Well, everyone's been waiting for that wonder drug for quite a while. The one that will cure everything, even Reaver. We're not quite there yet, but we're damn sure close. This new cure for near-everything, you ask? If you'll care not to snicker, it is, in fact, Dark Matter.

Yes, it's radioactive. Yes, polonged exposure to it is deadly. And yes, it is the cure for all viruses, diseases, psychological disorders, and possibly homosexuals. According to House law, you didn't hear that last part. But, you did hear this: You needn't worry about any disease ever again. Simply by grinding up Dark Matter, installing small amount in nanogenes, injecting those nanogenes into your bloodstream, and then they take over. Nothing stands a chance against it. Yes, we are truly living in a golden age of black medicine.

Now, you also may ask "What is the cost?" And the answer would be, simply and scientifically; "S***loads."

Yes, this is a miracle cure for the ages, but miracles don't come cheap. In fact, unless you're a trillionare, then you're pretty much just gonna have to keep catching those pesky little diseases, viruses, and depressions that have plagued your filthy lower class for the past few thousand years. So.... yeah. Money means health. Damn private healthcare...

But of course, people are still taking their healthcare into their own hands. Galileo and Kepler are being swarmed by thousands of Dark Matter Miners (DMMs for short), and they are sucking the system dry. Rogues, Xenos and Lane Hackers have been getting their share of the action too, with huge amounts being sold to the Junkers ready for shipment into the major houses. Even the Hogosha are getting a slie of the pie. It may be a 0.000000001% slice, but it's still a slice. In any case, everyone's making a profit. Well, nearly everyone.

WHY DID MY SHIP HAVE TO BE IN FOR REPAIRS THIS WEEK?!?! WHY!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Comfort, AoF Void News. God I'm so poor...

Leeds is indeed a strange place. The pollution throughout the system doesn't help anything, of course. Strange people and a low life expectancy rate combine to create some... indescribable 'events'.

When you life short you live large, that logic is undeniable. Of course, this being the Leeds system, about the largest thing you will find in society form is bar diving. And the culmination of all this bar diving is the annual 'Radioactive Games', their version of the Olympic Games. Would you believe they still have that in Sirius today? And they haven't renamed it? I swear, you'd think the Liberty government would've jumped right on that one, them being the first to colonise the Sirius sector and all. Anyway, back on topic.

The Radioactive Games are hardly prestigious. In fact, they can hardly be considered games. Unless you're about 2 hours into a alcohol binge that you're not quite sure you'll ever come back from. Fortunately, most of Leeds usually is, and the games continue. On Planet Leeds, the contestants gather. Some come by fighter; some by freighter; some even manage to find their way in cargo pods. No matter the transport, it all works out. Over 500,000 men and women get ready to participate in the silliest, yet deadliest, yet least media-covered annual event known to man. And so it begins...

The first game is known simply as The Duel. Since the entirety of the system of Leeds has their life expectancy cut down by about 20-30 years, it is conidered completely acceptable to irradiate yourself. Of course, no one wants to die immediately, so everything is at least a few hundred years old. The Duel is comprised of two opponents, each with a carbon rod. It's basically like fencing, except they're dealing with highly radioactive materials. The opponent who touches the other opponents' body with the tip of the carbon rod first gets a point. Once 5 points is reached, they win. Fun times.

The second game is the highly underrated Extreme Death Jogging. It involves jogging through a obstacle course filled with all sorts of death-inducing bric-a-brac. Pitfalls, rabid dogs, sand traps, zombies, STD-laden bar whores, and the occasional Aztec spear-thrower litter the three kilometer long course. In other words, this is in no way an IC-sponsored event. In fact, it may even be worthy of Rambo. Actually, scratch that - no matter how much Vietnam combat experience you have, it can't save you from zombies. Or whores.

Game number three is the almighty Ascent Into Madness. Essentially, this game is brainwashing. It starts off with a good soaking, also known as waterboarding. Fortunately, there is no water involved: It's all beer. Cambridge-made beer (so you know it's good). It then continues with the eye-opening treatment - you know the one when you have your eyelids taped up and images are player in front of you? That's the one. See how long you can survive both, and whoever goes the longest without becoming addicted to Cardamine is the winner. (This event, btw, is sponsored by the Outcasts and co-sponsored by the Junkers)

Of course, these are just the headline events. There are a whole host of mini games to be played, mostly in the crowd where no one can hear you scream see the event. By the way, if anyone is asking whether there is anyone policing this event, I have one thing to say to you: what the hell do you think?

