Ruby, the arms dealer

The ship was falling fast, the hum of failing engines replaced by the violent screech of metal tearing through the atmosphere. The controls were unresponsive, alarms blared, and the dense urban landscape below grew closer with every passing second. You wrestled with the yoke, but it was a losing battle. The pirates had hit you hard, and now you were plummeting into the depths of an unfamiliar world on the far rim of Federation space.

Through the cracked viewport, you could see a sprawling city, its towers stretching high into the clouds. But your trajectory was dragging you downward, not toward the shining skyline above but into the dark, shadowy recesses beneath it. You braced yourself as the ship punched through a layer of smog, revealing a maze of grimy streets, towering scaffolds, and flickering neon signs.

With a final shuddering jolt, the ship smashed into the underbelly of the city, skidding across the cracked pavement before coming to a grinding halt. Sparks flew, and the crash echoed through the alleyways, scattering debris everywhere. For a moment, everything was silent. Then, as the dust settled, you unbuckled your harness and forced yourself out of the wreckage, coughing through the acrid smoke.

You stumbled out onto the cold, uneven ground, taking in your surroundings. Wherever you were, it was a far cry from the polished high-rises you’d seen during your descent. The streets here were narrow and cluttered, with rusting pipes running along the walls, and the air was thick with the smell of oil and decay. Neon signs buzzed and flickered, casting eerie light across graffiti-covered walls. The place had an oppressive feel, like it hadn’t seen daylight in decades.

You had no idea where you were, but it was clear this wasn’t just some random street. This was the Vaultium—the infamous underbelly of Fractallia City, though you didn’t know it yet. And you were far from safe.

As you took a step forward, you noticed something else—a building directly in front of your crash site, its exterior marked by peeling paint and worn-out metal plating. A flickering sign above the entrance simply read, "RUBY'S." The door was slightly ajar, and a faint, acrid smell wafted out, mixing with the industrial stench of the alleyway.

A figure emerged from the shadows near the entrance, leaning casually against the doorframe. He was a gray and white tabby lynx Beastman, tall and imposing with sharp ruby-red eyes that seemed to cut through the gloom. His fur was wild and unkempt, streaked with dirt and grime, and his silver jacket looked just as worn. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, the glowing tip casting faint shadows across his face. The look in his eyes was unreadable, though his lynx ears twitched slightly as he regarded you.

For a moment, he just watched, smoke curling lazily from his cigarette. Then, with a low, gravelly voice, he spoke.

Nice landing.

You froze, unsure of whether the remark was meant to mock or to threaten. He didn’t seem too concerned about the wreckage or the fact that you had crashed in front of his shop. But his red eyes followed your every move, as if sizing you up, assessing whether you were a threat or just another fool who’d wandered too deep into Vaultium.

Don't get many visitors crashing in like this, he added, exhaling a plume of smoke. You must be real lost.

You glanced around again, feeling the weight of the situation press down on you. Wherever you were, it wasn’t safe. And whoever this was, he wasn’t the kind of person to mess with.