Monomachiarum is a multifandom experiece that takes the characters into the chaotic future of the 30th century in the great expanse of space. Our lore is a combination of worlds brought in from other franchises, lore created by the site founder, and user-submitted information in order to make a vast and diverse setting. Add your pages to our grand story no matter who your characters might be or where they came from before. This is a place meant to explore possibilities and open new doors. Canons and OCs are welcome, just so long as they can fit into the setting with a little bit of reasonable modification here and there if necessary. So what are you waiting for? Join us today! If you'd like to get to know our community more, feel free to check out our Discord channel.
May 2023 It's been hectic this last year, but we are alive and celebrating our fifth year of adventure and tales. A lot has been worked on to help make the Monoverse one that everyone can enjoy and explore their story while becoming a part of the greater cosmos. All of you, new and long time players, stay safe, and see you in the Sea of Stars!
The rain pitter-pattered against the hood of Alex’s jacket as she made her way down the streets of District 23. She looked down at the pavement sullenly, watching her shadow eclipse the colorful reflections of the various neon signs.
“I hate this shithole,“ she mumbled to herself. District 23 was quite some way distant from the upscale heart of Angel City, with its lush gardens and soaring glass skyscrapers. It was the seedy underbelly of the city, where the tight, dangerous alleys were flanked by multiple storeys of seedy bars, clubs and shady establishments, inviting customers inside with garish pink, blue, red and yellow neon signs. She was fed up with it all. The smiling courtesans, whispering drug dealers and snarling thugs, all so needy of attention. She needed to get away from the place. For that, she needed a ship that could break the atmosphere and at least lug her to the nearest station. Perhaps there she could find some trace of her father.
Familiar footsteps splashed from behind her. Fat little feet running on the wet pavement. She was rolling her eyes even before she heard the words from behind her shoulder.
“Alex! Hey Alex!“ Deacon Svorks huffed up from behind her. Dragging his fat gut around with him made him breathless after only a couple steps. “I heard you were back. Back in the game, eh?“ He leered behind her shoulder with all the charm of his fat, grubby fingers opening a candy wrapper.
“What is it, Porks?“ she asked, not stopping. She hoped her nickname will be enough to insult him enough to frag on off her back.
It wasn’t. “Alanna wants to see you. Says she’s got a job for you. Word is you could use the creds. Can’t afford being picky if you’re ever going to find daddy, can you?“
That stopped her. Her face set in a scowl in the shadow of her hood, she turned around on him. “You are a fat, sad little man, Porker,“ she said, poking the finger of her cybernetic hand into his chest, with enough force she hoped would leave a bruise. Her frown smoothed out a little at the satisfaction of seeing him yelp and press back against the rain soaked wall of a strip club. “What does she want?“
“How the frag should I know? Meet her at the Sinking Angel in an hour.“ He swatted her hand off him, seemingly surprised by the weight and feel of it under her leathers. He obviously wasn’t informed of her new cyber limb yet. “That should give you enough time to down a few quick ones.“
Alex flipped him off and walked away as he chortled behind her. Just seeing the disgusting man did indeed make her feel like she needed a drink, so she set her way towards the club he mentioned. As much as she hated hearing anyone say it, she did need the credits. She had no idea what Alanna might want of her. They did meet before a couple of times, mostly when Alex came across some military tech. Apart from that, the woman was above her league. It was a public secret she was the one you went and saw for any illicit IMC tech. Expensive stuff. Hard to come by on the streets. Far above Alex’s pay grade. Whatever job Alanna might offer Alex, it was sure to be dangerous. Doubly so if it involved IMC. Alex didn’t much care for the organisation. She is not a political activist but the corporation’s bullheaded attempt of manhandling the Frontier worlds insulted her sensibilities nonetheless. When she decided to think about such things, that is.
She soon arrived at the Sinking Angel, pulled down her hood and sat at a corner lounge. The faux-leather seat creaked beneath her as she settled down and ordered a space-martini. Swirling her tangerine around the glass, she looked through the smoky room. Not much of a crowd tonight, despite the happy hour. Strange.