Comfort, mini gaming about Planet Leeds, AoF Void News.

Have you ever fought in a fighter? If you have, then you're one of the unwashed masses, hardly fit to walk this... fly through this world. If, however, you have fought in hand-to-hand combat with someone, then you are of a lucky few. Take a seat. take a puff of that cigar. Have some overpriced wine. You deserve it, you rough, tough, rugged, permanantly-drunk man you. Any old person can blow another person up in ship vs ship combat. But you - you - you have taken on another man with nothing but your bare hands. Maybe a broken beer bottle. The hair on your chest probably reaches your feet.

Now, you're probably wondering why I'm complementing you. That is indeed a valid question. Well, the answer is simple. I, today, witnessed a hand-to-hand fight. And not just any old fight: A fight in space. Seriously. Hand to hand combat. In flight suits. In space. A battle royalle, in bulky flight suits, in the unforgiving vacuum. There were only 3 things that made this less awesome than it actually was: One was that they weren't fighting with either light sabers or ninja weapons. That was a let-down. Number two was that neither of them was handsome. Polygons do nothing for any complexion. Number three was that at the end, one of them tried to assault me in my cockpit. I had to gun them down with a Vulcan cannon. Rather unsporting.

However, it was still fairly awesome. Granted, their movements were rather awkward and slow, but then, there was a space battle going on the background. And I was listening to some metal. Helped awesome-up the experience a bit. The fight began when the engined systems on both fighters malfunctioned. Their weapons were badly damaged, and inoperable. Shooting was out of the question; running away was an impossibility, at least until the nanobots worked their magic. So, with a exchange of looks only seen in action movies, they secured tethers to their craft, opened the cockpit canopy, and leapt into combat. After an exchange of fisticuffs that would rival a Batman comic battle (complete with 'pows' and 'bams'), one of them reached around to the back of their opponents flight suit, and ripped out the tubes feeding oxygen to their helmet. Come to think of it, that was rather unsporting too.

Then, the winning party leapt towards me. This was one of the stupidest mistakes in the entirety of Sirius history, seeing as I have the operable ship and they have... well... two fists. A couple of orange photon shots later, they were dead. And the Darwin Award goes to... *drumroll*... *suspense*... *slight annoyance a how long it's taking to get their name*... Ship driver/space fighter number two! Congratulations, you have been duly dispatched from the gene pool!

In summary, space fighting is awesome. Fisticuffs in the black? Hells yeah.

Comfort, AoF Void News.

Little is known of the workers on the Battleship Missouri. In fact, little is known of the workers on any station. Think about it: when was the last time you stopped to check the name of the man you were trying to buy Pleasure Androids off of? I'll bet you it was never. Granted, pleasure androids aren't exactly something you like to talk about with someone you know, let alone strangers, but at some point you have to stop ignoring them. And that, my friends, is exactly where this man comes in.

A new trend is emerging in the lower-classes of ship workers: having awesome names. They want to be noticed, and so they do it in the first way that comes to hand. Granted, horrible disfugurement would probably get them more attention, but it's not the good kind of attention. In any case, the awesomeness level of names among simple bartenders, equipment dealers, ship dealers and commodity dealers is rising.

The first known case of this is the aforementioned John Funk, who changed his name after a large sewer backup flooded his home (and him) in fecal matter (note to readers: if you're eating your breakfast, it's too late to stop). After this, Mr. Funk (or as he was foremerly known, Mr. Smith) changed his name so that this incident would not haunt him. Unfortunately, it did, but no one really teased him about it to his face because his name suggested that he could kick their ass several times over. When asked about the ame change, Mr. Funk said that: "It was a decision based largely on the fact that I had been covered in poop earlier on. I kind of needed to disappear. Also the fact that my previous name was too generic. John Smith? What the hell is that? My sister is Jane Smith, for christ sakes. Laziest parents possible."

