Forums » Sci-Fi Roleplay » Trick or Treat: Space Gas Station 🎃🌌

((If this looks familiar, you probably have a good memory; I did something like it before, years ago. I had to discontinue my trick or treat topic that year due to life(TM) happening... Something about a fire... Oh, and I did a holiday-themed dice game/giveaway a while back, too... And now, finally, trick or treating at the Space Gas Station is open again! Any characters at all are free to participate, even if they don't usually go to space. Maybe they came here intentionally or maybe they have no idea how they ended up in a place like this... Either way, anyone and everyone is welcome at the Space Gas Station! Well, aside from bigots of course.))

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Far off in the depths of space, a slab of concrete is adrift. There upon the concrete is what looks, for all intents and purposes, like a regular Earth gas station. The building is rather shabby, paint flaking off and with a slightly crooked sign. The gas pump definitely doesn't work, but who out here has a car, anyway? Well, someone might... This is the kind of interstellar story where anything can happen because we're in space.
Despite the building's somewhat rundown state, the sign says it's open. Better yet, the words "Free Chocolate Bars!" have been scrawled in black crayon on a piece of orange construction paper taped to the door. The place is even decorated for the spooky season; glowing orange lights are draped over the building, and several jack-o-lanterns grin from where they're scattered along the ground. A plastic skeleton leans precariously against the wall beside the door, pointing one boney finger towards the aforementioned sign...
Maybe you should take its silent advice and step inside?

The Operator scowled in annoyance. Her space van not only had the low petrol light on, but now a new light illuminated on the control panel: Check Engine.

"Bloody great," The Operator moaned. "Just what I needed, another problem. Yoo-nit, run diagnostic!"

"Affirmative, Mistress," A small metal box with a pair of oversized eyes on top replied. It was next to the pilot chair docked into the van's dashboard. U.N.I.T. 35235236466-0001A or "Yoo-nit" as The Operator referred to the little droid for short, rotated its eyes to look at her. Its eye stalks had been extended and facing outward focused on the void of space in front of them.

"The radiator core is overheating," The toaster-like robot informed her in its staccato, monotone voice. "There is a fluid leak."

"Fantastic," She cried throwing her hands up in defeat. "That's just perfect. Is there a petrol station or anything?"

"Affirmative," the droid confirmed.

"Lovely. Set a course," The Operator ordered. "I hope this rust bucket holds together long enough for us to get there and refuel and hopefully 'ave a look at cooling system. Maybe it's just a hose or something."

A short while later, the van entered the atmosphere and extended its wheels. It landed roughly on the little concrete island floating through the cosmos. Smoke was coming from the engine compartment in the front. The van rolled to a stop in front of the pump. The Operator hopped out, popped the hood and a cloud of steam spewed from the engine compartment. The wind blew and some music began playing softly.

The Operator stepped away, waiting for the steam to dissipate. She'd deal with the overheated space radiator after filling up. She moved to the pump only to find it appeared to be shut off.

"Oh... please don't tell me," She groaned. Was the station shut down? The Operator turned and made her way to the dilapidated building. She had a moment of hope seeing that there was a sign indicating the run down station was open, then she saw the skeleton and sign for free sweets. Sighing, she made her way inside. "'Ello? Anyone here, love," she called out as she half-expected it to be abandoned. As she looked around, she realized there was something familiar about this place. It was as if she'd been here before... (for she had, many Halloweens ago... or was it Christmas?).

OOC: Remember me, love? Because I remember you!

The door chimed when it opened. Like, it didn't have a bell or anything attached, it just... Chimed. Sure, okay.
The interior of the building was small. There was a counter, a slushie machine, and shelves full of cups (for the slushies) and colourfully-wrapped chocolate bars (for the squid-like aliens from that one game, or anyone else who liked chocolate.) The scent of pumpkin spice pervaded the air, while the Halloween decorations were minimal, only a string of softly glowing orange lights encased in little plastic jack-o-lanterns along one wall, and an actual carved jack-o-lantern upon the counter.
Oh, and there was a person behind the counter, apparently the building's only occupant before the visitor arrived. This person seemed to be human, with no distinct features signifying any particular age or gender. They were pale-skinned, dark-haired, bright-eyed and dressed in a flowing, galaxy-patterned robe. Of course, being behind the counter meant they were not fully visible... But the bright, friendly smile they wore was clear to see. If they recognized their visitor from any previous encounters, they did not show it.
"Hello and welcome to the Space... Oh, wait..." They paused, peering off into the distance for a moment before starting up again. "Hello and welcome to the Spooky Gas Station! My name is The Wizard, first name The, last name Wizard. Can I interest you in a slushie or perhaps the spooky special... A free chocolate bar?"

