I LIVED, ***** - LIVESTREAM ANNOUNCEMENT
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O-12 broadcasts from what looks to be the cargo bay of a shuttle, presumably flying through space. He's still just as done up as always though, wearing an outfit that can best be described as a mixture between military dress uniform and a magical girl outfit. He's wearing a fancy chrome face, and with jet-blue hair he's always very stand-out, and he's got a bombastic personality to match.

O-12 flicks through his phone some more, muttering something indistinguishable under his breath.

The screen turns to black, and prompts you to click on some other videos by O-12.

From the top of the world in a comfortable little apartment, to dirty alleyways in some planet's urban labyrinth, the reality between notails that go Alpha-Class was nothing but this. Who would've thought that jumping from a comfortable fish bowl to the vast ocean would make you realize a hard and terrible truth? Everything is too big, and you're nothing but a small fry.

S-52 was never meant to be here.

This day was like any other day for the past few years, she was searching the trash for a quick meal; food eased her increasing stomach pains. Even though most of it tasted bad it was enough, just enough for her to be pain free, and just enough for her to be able to think.

How had things gone this bad? As she thought and thought, she remembered:

• It was a fact that 85% of the Alpha-Classes don't survive a decade outside of the Notail Union.
• It was a fact that they're usually rejected from jobs and housing.
• It was a fact that they were regarded as nothing but a plague within society.

But none of these facts were her main problem, after all she was no ordinary case. Not only did she not have hands, but she had made a most unholy communion with a god, and with that she was blessed with the power of necromancy.

Nothing she did guaranteed her the vengeance she sought against the one who amputated her arms, but rather all her efforts seemed to turn her into more and more of a freak. A cruel twist of fate, perhaps.

S-52 dropped whatever she was eating back into the trash. All of that thinking did nothing but make her lose her appetite.

With a swift punch against the dumpster, a realization came: She played the game of the gods and the results couldn't be more obvious. She lost it all to the house. S-52's thoughts had drifted to a dark place...

Of course until she heard a bark.

Yogurt had something under his paw. A pamphlet?

"Bark!"

The vastness of space is quiet, tranquil, and most importantly, empty......

...All except for a cruiser, hurtling through a violent asteroid belt. The ship smokes and sputters, alarms from the inside wail and bathe the cockpit in red light. Several panels sparked, and amidst the chaos was the shine of a phone screen, little black claws clicking against it as Lord Buckingham the Twenty First rapidly types in a desperate message to his loving husband.

Somewhere, a notail received a message of distress, but was immediately distracted by clowns.

Buckingham pulls himself up, staring back at a quickly approaching planet through the windshield. Just as he'd open his mouth to shout again, the sirens cut off, and the lights go dark. Fuppance fiddles with the buttons, but to no avail.

Atop the bridge of a massive ship, orbiting around the lucevian's homeworld of Zerxon, a lucevian clad in a deep blue, her fluff a shade of purple not far off from the same hue, stares out the massive viewport of her quarters. The sun looms over the horizon of the planet, coating the room in a light, warm glow as this lucevian sits in a massive chair, a snakevine loosely coiled about her as it basks in the warm glow. She sits before a large computer set up, though it appears to be in sleep mode, as she converses to the air, seeming to talk with no one in particular.