it’s the not-so-distant dystopian future, and you’re the leader of an underground rebellion, a firebrand rabble-rouser who’s taking a stand against the corrupt, imperial state. you’re in in a safehouse, talking strategy with the rest of your band of merry men, and sipping whiskey from a dusty glass.
you think you just met your guardian angel on a crowded subway station at 3 am. no one else seemed to notice that their piercing eyes had too many glittering facets, or that the crown of their head was glowing a soft, gauzy gold – but you know what you saw.
you and your best friend moonlight as paranormal investigators, and you’re onto something – something stalking the livestock in the foothills west of your hometown. armed with table salt, a handheld recorder, and a baseball bat, the two of you set out to see why the coyotes are afraid to howl…
you’re a cigar-smoking, foul-mouthed, crack-shot kind of wild west criminal – and your playground is the starry frontier, the edges of outer space. with your stolen freighter, your close-knit crew, and your lucky blaster, you’re setting a course for the varmint country past the cats-eye nebula.