• Chapter 1

    The Patch



    Alex ran through the winding streets of New New York wondering for the millionth time what he was doing. Tracking these guys from spaceport to spaceport, after Kyana he had almost given up, but then that shady Thneed gave him the tip that the Banal Ti were operating out of an old Sim-Dog stand in The Big Apple, as the locals still called it. “Man, at least it’s not a Yocoon, or I’d have stopped way back at Jaran Baize” The Yocoon Reggeel’s, above being the most well-known, were the deadliest Terrorist Sect to inhabit the Nine Worlds. The Mi Las took a quick right down a shady alley, past a club where Alex faintly heard the distinguishable sound of families laying out Tis Charms for The Day of Many Gift Giving.
    The Mi Las took another right down towards a Garbage Dump. Unfortunately for him, the trash had gotten so high that it had completely blocked out the alley for almost 20 feet. He spun around, hoping to go back the way he came but was blocked by Alex slowly advancing towards him, gun drawn and leveled at his chest. “Don’t move, Criminal.” Alex said, more out of bravado than actual courage. The Mi Las slowly raised his hands, all three of them, and turned around so that the cop had a perfect look at his bubbling, boiling hindquarters. “Ugh, what did I ever do?” Alex moaned knowing very well what he did. All of a sudden, a shot rang out in the darkness, and the Mi Las dropped to the ground as a solitary Mag Tress shell drilled through his body, blood spreading across his white Tal-alce Mi shirt, staining it a dark, sickly blue. Alex’s eyes shot to the sky, looking for the mysterious assailant. He faintly spotted a dark, shadowy figure standing on the spire of Big Ben, a large rifle cradled in his arms. “You idiot! You killed your own man!” Alex yelled at the man, but the words were carried away by the harsh wind before they even left his mouth.”
    He ran to the fallen Mi Las and crouched, examining the wound, as he rolled the seizing mass, he noticed an insignia on the Alien’s jacket that looked unnervingly familiar. Breath quickening, Alex reached into his pocket and retrieved a small, singed patch and held it next to the insignia on the jacket, a shudder passed through his entire body as he realized that they were one and the same a German Eagle atop a Teal Behest. The sign of My Nebulae Orswli, whom he had searched tirelessly for almost 20 years. For to him, the name was more than a Crime Syndicate that was meant to have been destroyed hundreds of years ago. No, for him the name had a much more deeper meaning, he tried to fight back tears but failed as memories that he had kept suppressed for years came flooding back to him. For twenty years ago, when he was only five, My Nebulae Orswli had blown up over twenty residential units killing 4776 people, including Alex’s own two parents.