((Was wondering if you'd show up. ))

Somewhere beyond the curve of Saturn’s orbit, a gravitational echo registered on a thousand unaligned satellites before vanishing. Then, in the silence that followed, a figure broke through the static veil. It was descending fast and trailing plasma. Zion Liu’s suit stabilized mid-drop, gravimetric thrusters firing in sharp pulses until his boots found purchase on the derelict slab of concrete adrift among the stars. The readout on his visor blinked uncertainly:

[UNREGISTERED STRUCTURE]
Composition: Concrete, Steel Reinforcement
Atmospheric Field: Artificial

He blinked once, toggling the external lens filters. A gas station. Out here.

The Tech Jacket’s neural sync fed a mild current through his spine as the suit’s subsystems calibrated. He didn’t remember entering any space where a refueling platform should exist, let alone one decorated with flickering orange lights and a paper sign promising free chocolate bars. “Well, that’s not ominous at all,” he murmured. His voice was filtered through a soft vocoder layer, echoing faintly inside the helmet.

Two drones disengaged from magnetic locks on his back. Bit hovered left, scanning with a pale beam. Byte drifted right, feeding telemetry into the HUD.

“Atmospheric stability confirmed,” Bit reported.
“Life-signs detected: one,” Byte added.

“One,” Zion repeated, skepticism slipping into his tone. “Guess we’re in for customer service.” The suit’s external plating retracted just enough for him to move comfortably as he approached the entrance. His boots touched down without a sound—mag-soles adjusting to the faint gravity signature holding this forgotten platform together. The door wasn’t automatic but swung open on squeaky hinges. A synthesized chime played, its tone algorithmic and unfamiliar, like an AI trying to imitate nostalgia. His visor pinged the source, tagged it as Acoustic anomaly – non-threat.

Inside, the environment was impossibly ordinary: racks of packaged rations, a slushie machine still cycling coolant, the faint hum of old refrigeration units running on backup power. The air smelled faintly of artificial cinnamon which meant manufactured comfort for travelers long gone. Behind the counter stood a figure dressed in a robe patterned like the night sky. Human silhouette. No augment signatures. No visible implants. The data stream hovering at the edge of his HUD flagged them as Unclassified Civilian – Probability of Hostility: <1%.

Zion paused, deactivating the helmet seal with a soft hiss. The armor folded back along his jawline, revealing his face—black hair flattened from the flight, eyes lit faintly by HUD reflection. “You’re telling me this is an operational outpost?” he asked “You’ve got power, breathable air, gravity… and a working slushie machine? And here I thought I was hallucinating from oxygen deprivation.”

Byte hovered to his shoulder, projecting a small holographic display that read: FREE CHOCOLATE – 0 CREDITS. “Guess it’s real enough,” Zion sighed. “Fine. Hit me with whatever’s least likely to kill a human.” Then, he turned fully toward the woman, scanning the readouts that floated faintly across his field of vision. Civilian craft. Radiation leak minimal. Power cell fluctuating at sixty percent. “Your coolant system’s about to breach if you keep running that engine hot,” he said, voice filtered but calm. “You’ll want to isolate the radiator before you lift again.”

*For The Wizard...*

"Hello and welcome to the Space... Oh, wait..." They paused, peering off into the distance for a moment before starting up again. "Hello and welcome to the Spooky Gas Station! My name is The Wizard, first name The, last name Wizard. Can I interest you in a slushie or perhaps the spooky special... A free chocolate bar?"

The woman was clearly human and female. She wore an Intergalactic Telephone Company uniform with a tool belt around her hip and had forgotten to remove her headset (as usual). Her jet black hair was pulled back neatly into a bun.

"Both sound lovely," The Operator replied referring the offer of a space slushie and free chocolate. "I believe we've met before... I never forget a face... or a name, especially yours! It's me. The Operator, we share a first name, love! The is also my first name and Operator being my last. But everyone knows me! I'm not just any operator or 'The Operator', I'm the intergalactic time and temperature lady! Not only do I connect your calls across the universe, or I did anyway before the bloody linemen strike, but that's another story, but when you call THE number, you know, the one to find out what time it is or what the weather is doin' in your system, that's me voce you hear! I'm the one that does the lil commercial and then tells you it's 300 standard time units and the temperature is 1200 space degrees or whatever. Anyway, enough about me! I've been here before. I'm sure of it. I've got a bugger of a problem, love. You see, I'm out of petrol and me repair truck is on the fritz and..."

About that time, another being entered and The Operator paused...

*For Zion*

Zion paused, deactivating the helmet seal with a soft hiss. The armor folded back along his jawline, revealing his face—black hair flattened from the flight, eyes lit faintly by HUD reflection. “You’re telling me this is an operational outpost?” he asked “You’ve got power, breathable air, gravity… and a working slushie machine? And here I thought I was hallucinating from oxygen deprivation.”

The Operator turned to the new comer that had entered, who appeared to be a bi-pedal being likely human.

“Guess it’s real enough,” Zion sighed. “Fine. Hit me with whatever’s least likely to kill a human.” Then, he turned fully toward The Operator scanning the readouts that floated faintly across his field of vision. Civilian craft. Radiation leak minimal. Power cell fluctuating at sixty percent. “Your coolant system’s about to breach if you keep running that engine hot,” he said, voice filtered but calm. “You’ll want to isolate the radiator before you lift again.”