After the renaming he left Pittsburgh (where else could this happen?), and took up residence on the Battleship Missouri. To do this, he had to join the Liberty Navy, but at this point, anything that got him farther away from Pittburgh was a good thing. He began work as an assistant robotics engineer, but got bored of this and went and sold ship equipment. On this particular change, he commented: "Well, robotics is boring. Complex machinery? Give it a rest. Now, selling equipment (and pocketing a little cash on the side) - that is the life of a true naval man." Wisdom from the man with an awesome name.

More and more people have been taking on great and awesome names across Sirius. Recently, there was a man who renamed himself "Mr Kitchener". Anyone who doesn't recognise that reference will burn in non-moustache hell.

The only place this is not happening is in Edge World space. Everyone out there already has either their last or first name as Jesus or Ruiz, so the awesomeness factor is alrady at eleven. Any more, and these people will instantly go to an alternate dimension where all they do all day is invent cumbersome-yet-functional death-mobiles, and gigantic cities that do nothing but lob shells at each other all day. Also, laser dinosaur battles.

Comfort, wishing he now had a better name, AoF Void News.

Oh dear god. This... this is awkward. I have to explain this now, don't I? Okay. Bring it together. Stay focused.

Hi there, readers, and welcome to wtf theatre, something which I... just came up with. And will never repeat. Anyway, on with the story. Guess what new craze of sweeping the back streets of Planet Houston? If you guessed fishes fighting with foxes, you'd be wrong. They're both dead species. I guess you forgot that, huh? Time to visit the Sirius History Museum again! No, no, this fight is far, far more awesome.

After you see a robot mascot being blasted apart by a rocket launcher, it's kind of hard to get that thirst for oil out of your system. So, many Houstonites (is that how you say it?) have begun robotic animal fighting competitions of awesome, also known as RAFCOA. These fights involve a robotic version of a long-dead species fighting another robotic version of another long-dead species. Of course, no one said they had to anatomically correct, or even real, so they do get a bit wierd.

For example, your lord and master journalist has shot obtained a video of one of these fights. It was a three-way fight. Between a dragon, a manticore, and a gargoyle. I don't even want to know how people got these ideas, never mind how they made them into killbots (or what will happen if said killbots become self-aware, which is inevitable), but one thing is for sure: I stole one of them. It is a dinosaur, and I will call it Rex-y. And I will set it on guard duty, so no one can get it back. Not to mention set it on kill-on-sight mode.

Oh, and here he is now! Hey, Rexy! What're you.. wait... who are you? Wait a sec... aren't you the guy who I stole this from? Uh-oh...

Comfort, AoF Void News.

OH GOD GET IT OFF ME! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--

It is coming. What is it? It is, of course, the concert of the century. The name of this concert is the Grandtastic Consortium of Musical Fantasticry. It is a wierd name, but I will be repeating it, as my fictional bonus depends on it.

Now, you may ask what the Grantastic Consortium of Musical Fantasticry is about. Well, it's a giant concert, obviously enough. But, why so strangely named? And why does it have this great uproar? Well, I'll tell you: it's a system-wide concert. Now, this isn't exactly a new concept; it's been done before many times by satellite feed, and, for the poorer people, by radio feed.

But the Grandtastic Consortium of Musical Fantasticry? This different. This will include bands all cycling around the system, playing their share of songs on one station, and then departing for another.

This seems to some like an incredibly risky and stupefyingly dangerous venture, according to Liberty officials at least. One quote from an officer aboard the Missouri was "Wait, what? They're actually trying to do this? I'm all for out-there concepts but... what the hell are they thinking? There are so many Liberty Rogue patrols, Outcast wings - hell, even Junkers might be out there to try to ransom them back! God, these indie kids are retarded... tell them I said up yours, will you?"

I, of course, cannot converse with these unnamed bands (go read a poster if you want to name them), but we can always suppose they sent a gift basket filled with rotten confectionary. On another note, Grandtastic Consortium of Musical Fantasticry! (that enough yet?)

As of yet, only the concept has really been released, although it has been announced as happening within the next two months. Locations are undisclosed, but really, who needs to know? It's happening in every station in whatever system it appears in! Capital systems only, kids! You rural sillies are so never going to see this...

