It's been 35 years since that day, since the armistice was signed. The central government may have technically won the war with the insurgents, but it certainly didn't have the power it used to. With the planet's surface scarred, and the crop fields destroyed, money wasn't flowing to the planet of CP-018 anymore, and the government certainly didn't have the resources to start up the old terra-formers. It was a shitty enough planet before the war and nobody had bothered naming it. Anybody unlucky enough to have survived the war was just stuck on the dying rock, as space travel was more expensive post war. Jobs were supposedly to be in great supply on the nearby planet CP-006, which most people just called Novi. However getting there was its own job, a job Gwyn was currently working.
Now Gwyn was sitting in one of the many local spaceport bars drinking something that tasted like old pennies. (But it was cheap.) Her pockets were full of cash, but not quite enough to buy a ticket off world. She brushed some of the red dust out of her fur. Her fur itself was red instead of orange which was the color of her parents’ fur. Gwyn was a fox, in more ways than one. Her figure was pleasing, for those that didn’t mind her animalistic appearance. A product of gene splicing, a fad that was huge in the ‘900’s. A time that most historians call the golden age of humanity. People could be anything they wanted to be in the 2900s but now it was the year 3157, and if one happened to live on CP-018, one had the choice of either being broke, or dead. Even the rich people were poor by most galactic standards. She took another sip of the fowl tasting purple drink in her hands. She wasn’t exactly proud of how she earned the money to pay for the refreshment, but she wasn’t necessarily ashamed either. She had however found out that people would pay a lot of money if she took off her clothes. Her knees still hurt from that last job, and she had no intention of working another of those kind of jobs again. Gwyn took another sip, the liquid warming her throat and stomach. She brushed her hair back out of her face, her hair felt greasy and she could use a shower. Something she’d have to pay for. The voice of the bartender interrupted her own thoughts and brought her back to reality.
“Want something else, Hun?” he asked in a raspy voice. His vocal chords damaged by years of smoking. The man had an olive complexion and was missing the top part of his left ear. Despite his gruff appearance he seemed friendly enough. 
“No, I’m fine thank you.” Gwyn said, not really in the mood for a conversation, but noticing she was the only one in the bar at noon she realized it was probably unavoidable. 
“Really? You’ve been nursing that drink for almost thirty minutes now and you’ve made a sour face every time you sip from it.” He continued to put away glasses and dishware in preparation of the lunch time rush. “Why’d you even it order it Hun?”
“It uh, had an interesting name.” The girl admitted. Gwyn really didn’t know much about ferments or their tastes. 
	“I can’t really figure you out, ya know? You aren’t the usual clientele I serve here, most are mechanics off of work or farmers celebrating after selling what they grew. What are you doing all alone in my bar?” he asked, a look of genuine curiousness on his face. 	
“I’m looking to get off world.” Gwyn admitted. “Maybe find passage to Novi or something.” The bartender seemed to find her plan amusing. 	
“Wrong bar, hun. The spacers all hang out at the Blood Stripe a couple blocks away. They don’t like the food here or something.” he added, shrugging. “Want something to eat?”
Gwyn just shook her head. She ate a large dinner the night before and wasn’t hungry quite yet. Though that brought up the question in her head on when she did plan to eat, and what she wanted to eat for lunch. The door opened as another human entered the bar, he had pale skin and was dressed like a local. Next to the man was another though not as human in appearance. He was covered in grey fur, and looked to be quite young in age, about 14 possibly. The man was clean shaven, though there was plenty of dirt on his face. He wore a large hat to protect from the sun, and a large coat to protect the authorities from seeing the rifle he carried on him. He was a desert boss and what the authorities didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. Or at least he felt that way. The man sat three seats away, an appropriate amount of distance Gwyn thought. The grey furred boy however sat down next to her smiling. 
“Hello, I’m Trace.” The boy said in a genuinely friendly manner, trying to start a conversation. Gwyn merely sighed as she had wanted to sit alone and think, hence her picking a bar that was empty. 
“Trace, leave her alone.” The man said in a lazy but authoritative tone. Trace looked a little hurt seeing that his friendly manner wasn’t reciprocated. He got up and sat next to the older man. Gwyn returned to her bitter drink, once again losing herself in her own thoughts. “Anything exciting happen recently?” The man asked the bartender. The man spoke as if he knew the bartender, and indeed he did. 	
“Nothing much Ben.” The bartender responded motioning towards the boy. “Who’s your new friend?” 
“I picked him up outside of Lauren. He’s a good kid. Loyal. Smart.” Ben answered. Now for those who weren’t familiar with the Geography of CP-018, Lauren was really far away from the small spaceport bar Ben was currently in. More precisely it was on the other side of the continent and it took nearly 6 days to travel to Lauren by Rover. Why anyone would travel from Lauren to New Siren, the city this bar was in, was beyond Gwyn, as Lauren was arguably a nicer city. Gwyn brought her cup to her lips to find it was empty. She sighed despite the ferment’s abhorrent taste. The fox straightened up peeking over at the other two patrons, perhaps they had a better taste in drink and she could order what they were having. She caught Trace staring at her, and he, having realized he had been caught, quickly turned away. 
“Want a refill, Hun?” The man behind the bar asked reaching for a bottle. 
“No thank you.” Gwyn responded wrinkling her nose. “Perhaps you have something less, uh, bold?” she asked. To which, the bartender smiled and picked up a different bottle pouring its contents into a clean cup. He slid the new cup towards Gwyn. Gwyn sniffed the cup, all ferments smelled the same to her, however a sip confirmed that this drink was much sweeter and quite enjoyable. She wagged her tail in delight. The door to the bar opened yet again. Two more men walked into the establishment. Both were wearing body armor under what looked to be casual business jackets. Neither of the two had come to drink. Trace got up and walked over to the restrooms. The two men strolled up to the counter. 
“Where is it Jon?” They asked, opening their coats showing off matching laser pistols. “And the answer better not be you’ve sold it.” Little did the mercenaries realize that the buyer was sitting next to them. Ben reached into his coat, pulling the hammer of his revolver back while it was still in its holster. He wasn’t about to let some guys he never met destroy three years of work. He traveled from Lauren to get the information Jon was selling and these two could go to hell for all he cared, even if they were government. Ben stood up.
“I suppose I’ll be going, Five credits right?” he said, reaching into his coat as if he was grabbing his wallet. He of course wasn’t grabbing his wallet. He put the muzzle on the body armor of one of the agents and pulled the trigger. The sound of the revolver’s powerful round left everyone’s ears ringing and the first of the two men stumbled back. Ben hadn’t missed at such a close range, and body armor wasn’t able to stop the powerful round the revolver chambered. The man crashed into the other barstools, his body screaming in agony, his muscles no longer responding. He spit out blood as he landed on the ground. Ben pulled the trigger again, the second round finishing the wounded man. 
Gwyn covered her sensitive ears as soon as she heard the first round fire off. She watched the first man fall, and she watched the second kick Ben down to the ground. He fell on top of the dead man. With Ben now on the ground the Government agent spun around and fired his own weapon at the bartender. She still had her hands covering her quivering, ringing ears, and she could hear muffled shots as the man tried to hit the bartender who had ducked under the bar. She saw Trace step out of the bathroom, a compact carbine in his arms. The muzzle flashed. She felt blood splatter against her fur. Gwyn fell back. The back of her head hitting the edge of the counter. Everything went black for the fox. Had she been shot? She asked herself. Was she dead?