"Yes, love," She replied. "That's why I landed. I was just about to bring that up. That and there doesn't appear to be any petrol in the pump. It also seems me space radiator has blown a hose or something. I don't suppose anyone could help a girl out and take a look for me?"

She glanced back to The Wizard. It didn't matter who it was, but between one of them she hoped someone had some fuel and the means to fix her van. Otherwise, she could be marooned here for quite awhile until ITC could dispatch a repair unit.

The Wizard listened to the woman ramble on, their expression a little blank as she talked and talked.
"...I never use the phone." They admitted, rather deadpan. This was punctuated by the door's second chime. They seemed to consider reciting the exact same greeting for their second guest, but then they merely shrugged, and informed both of them: "Nothing here is deadly to humans, unless the human in question has a life-threatening allergy or is prone to choking. We have chocolate with caramel, chocolate without caramel, chocolate with nuts, chocolate without nuts, chocolate with mushrooms, chocolate without mushrooms... We do not, however, have chocolate without chocolate, so if you dislike or are allergic to chocolate, I would not recommend the chocolate. Take a bar, if you want. Only one per person. It will know." They nodded solemnly at something unseen behind their right shoulder, tone dropping to an ominous low before they carried on blithely.
"...Now, if you want a slushie, grab a cup and help yourself! They're free tonight, too. Why not, I guess." The Wizard made a grand sweeping gesture with one arm towards the slushie machine, which seemed to provide a myriad of flavours, or at least colours... Each one was remarkably glittery and a paper sign taped to the wall nearby proudly declared that these slushies were made from fresh comet ice with authentic intergalactic fruit flavouring, absolutely nothing artificial!
"Each colour tastes how it looks, so pick your favourite, or mix and match! ...Oh, and... We don't sell gas here." They added this last part flatly.
((FWIW if anyone has diagnostic tools that can detect magic, they'd be going haywire. There's faaaaar more magic than tech in this place. If not, well, nothing to see here ))

The visor flickered off entirely this time, folding cleanly into the collar ridge of his armor. Zion exhaled, a small trace of condensation ghosting from the temperature differential. The air here was… surprisingly normal. A little too normal. “No allergies here,” he said at last, breaking the soft hum of machines and The Wizard’s unnervingly cheerful cadence. “Guess I’ll take one!”

He reached for a chocolate bar, fingers brushing the foil wrapping. It buzzed faintly under his touch, as if the thing recognized he’d been granted permission. His brow twitched at that, but he let it slide. “It’s a shame, though,” he went on, glancing toward the counter display. “I know someone back home who hoards gas-station snacks like they’re gourmet imports. If I were allowed to, I’d take an extra one. For morale.” He half-smiled, tone dry but sincere enough to almost pass for charm.

“Right,” Zion murmured, slipping the single bar into a side compartment of his suit. “One it is.” He turned then, giving the slushie machine a skeptical once-over. The colors shimmered unnaturally like condensed nebulae spinning in liquid form. The handwritten sign about comet ice made him snort softly.

“You know what?” He grabbed a cup, filled it halfway with a blue-violet blend that glittered faintly under the ceiling lights. “Free slushies in space. Might as well. I’m headed back to Earth anyway. Doubt I’ll find anything like this in a vending machine.”

“Don’t scan it,” he warned lightly. “It’s probably happier not knowing what’s in it.” He took a tentative sip through the straw. The cold hit instantly as a flash freeze that made his jaw clench, followed by an aftertaste somewhere between ozone and sweetened starlight. “Okay,” he admitted after a beat, “that’s… actually not bad. Brain-freeze aside.”

His gaze flicked briefly toward The Operator, still nursing her predicament, then back to The Wizard. “So… no gas…” he said, voice carrying that faint note of resignation that came from someone used to bad odds now looking back at the woman. “Figures. But I can take a look at your coolant line. Maybe patch it enough to get it back into local drift range.”

“Call it a cosmic favor. Besides…” he glanced around the impossible little shop, the orange lights gleaming against polished metal, “…I owe the universe one for not imploding the moment I walked in.” He lingered a moment longer at the counter, the soft hum of the refrigeration unit steady against the backdrop of deep space silence. Then he looked over toward The Operator again. “If our guest would let me inspect,” he said, setting the half-melted slushie aside, “I’ll see what I can do.”

If The Operator gave him permission, Zion stepped back through the door, the same synthesized chime echoing behind him. The void outside was vast—soundless but for the low oscillation of his thrusters powering up to hover him across the short stretch to her ship.

The Tech Jacket adjusted automatically to vacuum exposure, sealing the micro-ridges along his neck as his HUD came alive with data overlays. The suit’s optical sensors painted the vehicle’s outline in faint lines of cyan, tracing thermal signatures, pressure leaks, and coolant residue in layered readouts. Bit and Byte flanked him—one scanning from above, one running micro-analysis of the vapour trails curling off the hull. Zion crouched near the source of the leak, gauntlets glowing faintly as the nanite mesh at his fingertips interfaced with the damaged segment.