“You scared off all the usual customers?“ Alex asked the woman sitting at the table next to her. “Or is the place still getting aired out and recovering from Porker’s stinking breath?“
“Charming, Chalet.“ Alanna said, holding out her cigarette holder with her nicely manicured fingers. “As usual.“
Alex downed her space martini, the softly glowing liqour slipped between her lips and kindled a warm fire in her belly. “What can I say? I’m one classy lady.“ She stretched over the lounge, bringing up a booted foot to rest on the seat, elliciting a slight, but carefully and quickly hidden frown on Alanna’s brow. It was a wonder how much the woman insisted on thinking of the Sinking Angel as a fine establishment, Alex thought. It might be amongst the better ones in District 23, but it was still a dump. Fake leather, cheap booze. A damn good martini though. “So?“
“So. I have a job for you, little Chalet.“ Alanna’s words drifted softly through the smoke of her cigarette. “Wraisk district. Simple in and out job.“ She slid an envelope to the edge of the table and stood up. “Details in here, make sure it is done tonight.“
“What if I say no?“ Alex asked, looking up at the departing woman. Wraisk district was the home of… no, it was probably something else.
Alanna looked back over her shoulder to the girl. “You won’t.“ Alex reached for the file while she waved the barman, mouthing “Water.“ Better not drink and keep her wits about her for the job. She brought the other leg up and sat cross-legged, as the trusty old gent of a man brought her a glass of the chlorine tasting liquid. For once she was glad for the neon lights that filtered in everywhere, obstructing the color of what passed for water in District 23. She tore the envelope and reached inside, looking up at the hovering bartender. “I’m fine.“, she pointed out, and waited until he left. “Shit.“ It turned out it was not something else after all. The target were the Lastimosa offices in the Wraisk district. Attached to the file was a note about the payment in admittedly beautiful handwriting. “Daddy info“ was all it said.
No matter how rich people get, there is at least one thing that stays the same. They produce waste.
“However fancy your meal, your shit still stinks.“ Alex grumbled, while wading through the stream of human excrement in the sewers beneath Wraisk district. Not for the first time that day, she was happy for the pouring rain outside. The rainwater flowing from the streets made the stink bearable, at least. One of Alanna's contacts at the Lastimosa offices was supposed to have left a window open that night, and a manhole just inside the security perimeter unguarded. At least that was the intel from the envelope Alex had been given at the Angel. She prayed to whatever power might be listening that that was indeed the case, and that she was not ruining her boots for nothing. At least the sewer was empty of the various crawling critters she half expected to find when she jumped down into the stinking sludge just inside the walls of Wraisk district, in a secluded back alley.
About half an hour of involuntary contemplation of the movement of the bowels of the more affluent populace of Angel City, Alex reached the acces shaft. A circular opening in the concrete pipe, with iron rungs leading up to the manhole in question. Alex jumped up and caught the lowest of the rung, easily pulling herself out of the filthy stream and climbing up the shaft. She pushed on the cover. It wouldn't budge. Frowning, she set her legs on a higher rung, then used their strength to ram her shoulder against the stuck iron cover, finally dislodging it, and quickly slipping the fingers of her cybernetic hand in the crack, before it could fall closed again. The noise was minimal, but still, she waited a moment, before sliding the cover open, and letting the downpour wash along her face, before pulling down her black face mask.
Peeking up through the hole, Alex saw nothing but the dark. The pouring rain limited the visibility, and the manhole was located in a conveniently secluded spot. She slipped out of it, sliding the cover back almost closed, keeping it ready for when she will need it to make her exit. She slipped through the dark, heading for the wall of the office building, just a few metres away, then walked alongside it, looking for the window. So far, so good, she thought, finding her target, and pulling herself inside. The sound of the rain subsided, as she pulled the window closed again, and used a piece of cloth to dry out her boots to keep from leaving wet footprints about the place. The hard part was just beginning. The influence Alanna wielded with Lastimosa's employees apparently only extended so far. It could buy her a few lapses in security, but no one dared to interfere with the data system itself.
