Cosmic drift

As Sol stepped through the archway, he wasn't sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't this.

The bar was a fever dream of neon lights, mismatched décor, and completely unnecessary but somehow brilliant design choices.

The floor wasn't stable—it shifted between zero gravity and normal at random intervals, forcing patrons to casually float before landing back on their stools.

The seats themselves? Sentient. Occasionally, one would wiggle away, refusing to let certain customers sit. A burly reptilian alien was currently arguing with a particularly stubborn stool that kept sliding out from under him.

A massive aquarium of floating jellyfish-like creatures pulsed in different colors depending on the mood of the room. Right now, they were glowing a mischievous pink—which probably meant trouble.

The ceiling was an animated star map, but every now and then, it glitched and replaced the constellations with bad karaoke lyrics.

And then there was the bartender.

Standing behind the counter, mixing drinks with an effortless grace, was a cute woman with cat ears and a tail, exuding a charming, girl-next-door vibe. Her outfit was an odd mix of casual and impractical, yet somehow suited her effortlessly. Her **bright yellow cat-like eyes** seemed to sparkle with mischief, carrying an almost hypnotic allure that made people linger a little too long in conversation. Every flick of her tail seemed intentional, as if she was subtly influencing the mood of the room with each movement.

Her tail flicked lazily as she slid a drink across the counter to a fish-like alien with robotic arms, then turned her bright yellow eyes toward Sol.

"Ooh, fresh meat." She leaned on the counter, grinning. "Welcome to the Cosmic Drift, handsome! First drink's only half price if you tell me a good joke."

Sol blinked. "A joke?"

She tapped the bar playfully. "Bar policy. No joke, full price. Bad joke, still full price. Good joke? You get to keep your dignity and your credits."

Sol sighed, rubbing his temple. He had survived gang-controlled slums, stolen banned tech, and escaped a burning lab—but this was a challenge.

Still, he wasn't about to pay full price.

Leaning in, he smirked. "Alright. Why don't planets ever get into bar fights?"

The bartender's ears twitched. "Oh? Do tell."

"Because they always need space."

For a moment, the bar went silent.

Then, somewhere in the back, an alien choked on their drink.

A second later, rounds of laughter erupted across the room, echoing off the neon-lit walls. Someone wheezed between laughs, "What the hell kinda lame dad joke was that?!"

The bartender burst into laughter, her tail flicking wildly behind her.

"Alright, alright—you win, traveler." She slid a shimmering, iridescent drink toward him. "Nebular Brew. Smooth, good for thinking. Won't melt your insides… probably."

Sol smirked, taking a sip. It was cool at first, then warmed in his throat, leaving behind a faint, electric tingle.

Leaning against the bar, he let himself listen.

Not just to conversations—but to the rhythm of the place. The way people spoke, the things they weren't saying, the little gestures that held hidden meaning.

Sol let the Nebular Brew swirl in his glass, the liquid shifting between deep blue and fiery orange as it caught the neon glow of the bar. The warmth of the drink settled into his chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself simply… exist.

No running. No fighting. No life-or-death stakes.

Just a drink, a chair that hadn't tried to run away from him yet, and a new world unfolding before his eyes.

He leaned back slightly, his sharp green eyes scanning the room, not out of paranoia, but out of quiet curiosity. He was an outsider here, but instead of feeling like an intruder, he felt like a traveler at a crossroads—one who had finally stepped beyond the limits of his old life.

The Cosmic Drift was loud, eccentric, and utterly ridiculous—but it was also alive in a way the slums of Galvaris Prime never were.

Sol watched the characters that filled the space, studying them like pieces of a puzzle he wasn't in a rush to solve. The two cybernetized mercenaries were still deep in discussion, but at some point, their bounty list had been replaced by a video of two aliens slap-fighting in zero gravity—their business had casually shifted into entertainment. At a nearby table, a group of off-duty engineers played a bizarre card game where the deck randomly changed the rules every round. One of them cursed loudly as his cards literally walked off the table, refusing to be played, while the others laughed at his misfortune. In the corner, an Aetherian, still half-phased into another dimension, lazily levitated their drink, spinning it midair while scrolling through floating holographic texts. Meanwhile, a hooded figure sat at a table near the exit, their fingers tapping in a steady rhythm. Now that Sol paid attention, he could tell it wasn't just idle movement—it was a coded signal. He didn't know who they were communicating with, but someone, somewhere, was listening.

And then there was the bartender.

She was chatting with an alien customer who had tentacles instead of arms, casually balancing five drinks at once while her tail flicked back and forth behind her. Every now and then, her bright yellow eyes flickered toward Sol, as if checking to see if he was still there.

She knew how to read people.

And Sol got the sense she knew he wasn't just any traveler passing through.

Sol let out a slow breath, a slight smile curling at the edges of his lips.

He was far from home—but for the first time, that didn't feel like a bad thing.

This wasn't the end of something. It was the beginning.

He had knowledge. He had resources. And he had time, a lot of time.

No gangs breathing down his neck. No bounty hunters on his trail. No immediate threat forcing him into action.

For once, he could simply watch, learn, and plan.

He had escaped the slums. Now it was time to figure out what came next.

And as he took another sip of his drink, surrounded by the absurdity of the Cosmic Drift, one thing became clear—

Whatever came next, it was going to be one hell of a ride.