A pulse of light swept through the circuitry on his forearms as diagnostic subroutines parsed the readings. “Yeah, you were right,” he said over comms, his voice slightly distorted by the external mic. “Hose rupture, maybe aggravated by a pressure spike in your coolant loop. Nothing catastrophic yet, but if you’d tried another jump, it would’ve burst the whole line.”

He straightened, one hand resting against the cooling plate as the armor began generating a thin, silver filament of material: reactive polymer, designed for field repairs. “I can patch it,” he continued, “won’t hold forever, but it’ll keep your radiator stable until you hit a proper service dock. You’ll need to vent excess heat manually for a bit, though.” Then, through the open channel, his tone lightened just enough to break the tension that always followed.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, glancing between the ship, the glowing lights of the gas station, and the two peculiar figures waiting by its door. “You’re The Operator…” His gaze shifted to the robed attendant, “…and they’re The Wizard.” He paused, a faint smile ghosting across his face as his helmet retracted again, letting the cold air brush against his skin. “Guess that makes me The Tech Jacket.”

The drones hovered behind him, emitting twin beeps of affirmation like they agreed with the joke. Zion tilted his head, smirk soft but genuine. “Hell of a lineup, right?” he added. “Sounds like the start of a bad space bar joke or a really weird alliance.”

(( Zion’s actually built for a modern urban fantasy setting, but given his background and skillset, I thought it made sense for his powers to lean into a sci-fi edge. I’m more than happy to write him in this thread too. It’s a fun change of pace. ))

*The Wizard*

The Operator did not have the means to scan for magic. She was admittedly a bit crushed to hear The Wizard didn't use the phone. Who didn't use the phone? Perhaps it was more a blow to ego that he didn't recognize her as THE intergalactic time and temperature lady which was ironic. One of the things she greatly disliked was people recognizing her voice just hearing her speak since she'd been temporarily demoted to "repair lady" flying around the universe in her van fixing payphones and call office equipment. That was one of the perks of hiding behind her cord board back on Beta 7. And yet, at the same time, it seemed to wound her ego when she encountered someone who didn't recognize her.

The Operator was forever being asked to record messages for people's space voice mails on their mobile phones. She did nonetheless and faked happily signing napkins or whatever the autograph seeker happened to have. Why did beings like collecting the signatures of others if they were not check out clerks, lawyers, suits, cops or judges, anyway? The latter enjoyed it because that meant they were collecting money.

She was a bit taken aback when The Wizard informed her he didn't sell gas after offering her chocolate and slushy and making it clear there was a strict one per person limit. She did help herself to a milk chocolate bar with nuts and a pink slushie drink that tasted of some sort of berries... maybe. Pink tasted like a lot of different things throughout the galaxy. It just depended on the system and planet and sometimes even the region one was on.

*Zion*

That brought her to her two current problems...

“So… no gas…” Zion said, voice carrying that faint note of resignation that came from someone used to bad odds now looking back at the woman. “Figures. But I can take a look at your coolant line. Maybe patch it enough to get it back into local drift range.”

"Would you, love? I would be ever so grateful," she replied.

“Call it a cosmic favor. Besides…” he glanced around the impossible little shop, the orange lights gleaming against polished metal, “…I owe the universe one for not imploding the moment I walked in.” He lingered a moment longer at the counter, the soft hum of the refrigeration unit steady against the backdrop of deep space silence. Then he looked over toward The Operator again. “If our guest would let me inspect,” he said, setting the half-melted slushie aside, “I’ll see what I can do.”

The Operator gave an affirmative nod. Zion stepped back through the door, the same synthesized chime echoing behind him. The void outside was vast—soundless but for the low oscillation of his thrusters powering up to hover him across the short stretch to her ship. She sipped her drink and gave a nod of thanks to The Wizard and stood in the door as Zion made his way to her repair van. The hood was still up and the steam had dissipated.

A pulse of light swept through the circuitry on his forearms as diagnostic subroutines parsed the readings. “Yeah, you were right,” he said over comms, his voice slightly distorted by the external mic. “Hose rupture, maybe aggravated by a pressure spike in your coolant loop. Nothing catastrophic yet, but if you’d tried another jump, it would’ve burst the whole line.”

"Figures," Grumbled The Operator crossing her arms. "Typical of ITC and their rust bucket fleet of junk." She was tempted to launch into another rant about why she shouldn't be here and back in an office high rise on a smoggy industrial planet assisting people with placing collect calls from people who didn't want to hear from her, but she refrained. This bloke was willing to help her and she didn't want to run him off.

He straightened, one hand resting against the cooling plate as the armor began generating a thin, silver filament of material: reactive polymer, designed for field repairs. “I can patch it,” he continued, “won’t hold forever, but it’ll keep your radiator stable until you hit a proper service dock. You’ll need to vent excess heat manually for a bit, though.” Then, through the open channel, his tone lightened just enough to break the tension that always followed.