Comfort, AoF Void News (Grandtastic Consortium of Musical Fantasticry!!!)

[[BONUS: UNLOCKED]] WOOHOOOO!!!!!! Money, money, money....

Swords clash. Lasers fire. Missiles fly from their mounts. And all in the name of a daydream. You woke me up from it, too. I want to dream, but no, you ask me to WRITE! Bah... well, better get down to it.

Today, in the world of nonsense news: Space fish! Fish in space! Space in... fish..? Okay, just space fish. Anyhoo, these particular fish are in space, obviously enough. Although they are not an alien race, they still aren't what you might think.

In the centre of the Kusari Empire, it's Fish Celebration Week. Fish are eaten, cats proliferate, and everyone gets lots of omega-3 into their system. Well, due to this week of fish love (good lord, don't misinterpret that), a great monument is being built. A monument to fish! In the shape of a fish! Not made from fish - that would have been stupid. But, it does smell like fish! (of course that's not stupid!)

Restraunts have been opened on this steel behemoth, supplied straight from the fish farms on planet Junyo. Floating around in New Tokyo does make it a bit of a high-profile target - which it gets no special attention for. But why would it? Everyone in Kusari loves fish: even if the entire seat of government was feasting in there, nobody would dare to attack it. It would just be a hate crime - and no one wants to be portrayed in that light.

You can go visit the place if you want... but you can only get in in about 2000 years. Booking, huh? Good luck with that romantic evening.

Comfort, AoF Void News.

Wait a sec... I have an anniversary coming up... noooooooo!!!

Sandwich theft is REAL! Seriously.

In what is a shocking development for the entirety of the catering industry, several million sandwiches and other reception-style entrees have gone missing from... well, everywhere. It seems no eatery, no delicatessan, not even hostpitality classrooms have been spared. Well... except mine. But that's mostly because I house all my food in the middle of a nuclear bunker. I'm that kind of protective.

Anyway, as of yet, this food debauchery has no culprits, or even suspects. The LPI, the Kusari State Police - whoever you ask, they just shrug their shoulders and say "Nope. No idea." This is worrying, for a number of reasons.

One: This crime is massive. Sirius-wide. They even looted the Outcasts. There is no way it could have happened without leaving some trace.
Two: The cops have the power to cover things up like this. Sure, the navy could look into it, but then again, the police factions do have jurisdiction...
Three: The police are fat. And they're getting fatter.
Four: Their breath smells like an embassy reception.
Five: I scanned one of them, and the infocard read "Various stolen food items from catering truck"
Six: They obviously did it.

Vigilante justice, people: You know how it works. Let's get those fat bastards! Wait a second... why is the food safe alarm going off? NOOOOOOO!!!! You bastards! I'll get you for this! *sobbing*


Hungry, hungry Comfort, AoF Void News.

Do you know what Sirius wants to do the most? No? I'll give you a clue: it isn't sex-related. Yes, yes, I know that forces you to think. Well, think no longer, because I have the answers!

In a recent survey of random people and places all over the Sirius sector, a surprising trend was found. No, it's not that everyone wants to be in the navy, sailing the seven seas, while having their minds put at ease (although that is a disturbingly popular trend). Everyone wants, it seems, to be in a disaster. In space, preferably. Now, this points to one of two things: One, that everyone is extremely suicidal; or two, that people really like watching things blow up (which isn't surprising in the least).

Turns out it's a completely different reason altogether. People want to be the hero. How, you ask? By saving the stricken vessel, and with it, lives, of course! While this does sound like a rather pleasing prospect (I mean really, who doesn't want to be the hero?), it does also seem that many people don't exactly think it through. When pressed on the details of how they would save even themselves during the disaster, there was mostly just muttering and nervous shifting, rather than an actual answer. In other words, they wouldn't survive much beyond the moment that the disaster began. 2.426 seconds, to be exact. It's amazing what calculators can do, isn't it?

So, what would you do in case of disaster? Be the hero? Or die quickly and painfully? We all know you want to be the first one, but you're probably the second one, actually. Sorry about that. As for me, I would probably die quickly and painfully too. The difference is, I would at least get out an awesome quote and/or bitchin' guitar solo beforehand. Which is always better.

Comfort, AoF Void News.

Guitar solo ftw