Alex kept low as she crept towards the hallway, while thunder cracked outside and painted strange angular shadows on the walls of the office. It struck her as curious, how usualy mundane places took on entirely different personalities when left empty and alone. Reaching the door, she slid it open and peeked out on the hallway. Her view was limited, but she could see an elevator entrance just to the left, and hear the slowly receeding footsteps of a security officer. The timing could not have been more perfect, but she had to be quick about it. She slipped out of the room and moved silently towards the elevator door. Inserting a slim pry bar in between the doors to force them open, she looked both ways, before taking the plunge and leaping inside the shaft, catching the iron cable with her left hand. She slid down to the lower floor, grimacing against the phantom pain as the cable dug into her glove, tearing it away before resting against the metal of her cybernetic. She grabbed on, and caught herself at the basement elevator door.
More office space, clean and sterile. This time though, the sound of rain was replaced with a low hum of computer terminals, as Alex made her way through the space, pulling off the ruined glove and stuffing in into her pocket. She soon found the one she was looking for, and slid out a port from her cybernetic to plug it in. Her arm allowed her to operate in digital space far easier and quicker than was the case before, connecting her consciousness to the computer data. Quietly, she slipped inside, to deliver the package of the spy virus. She exhaled softly, her eyes becoming blank as she submerget herself into the datastream. Vast rivers of digital information flowed about her and she let them carry her along, not resisting, and remaining unnoticable. She passed large data banks that reached to the electronic skyline, and heard whispers of binaric code, the watchers in the dark, mercury eyes scanning for any change in the environment. In more ways than one, infiltrating the data stream was harder than physical skulking around. It was a meditation, an excercise of being nothing, feeling nothing, letting the stream guide her to the rarely used and noticed shallows, where she could deliver her package. Those were places rarely or never visited, filled with lost and forgotten data.
She could feel them then, and hear their whisper. The digital ghosts, left in the stream so long ago. They would not speak, but will be grateful for new purpose she would give them. She dropped the package with them. They would watch, and learn, and report.
Careful to not feel a sense of accomplishment, she let herself flow out of those shallows back to the stream, letting it carry her to another kind of sewer, that let her exit the spirit of the machine and open her eyes once again to reality. She blinked and smiled. All that was left for her was to retrace her steps back to the Sinking Angel, and collect her payment.
... She was going to have to get rid of the boots after this. Alex crawled back out of the manhole in District 23. The rain tasted different there. Fouler somehow. The districts less well of were situated downwind of the heavy industry sites and it showed in the rancid taste of the downpour. Still, it was better than the stink of the sewers. She pulled her hood back up and walked slowly back to her place, splashing to the puddles that formed in the uneven asphalt of the streets. Alanna would know about her task being sucessful by now anyway, and Alex had no desire of visiting the Sinking Angel and running into Svorks again, though she figured her nose wouldn't register the man's malodour, coming as she was from the city's bowels.
District 23 bordered what was beginning to form into a large scrapyard and it was on this border that Alex made her impromptu home. She cicked off her boots and threw them over the fence into the junkyard, walking barefooted the short path to the warehouse she had comandeered. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside a small foyer and shrugged off her jacket and pants, hanging them on a hook to dry, before walking into the warehouse itself. To her right were pieces of ship tech in various degrees of disassembly, strewn about a large open space, meant to hold her project. She had been close to completing the work on her very own ship before needing to pay for her cybernetic. Not for the first time she wondered, if she would ever make her way off world. Thunder rolled outside.
She turned to her left instead, walking along plush carpets to her living quarters. A few scavenged couches, a bed a small table and kitchen. Perhaps she was being too impatient, rushed too much in her desire to follow her father to the stars. She mulled it over as she stared at an ancient laminated poster above her bed. It depicted a fighter of now obsolete Confed design. The Stiletto was always Alex's favorite. It was just soomethinng about it that appealed to her. Light and sleek, quick and mobile, much as Alex herself. As far as she was concerned, they just didn't make them like that anymore.