The Operator breathed a visible sign of relief. At least in the short term, one of her issues was resolved... for now.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, glancing between the ship, the glowing lights of the gas station, and the two peculiar figures waiting by its door. “You’re The Operator…” His gaze shifted to the robed attendant, “…and they’re The Wizard.” He paused, a faint smile ghosting across his face as his helmet retracted again, letting the cold air brush against his skin. “Guess that makes me The Tech Jacket.”

"I suppose so," The Operator replied. She braced for him to comment on her being the "voice of the telephone network" and how he had recordings of her voice informing callers the number they'd been trying to reach had been misdialed or was no longer in service. Some nutters were a bit fixated on that. It was if the messages on the intergalactic phone network were the latest hit music single on space Spotify or something. But... he seemed either unimpressed or didn't fully know what being "The Operator" meant. She was both relieved and a bit irked at the same time.

The drones hovered behind him, emitting twin beeps of affirmation like they agreed with the joke. Zion tilted his head, smirk soft but genuine. “Hell of a lineup, right?” he added. “Sounds like the start of a bad space bar joke or a really weird alliance.”

"Oh you don't know the half of it, love," She answered under her breath. An Operator flies into a petrol station with no gas and blasts her stupid toaster reject navigation system... she thought silently. That lead her to another issue... she still had no fuel.

*Zion and The Wizard*

"Say, do either of you chaps 'ave a clue where I can find me some space petrol? I'm a bit low and I don't think I can get far even with me space radiator patched up," she asked hopefully.

Each bar of chocolate on the shelves was wrapped in colourfully patterned foil or paper, and not a single one of them looked identical to any other. They didn't mention any particular brand or company, but they were all clearly labeled with both text and small images to show what, if anything, was inside the chocolate, whether that be different varieties of nuts, fruits, caramel, nougat, mushrooms, flowers, pretzels... Among many other fillings, some stranger than others but none inherently dangerous. The Wizard watched their guests take one each, and, when Zion mentioned his friend back home who may have liked one, they explained apologetically: "Sorry, I don't make the rules." Their gaze darted briefly over their shoulder again. Still nothing there that anyone else could see or detect.
They watched intently as cups were filled and slushies were sampled. Their gaze might have been a little unnerving, like a mad scientist eager to see the results of some experiment. Except The Wizard was no mad scientist, they were merely a slushie enthusiast curious to see if their latest customers enjoyed the frosty treats as much as they themself did. "That one is my favourite." They told Zion, nodding at the colour he had chosen.
"...I do wish you luck with your..." A pause, and a faintly ironic smirk tugged at the usual customer service smile. "...Car troubles. I apologize for being unhelpful in that regard, but I am just a cashier..." They moved a bit closer to the door, though still remained behind the long counter, and watched from there as Zion inspected The Operator's spacecraft. The Wizard's own expression relaxed into something more neutral as they observed.

"It's a good thing you showed up..." They mused quietly, half to Zion (though what they said was barely even audible) and half to themself. "If not, this Operator person might have been..." Their tone turned a little pensive, maybe even a little ominous, like they were imagining something quite dreadful. Rather than finishing the sentence, though, that brilliant smile went back up and they shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, maybe not. Things do tend to work out rather serendipitously here..."
They, admittedly, were not really listening to what was said next, too lost in whatever was going on in their head. Guess you could say they spaced out. ...They blinked when The Operator brought up fuel again, giving her a faintly puzzled look that slowly faded to resignation.
:...Hmm...? Oh... Right... There is probably a refuelling station somewhere out here, but if you don't have enough to reach it... Well... I suppose... If this person doesn't have any ideas..." They looked to Zion inquisitively, to see if he had any suggestions before they might have to resort to... "...I could... I'm sure it may be willing to... For the festive fall season... An exception, perhaps..."

((I'm sorry this reply isn't great, I find it a little hard to respond to everything when so much happens at once.))

OOC: I'll address Zion in a separate post after he goes again.

"...I do wish you luck with your..." A pause, and a faintly ironic smirk tugged at the usual customer service smile. "...Car troubles. I apologize for being unhelpful in that regard, but I am just a cashier...," The Wizard replied.

The Operator shrugged. "Of course, love! Believe me, I understand what it's like to be a cog in the big machine and being far removed from the upper brass." Yes, she did know what it was like to just follow the directive while others in suits ruled from afar in a distant sky scraper in the business district of a large city on another planet... or a space golf course.

"Say, do either of you chaps 'ave a clue where I can find me some space petrol? I'm a bit low and I don't think I can get far even with me space radiator patched up," she asked hopefully.

"Hmm...? Oh... Right... There is probably a refuelling station somewhere out here, but if you don't have enough to reach it... Well... I suppose... If this person doesn't have any ideas..." They looked to Zion inquisitively, to see if he had any suggestions before they might have to resort to... "...I could... I'm sure it may be willing to... For the festive fall season... An exception, perhaps..."

