—VJOOOM TOTALFUCKINGCRINGE TUDUM—[a cosmo-jazz jingle that sounds like someone swallowed a whole beluga, realized halfway through that the bones were lodged in their ass, and now produces blues notes every time they try to take a dump]“Alright-alright-alright!
My stunning DJ just whispered into my ear
that our station rating jumped by two hundred seventy-three point twenty-one fucking percent,
and we—by some miracle of cosmic stupidity—
are now sitting in the very ASS of the galactic Top-25.Live on air—it’s me, Dick Melody:
your voice, your pain, and the reason you drink on weekdays.And listen closely, you cosmic alley kittens:
If we hit the Top-5,
I swear on the miserable life of my ex-agent Todd—
yes, THAT Todd, the bastard who stuck me with the contract for
‘AGLC™ Anti-Gravity Levitating Condom Deluxe™’—I WILL SHAKE MY BARE ASS ON TIKTALK™ WITH HIM LIVE.
So come on, assholes.
Grab your neighbors, grandparents, enemies, uncles, pets,
and any other vaguely sentient creature
capable of pressing ‘play.’If you love cringe—
love it to the bitter fucking end.But before I continue this odyssey
of idiocy, pain, and cosmic filth—Jackie, darling, hit ’em with a trash-track.
I need a smoke, to swear at some stars,
and to check whether my spare liver implant is still alive.”
[A hatch slams somewhere in the background.
Metal rattles. Something drops.
Something metallic clangs.
"OH COME ON—WHO STOLE MY LIGHTER?!"
A short pause.
"…Todd, if that's you, I swear to the Gods—"
A faint hiss.
Coughing.
More coughing.
"Yeah… still works."
Footsteps returning. Fabric rustling. He came back a minute later, smelling like burnt insulation and bad decisions]“I’m back.
Your eardrums intact?
Good.
Time to raise that rating.Now—
educational minute with Dick Melody™.
Let’s talk about a place most of you have only seen
in shitty AI ads on CosmoNet™,
or—if you’re especially unlucky—
on pawnshop posters.I—your beloved host—
have been there personally.
I was even invited to perform at corporate parties.Until Todd dragged my sorry ass to this radio station,
and now here I am:
sober, broke, and…Well, ratings are rising.
Means I’m still alive.Now, the question everyone asks
when they receive their paycheck:'Where in the galaxy can you lose your money, your kidney, and your dignity—ALL AT ONCE?'Answer:
CASINO CARINA™A place where hopes die faster
than the battery in a defective vibro-massager from WishZone™.Picture a galaxy map.
Now find the space between two spiral arms—
a dead, forgotten sector
where no space-police, no logic,
and not even LIGHT dares to enter.And in the middle of this cosmic BUTTHOLE
hangs a giant neon station so bright
that even black holes squint and mutter:'Hey guys, tone it the fuck down.'The official name of the region?
Carina Void™.Tourist brochures call it:
"A paradise for those who use money as toilet paper."Now imagine the station itself.
Take a small moon.
Build a casino on it.
But design it like the architect was told:"Make it either FUCKING GLORIOUS or go jump into a star."The hull glows with every neon color humanity ever invented: red, blue, pink,
“have another drink” and the classic shade of “you’re about to make a terrible decision.”Across the outer plating—
a giant hologram of a big-titty alien pin-up with cute horns waving:Welcome to…
‘Casino Carina™—Where Your Luck Always Runs Out!’And she’s not lying.
Marketing here is more honest
than the clients.If you’ve ever been in a casino on Earth
you know the smell of bad decisions and cheap alcohol.Multiply that by a thousand.
Add alien pheromones.
A couple of corpse-collector bots.
And a jukebox that only plays one song:'BRO, YOU FUCKED UP EVERYTHING.' in ten different arrangementsWelcome to:
The Pit of a Million Jackpots™Jackpot hasn’t dropped in 300 years.
But the machines still scream:“ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN!”
spoiler: not to youThe Hall of Black Edges™Where people go to “leave in style”
and walk out…
less than stylish.THE PAVILION OF SWEET CARINA GIRLS™Romance level:
“HallMart™ had a discount.”
The Goddamn Wheel of the Galaxy™Spins faster
than a Prime Inc.™ accountant after an audit.And who runs this neon hell?
Madam Carina O’Lust™
A woman with a past so mysterious
it’s like Yoda joined the dark side,
hooked up with Darth Vader,
and opened a small business specializing in lust.People say:
"If pure lust opened an LLC—
it would be her."Rumor says she’s a former reality-show star,
a professional manipulator,
and the only person in the galaxy
trusted with more contracts
than fucking MacroHard™.Her smile is a weapon of mass seduction.
And that’s her softest part.WHY GO THERE?
To feel like a big shot…
and immediately learn you aren’t.And yet thousands of idiots fly there every day.
Including…
Well, you already guessed it.
Our beloved duo of worthless mercenaries—
having crossed half the galaxy,
destroyed two flagships,
rescued a presidential daughter,
and somehow not died—Now stood at the entrance of CASINO CARINA™.“