Inu

*The air in Hub’s only bar was thick with the stench of cheap booze and unwashed bodies, the usual symphony of drunks and brawlers filling the dim space. A constant breeze carried in the heat from the deserts outside, barely mitigated by the pathetic, half-dead ceiling fan. Inu sat slouched at a corner table, her mismatched armor barely holding together as she nursed a wooden cup of something that might’ve been cactus rum—or turpentine, judging by the burn. Her golden eyes flickered lazily over ...