The Operator cocked an eyebrow in The Wizard's direction. Did he perhaps have some petrol stashed away? She turned to 'The Tech Jacket' to see if he had a solution to offer before she inquired any further regarding what The Wizard was alluding to.

OOC: You're doing fine. Multiple players can get confusing. I've long since gone with 1:1 in my long running games for this reason. If anyone misses something, I'm sure we can work it out.

Zion turned at the question, the faint reflection of starlight rippling across his visor. He listened to The Wizard’s half-answer, then exhaled a small breath that fogged the inside of his helmet before dissipating. “Unfortunately, I’ve got no idea where the closest station is,” he admitted, tone even but faintly apologetic. “My suit doesn’t exactly run on anything you can pump or buy.”

He tapped the side of his gauntlet, and the armor’s surface shimmered faintly as the nanite lattice reacted to his touch. “Long story short—this thing was built by an alien species that didn’t believe in refueling. The power core’s self-sustaining, drawing energy from kinetic motion, radiation, heat differentials, even ambient static. As long as I’m not floating dead center in a black hole, it keeps me alive and the systems running.”

A dry half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So while I can patch up a coolant leak, I’m afraid I’m useless when it comes to space petrol. Closest I’ve come to that is rerouting starship reactors for field jumps, and I doubt your van’s running on fusion cells.”

He looked toward The Wizard again, the faint gleam from his visor catching their galaxy-patterned robe. “But you mentioned an exception,” he said, curiosity cutting through the fatigue in his voice. “What sort of solution were you thinking? If it’s something I can assist with like to stabilize, amplify, jury-rig… I’ll lend a hand.”

The drones behind him emitted a synchronized tone, one ascending, one descending, like punctuation to his offer. Zion gave a small shrug, gloved hands open in quiet readiness. “I’ve already played mechanic once today. Might as well go two for two if it helps get her moving.”

Edit: Sorry about that! Thank you for your patience.

All is quiet outside the gas station, until all of a sudden a ship breaks through the artificial atmosphere, sounding like oversized turbine and the trembling sound of a rocket. But the engine sputters and jerks and then switches off. The turbine keeps turning as the X-wing makes two rounds over the station to come down to the concrete taxi drive far too quick. With a skilled move the pilot manages to set the metal feet on the ground, slithering over the concrete. Sparks and smoke comes from under the metal plates that serve as feet to the ship as the glide continues toward the building. It's not really the usual way to pose this spacecraft, but it seems there's no more gas in the tank to pose correctly.
After a certain distance, the ship finally stops, only few inches from the gas pump, not even near the two other crafts. Freezed wingtips show that this one had been going fast, faster than it should, yet can be seen on the fuselage some strange green stains. The turbines slowly come to halt, fume raises from the ship, it's not the youngest anymore.
With a hiss from hydraulic system, the hood of the small cabin opens revealing that pilot underneath. It was a hooded cloak the pilot wears, not revealing the face. It takes off the air mask, this one is strangely long shaped.
Slowly the pilot climbs out of his winged fighter, the cloak covering the figure completely. A metal tube-like instrument disappears under the cloth before that pilot walks towards the door of the station. With a move of a hand, the door of the station opens.
The figure moves elegantly soft ticks can be heard and if someone would look closer, those weren't space boots, it were hooves, split hooves. From under the dark hood a soft voice speaks, "My ship is dry, I need some gas", the pilot ignores all around systematically.
Then with two hands the hood is lowered, appears the head of a doe. Yes, it's a girl, an anthropomorphic deer-girl.
She sees the 'free' candy bars and smiles, she loves chocolate. She raises a hand and one of the bars starts to tremble and move all alone and suddenly finds itself in the hand of that doe.
"Please excuse my harsh entry, but I ran totally out of gas and needed to do an emergency landing." The deer-girl grins to everyone present, "I'm Lizbeth Redwood". What she doesn't mention is that she's a Jedi.

Whatever The Wizard had intended to say to Zion and The Operator was temporarily put on hold as they turned to look at the latest arrival. They were, of course, entirely unfazed; dramatic landings and deer people were not all that unusual to someone who had been working in deep space for... For... Well, for a while. A long while.
"Hello and welcome to- ah, I see you've decided to help yourself. Well then..." They spoke dryly, noting the floating chocolate bar with the slightest narrowing of their violet-blue eyes; that sight was not unusual either, but struck them as perhaps a bit rude... Well, no matter. They were free. One per person. As it was ordained.
"...As I was explaining to these fine people, we do not sell gas here. If you need refuelling as well..." They sighed. This really was too much. The Wizard looked to Zion again, their smile a little more genuine, but just a touch weary. "Your offer is appreciated, but this is not something you can help with. It's fine. I'm sure I can work this out. Give me... Five minutes, tops."
They turned abruptly, their back to the counter. Anyone within the building would feel an oddly dizzying, but overall harmless sensation, and be deposited outside. And anyone outside would see the door shut on its own. If one tried to open it, it would not budge.