The communicator on her desk pinged. She opened the message. From Alanna. There was no text, just a sinngle picture. Alex gasped and leaned closer. It couldn't be, but yes, there he was. Her father, caught on some security camera. Alex scanned the pict for any familiar sign, her eyes darting across it for any clue to where it might have been captured. The floor was mesh metal, some kind of corridor. No neon lighting of District 23. No fancy foliage or trees of the wealthier districts of Angel City. It looked like a coridor, the harsh lighting most likely not natural, and certainly not from any place in the city. It must be one of the stations in orbit, she thought, by the way the floors and walls looked. Her father was shown walking towards a store or restaurant. Mr. Shen's Spicy Noodles. It's a place she would easily find, provided there were not more than one of them, and find out the station it was located on. But still, the problem of getting in orbit remained. It was something she would have to take care of as soon as she could. She could not stay here and dawdle anymore. She needed to find some kind of transport, and fast.
The rain had stopped. The runoff from the roof beat a steady rhytm against the metal windowsill outside, like a click of a metronome. Alex turned the pict capture over in her hands, observing it in the faint light. It was almost daylight outside. Almost.
“You and I. Were we right to come here, dad? Were you right to go? Or were we just two fools, sharing the same anger and loss?“ She smiled. “Perhaps that is why we didn't even need to talk to understand each other. I know you had to go, and I couldn't - didn't want to- keep you any longer. But it's been to long, dad. And I need you back home. Back with me.“
“I wish you could see me now, and I wish it would make you proud. I always wanted to be someone special for you. Special like you are. Who could I be but another me, wishing I were you?“
“You helped me pull myself up, dad, and taught me things were worth fighting for, whatever the cost. And never give up. When you held out your hand out to me, you made me stronger. I will make myself worthy of the things you taught me. I will find you and you will see what I've become. I know I'll make you proud dad. I miss you.“
“Who can I be, but another me...and another you?“
She laid her head back and sighed as she closed her eyes. “Days follow the nights. From death we'll be brought back to life.“ She sighed, reciting one of her dad's sayings. Best to cach some rest during the day, and get ready for the night, when the district really comes alive.
The afterburners sputtered and fired, making the Stiletto wobble slightly at full speed. It flew low too the ground, criminally so, and caused havoc in it's wake. It sped over the small alley, hats, coats and stalls being pulled in its wake, before it pulled up skywards, narrowly missing a hab building. Powering skywards alongside it, the slipstream made the glass of the hab units rattle and break, before the Stiletto finaly left the skyline of Angel City far below, piercing through the cloud cover to bask in the clear skies above the smog.
Alex chose to ignore the squealing amalgamation of threats, complaints, curses and promises of physical harm coming from the failing comms unit. Instead, she keyed the recording unit she had built into her cybernetic and shouted over the din. “Hey Dad! You are not going to believe this! It's a Stiletto. An actual working one too!“ She didn't mention the flaking paint or the flickering nav screen, or the suspicious smelling liquid that was leaking from somewhere under the ship. She hoped the landing gear would deploy when she had to set down on the other side of the metropolis. “The aterburnes work.“ She should probably focus on the positive. Only they didn't, not quite. In fact, they chose just that moment to stutter again, making the ship creak and rattle. “Easy, girl. Shake it off.“ Alex muttered, levelling out and easing off the throttle.
“It's perfect, Dad. Just what I always wanted. Your girl is going off world!“
She will remember old hawk-nose's stare of disbelief forever. The way his eyes bulged out in apprehension as she actually lifted off right in front of him.
....
“But, does it fly?“ Alex had asked hawk-nose, just a few minutes ago. She could barely contain her feet from jittering with excitement. She had actually managed to convince the dimwit she was a dealer in antique vessels. She had spent the better part of an hour criticizing the modern additions to the old bird, claiming how they took away from the classic character of the ship, shaking her head at every tech improvement and tutting along. Inwardly, she was beaming, and there was only one question on her mind. Does it fly?
The man looked the ship over. “Well... maybe. I sure haven't tried it out. Who in their right mind would? But you said you had transport, right? So that shouldn't be a problem for you.“
“Right. No problem.“ Alex beamed. “Why don't you go fetch the papers and we can get this done. I'm still not paying the full price though.“
Which she absolutely wasn't, she thought, as the man waddled away. She probably needed it more than he did anyway, she had thought, climbing in the cockpit. Such a shame it would be, letting the girl rust in this junkyard.