s your birthday, Mister? Maybe try playing those.”

Muttering to himself, the man played another 50 tezos, this time covering 30 and 9, but moving one of his chips to Red. Turning to grab a drink from a passing refreshment bot, Lark downed the liquor in a single gulp and felt a surge of Luck. Lark mischievously moved her chips, now 40 tezos worth, over to Black. The wheel kept spinning and the 3rd ball came to rest on Black 24! The man was becoming exasperated, having lost 150 tezos in the span of 3 minutes. He stood up quickly and began collecting the paltry remnants of his chips, muttering to himself.

“Roulette just isn’t my game…shoulda known better than to trust this relic…”

“Now mister, just one more spin. You’re my good luck charm. I’ll even share my Luck with you this time!” Lark retorted.

The man sat back down and begrudgingly took out 20 tezos. He offered them to Lark, who politely shook her head no. “Now mister, I can’t touch your money - but seeing as it’s Christmas soon, I’m feeling like 25 ought to treat us nicely!” She moved 20 tezos over to the number 25, pocketing 60. The man glanced at her again, before placing his 20 tezos beside hers. Taking a deep breath, Lark looked at the croupier, who was talking to the pit boss behind him. They both kept looking at her and something felt…wrong. She looked back at the board, taking a deep breath; 25 wouldn’t do it. Somehow she knew. She focused intently on the wheel, watching it turn again and again. Her vision blurred and the numbers and colors all ran together. Suddenly, she felt Luck bubbling inside her. Her eyes snapped back into focus and one number became clear, crystalized in her mind.

“Mister, we’ve gotta swap! I got it wrong. We need to be on 12 for December!”

They hastily moved their chips to 12 as the croupier waved his hands over the table once again to close the betting. The ball rolled around, skittering across the wheel. It came to rest on Red 12! The man leaped out of his seat, nearly knocking a refreshment bot to the ground. He looked in stunned admiration at Lark as the croupier paid out their winnings, 700 tezos each. His look of shock turned to apprehension as Lark felt a firm hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll collect these for you. If you’d be so kind as to follow me, Miss Lark.”

Lark turned, adjusting her mask to ensure she was fully concealed, to see Cosper, flanked by Kraken, each wearing a venomous smile. She tried to pull away, exclaiming, “But I haven’t done anything wrong! There’s nothing wrong with being lucky!”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we, Kraken.” Cosper said, turning to her able-bodied doorman. “Please escort Lark here to Dutch’s office. The boss would like a word with you.”

She reluctantly followed Kraken to one of the outer walls of the casino. He placed a hand on the textured surface and a hidden door swung open from the inside. He gestured for Lark to step inside. They followed a hallway deeper into the casino, climbing several flights of stairs, before finally arriving at another door.

“Come on in, Miss Lark.” A voice came from within - there must be surveillance everywhere in this place, Lark thought. She hadn’t seen a single camera, bot, or person since they left the casino floor, but she was sure her every move was being tracked.

Inside the office, behind an immense mahogany desk, sat Dutch. Monitors behind him showed various angles of the casino floor, a few on each game, and a screen showing the broadcasts of the 1st round of the Mech Tourney. He gestured to the plush leather chairs in front of his desk and said, “Well now, Lark, is it? Just who I was hoping to see at the Palace tonight. Cosper figured you couldn’t resist, given your…advantages. Now normally, I’d be very upset with someone trying to get one over on me in my place of business. You cleaned up at Roulette and you’re the only person here tonight who hit all 3 Mech winners. And in a parlay? Now that’s just cheeky. And take that mask off - there’s no need for it here.”

Lark sheepishly pulled her mask off, stammering, “But Dutch, I don’t know what you mean! I’ve been here a few times, but just to try and make enough money to help my family. And I’d never steal from anyone!”

Dutch raised an eyebrow and shifted in his seat. “Well now that IS interesting. So you’re denying that you come here to use magic? Unfortunately for you, Cosper has collaborated with some of my warlocks to make certain upgrades to M.O.T.H.E.R. In addition to thermal and infrared, we’ve been able to detect certain energy flows that seem unique to this planet. I leave the science to the scientists and security to Cosper, but suffice it to say that we know when someone uses magic in the casino.”

“I wouldn’t do that! I might get lucky from time to time, but I’d never use magic. It’s against the crown!”

“So is gambling”, winked Dutch. “Besides, we always suspected someone would eventually try to cheat via magic. We’ve had the capability for years, but you’re the first one we’ve detected. We reviewed the tapes back from your very first trip to the Palace and we keep extensive logs of what everyone wins and loses. And Lark, you win *a lot*. It took us a few weeks to single you out, but M.O.T.H.E.R. is extremely thorough. We’re certain you’re using magic.”

“You mean…my Luck? Sometimes I feel lucky, sometimes I don’t. But I don’t CHOOSE to be lucky…” Lark trailed off. Well that wasn’t exactly true, she thought. There were times, especially when she needed it, when she felt…Lucky. She had recognized it in the past. During a family scavenger hunt; that time with Wren, trying to lose the Riot Cops in the alleyways near the docks; even tonight, at the Palace. Sometimes her Luck was a trickle, barely noticeable beneath the surface, but when her back was against a wall, Lark could sometimes feel a surge of Luck like a fire hose.

Seeing the recognition in her eyes, Dutch continued. “And that presents us with a very interesting opportunity. You see, recently me and my business associate, Tony, have had a bit of a falling out. He’s been a regular since we started the place and when he wins, I win. Or I used to. Now he’s been organizing against me and rumors are he wants to get me in hot water with the monarchy and edge in on my business. Rumor is, he plans to take down the ISOP and use the winnings to take over. He has some powerful backing and has staked a few ringers to try and up his chances at winning it all.

Now that’s where you come in - an unforeseen variable. Tony is good, but he knows the poker scene. We’ve watched you clean up some of the smaller tables the last few months, but nothing as high-stakes as the circles Tony runs in. No offense, but you’re nobody. His ringers won’t be gunning for you and he’ll probably underestimate you. I’ll cover your buy-in and even let you keep your winnings from tonight. You use that Luck of yours to knock him and his flunkies out of the tournament.

Lark sat in stunned silence. Dutch stood and walked out from behind the desk. Standing in front of Lark, he extended a hand, “Do this for me…and I might have some information for you about Wren.”

**Winner**