"It's alright, love," The Operator replied to 'The Tech Jacket'. She appreciated the help with her cooling system and getting it patched so it was at least temporarily operational. He seemed eager to help The Wizard with whatever solution he might be able to offer.

Meanwhile, another craft arrived and its pilot also needed petrol. "My ship is dry, I need some gas. Please excuse my harsh entry, but I ran totally out of gas and needed to do an emergency landing." The deer-girl grins to everyone present, "I'm Lizbeth Redwood".

The Operator was about to tell the anamorphic deer she was SOL on the petrol situation, but The Wizard spoke up as the newcomer was given the rules regarding the candy, but had already helped herself to one. He continued,

"...As I was explaining to these fine people, we do not sell gas here. If you need refuelling as well..." They sighed. This really was too much. The Wizard looked to Zion again, their smile a little more genuine, but just a touch weary. "Your offer is appreciated, but this is not something you can help with. It's fine. I'm sure I can work this out. Give me... Five minutes, tops."

With that, the cashier banished everyone from the interior of the store and locked the doors.

"Well, hopefully that chap is working on a solution to our fuel problem," The Operator replied in response turning to face the other two. "No need to wait around on me, love."

She was speaking to Zion now. "I appreciate all you've done, but it doesn't appear you can do anything more."

A faint vibration rippled through his armor’s kinetic dampeners, then a burst of distortion pulled the air out from his lungs. The world blurred—a flash of light, a flicker of sound—and suddenly the soft hum of the refrigeration unit was gone.

Zion blinked. He was standing outside. The gas station door clicked shut behind him with an audible lock, the surface of his visor flickering with a brief static charge before recalibrating to the shift in lighting. Around him, the infinite dark of space hummed faintly against the artificial atmosphere field. “Okay…” he muttered, letting out a low exhale. “Guess that’s one way to clear a room.”

When The Operator spoke, he turned toward her. “It’s all good,” he replied, voice filtered through the low buzz of his helmet mic. “Least I know I’ve done everything I can to help. And it’s nice meeting you, by the way. Hope the patch holds until you find a dock. Or maybe The Wizard’s solution could help.”

He paused, shifting slightly as a shadow crossed the platform. The sound of cooling metal drew his attention. Lizbeth’s ship, still venting faint wisps of vapor into the cold. The hull caught the light just enough for the markings and lines to become clear through his visor’s contrast filters.

Something about it snagged at the back of his mind. The angular wings, the twin engines, the cockpit layout... He’d seen that configuration before. Not in person, but somewhere else.

“…Huh.” He took a few steps closer, scanning the frame without touching it. “This might sound weird, but that ship looks awfully familiar. Like something out of a trilogy I grew up watching.”

He stopped beside one of the landing struts, the faintest trace of a grin curling beneath his visor.

“If next you tell me you’ve got a laser sword in there, I’m calling it. Someone’s definitely breaking the fourth wall today.”

Lizbeth was indeed appearing arrogant and rude, helping herself out without asking, without explanation. But she knows also that girls like her are not always seen as ‘courageous’ enough to put up a fight, she’s not that harmless as she appears and ‘shows a bit off’ to earn respect. Still being kicked out isn’t the finest way to say there is no gas here.
“Oh, well, that was clear, is he always like that? ”
Outside the three of them start conversation, apparently the spacevan pilotedb by the ‘cable-guy’ woman had a leak and that other pilot in his tech suit was helping out. But all seem to be stuck. The Wizard being their last hope.
But then Zion, the tech-guy inspects Lizbeth’s ship, and starts to question her.
The doe frowns and looks intensely at him, “What do you mean, watching trilogy? And yes a sabre laser is indeed my weapon, how do you know that? Do you think I am something like a ghostly appearing ?”
The doe takes of her cloak wearing a thick linen kimono styled outfit underneath and at her belt dangles clearly a decorated metal tube, ivory grip with leather wrapped, shiny inox steel underneath. It was clearly a sabre.

“What do you mean, fourth wall? What galaxy is this?”

The roar of chemical rockets broke through the silence as Chen shot into the artificial atmosphere, clearly not expecting there to be one. Sudden aerodynamic forces caused her to tumble end over end, and slam onto the concrete of the station, her auto cannon slipping out of her grasp, along with several small fuel tanks that had formerly been attached to the underside of her wings. She skidded over the ground for a few moments, RCS thrusters desperately firing to slow her down, leaving a trail of sparks and mildly scorched concrete behind her. She eventually came to a stop right in front of the group of people already at the station.

With a belch of smoke, and the sound of electric motors moving, the dull roar of the rocket engine attached to her reduced to a quiet whine. Air intakes opened, and her auxiliary power unit powered up, in the presence of an atmosphere. No significant damage was visible on her, some scraped paint, clothes slightly torn, armor also scraped up. Staggering to her feet, she bewilderingly looked at each person gathered there, clearly struggling to understand the situation she had gotten into. How odd. Firstly, a gas station in orbit? And it somehow has an atmosphere? And there are people? Where the heck was she anyways?

Tentatively, she quietly asked the group "Where am I? Who are you?", and then immediately began to apologize for the mess she had made.

He raised both hands slightly, palms outward. “Easy there. Just saying. If you were something ghostly appearing, you’d be a Force ghost. You know, translucent, blue aura, all that.” He paused, head tilting. “Then again, that might just be the films’ interpretation. Hard to say how accurate those were to… well, wherever you’re from.”

Her question about galaxies drew a small frown beneath his helmet. “Can’t really tell you which one this is,” he admitted. “I’ve jumped across mapped systems for work, handled runs between human sectors and alien cores. But as far as my suit’s nav data shows, this place doesn’t exist in any recorded star chart. So, best guess?” He gestured broadly at the endless sky overhead. “Unidentified galaxy. Maybe even an off-grid pocket dimension, if those still count.”

Suddenly, the heavy whoomph of another ship entering atmo cracked through the silence. Zion instinctively ducked, armor plates locking as a defensive reflex. When the dust settled, he stared at the newcomer, especially at her humanoid form but threaded with jet intakes, flight surfaces, and visible thruster ports. “...It’s okay about the mess,” he said finally, voice slow with equal parts disbelief and professional curiosity. “But, aren’t you a personified fighter aircraft?”

He took a tentative step forward, scanning the armored plating integrated into her limbs. The configuration resembled composite aerospace alloy, complete with adjustable control surfaces that shifted like muscle. The engine units on her back still emitted a faint thermal signature.

“You’ve got stabilizer fins mapped to a human frame, RCS thrusters aligned with your center of mass... that’s not standard exosuit architecture.” He gave a small, incredulous laugh. “You’re literally built like an aerospace platform that decided it wanted a pilot’s license.”

Bit chirped a rapid diagnostic tone, scanning the scorch marks along the concrete. Byte projected a simple summary: UNKNOWN TECHNOLOGY CLASS – ANTHROPOMORPHIC DESIGN.

Zion folded his arms, watching the new arrival’s systems cool. “Okay,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “The Operator, Jedi deer, fighter girl, magic cashier, and an empty gas station in uncharted space. Either I’m dreaming or this is the most expensive crossover event in the universe.”

As the travelers talked outside, something, somewhere, shimmered undefinably. Once, twice.

A few moments later, the Space Gas Station's door swung open and The Wizard emerged. This was the first time they were in full view, not hidden behind their counter. Not that the sight revealed much about the mysterious being; their robe concealed everything about their form, its hem falling right to the ground. Their feet, if they had any under there, made no sound as they moved. And, of course, that near-permanent customer service smile was in place.
To Lizbeth and The Operator, they said: "Your ships should be good to go." And then, before anyone could ask about the how or the why... "...Call it... deus x machina." A brief pause, and then they continued. "You are, of course, free to stay longer, or to leave now, as you wish. Ah, but... Lizbeth." They fixed the deer with an intense gaze. "Might I recommend a slushie? You have not tried one yet."
Chen's presence did not go unnoticed, and The Wizard addressed her next. "And you. Welcome. Welcome... to the Space, I mean, Spooky Gas Station. I am The Wizard, first name The, last name Wizard. As you may have noticed..." They gestured towards the nearby sign... "Everyone gets one free chocolate bar today. For the spooky season. Would you like one? And a slushie as well?"
As usual, they were distinctly unfazed by the newest visitor's less-than-usual appearance... Or the new scorch marks. The Wizard would offer a slushie to anything that moved, it seemed. And nothing, nothing at all, was ever weird enough for them to actually find it weird. Not so far, anyway, and they had been doing this for a while.

The Wizard emerged a short time later. The Operator had no idea what they'd done, but apparently she was good to go. She didn't understand space magic and perhaps it was best it stayed that way.

"Thanks for everything, love," The Operator said with a wave as she headed for her repair van. She stopped to thank 'The Tech Jacket' for his help in patching her coolant system. "And thanks again for fixing that leak. Hopefully, we can get to an ITC equipment station for a full overhaul. And remember, love, just dial zero if you're in a jam, and if you get a bad number, it's probably me telling you so! This... has been a recording." She chuckled and climbed into the van.

"Alright Yoo-nit, all should be good! Fire 'er up and get us out of 'ere and then set a course to the nearest ITC repair facility," The Operator ordered.

"A-firm-a-tive," the little toaster-like droid replied in its monotone voice from its docking station. A pair of round eyes telescoped over the dashboard and flipped around to face the windshield. The Operator glanced at the gauges and the check engine light went out, the engine temperature was within tolerance and sure enough, the gas gauge showed full.

The van raised up a foot or two and the wheels folded under as the van lifted off the ground. Once it took to the air and got a safe distance from the station, there was a flash and it was gone. The van disapeared into hyperspace as it jumped to lightspeed.

OOC: And that's it. It was great to see you back and I hope The Space Gas Station pops up again in the future! Happy Halloween!