Loco Mofo

Final Fantasy VIII (A Tribute to Squaresoft)

"Fan out and kill them all!" the Gallik Baal'ian Captain shouted ferociously, and yet with a calm, casual composure. They seemed without a sense of morality; without regard for life.

A young woman stood in the quickly emptying street. A husky, lightly armored man approached her, but his attention was bound to the fleeing crowds. He gave her a glance, his eyes lingering on her slender form. He licked his lips, rolling his right wrist, giving a twirl of the sword he held. Underestimating her, he gave a quick, absent-minded thrust of his sword toward her torso.

She swayed her body to her left, catching his wrist in her right palm, pulling it past her side. Bringing all her moment back to her right she vertically stuck the outside of his elbow with her left forearm, snapping it instantly. He screamed in agony as the sword dropped from his limp hand. She brought her left hand down 90° grasping his wrist with her left hand tightly. As she did so, she released his wrist with her right hand with a savage, blinding open palm strike to the face, pulling his broken arm toward her as her right hand placed opposing force in his neck. His head was forced back, contorting and hyper-extending his spinal column, cutting his scream of pain short. It all happened so fast you could have missed it, giving him virtually no time to react given his basic military training with a heavy focus on the use of weapons to control the situation and deliver damage.

His helmet was knocked clean off his head by the sheer force and upward momentum of the strike. He hit the ground hard, a slumped mess of dead weight as his comrades looked on with perplexity and anger. His helmet rolled to a stop in the middle of the dusty street.

She took a low kokutsu-dachi stance with her right foot to the rear, her eyes always on the ground before her. She closed them slowly, drawing a deep, long breath. The sound of the fleeing crowd behind her washed away. All become silent now, only the sound of her breath and heart beat remaining. This young woman had been honing her senses from as early as she could walk. The key to Kel'no Synn was not just skill, training, but mastering ones senses. A joining of mind, body and spirit on every level imaginable.

Her eyes shot open as she heard the scuffling of feet over dust and the light clanging of armor.

A man was before her, winding up for a savage horizontal swing of his razor sharp sword. She pushed off her right foot, anchoring her body her with left, She swung around, her back to her attacker, clutching his blade hand with her right, sinking a devastating left elbow into his rib cage that staggered him backward.She tugged his right hand as she raised her right leg, bent at the knee. As he was yanked toward her again, her right foot snapped out, connecting with his jaw line with force. He dropped his sword, nearly falling to the ground. He became angry in his embarrassment and he rushed her, throwing a heavy right hand in her direction. She stepped backward, taking care to avoid any contact. With a circular motion of her left hand from the outside, up over the top, she blocked his strike, forcing his arm to the outside. With a calculating step forward, she landed a blistering open palm strike to the soldier's face. Another in repetition with her left palm, this time sinking deep into his abdomen. Another right to the soft tissue of the right side of his throat, and he was stumbling to backside in the middle of the street.

She once again took her kokutsu-dachi stance, calmly awaiting for her next opponent. Her heart pounded out of her chest. There was no shortage of fear here. She had never actually fought hostile opponents with weapons, much less those who were trying to kill her.

Final Fantasy VIII (A Tribute to Squaresoft)

A young woman made her way down a busy street of a small Andoran town. She stood about 5'4" from the ground and had long blonde hair braided into a long, thick tail. She wore a heavy mantle and cloak over a green qipao with gold and white detail designs, and a long white sash around her petite waist. Her legs were bound in cloth and she wore soft leather sandals on her feet. Her forearms were covered by thick, heavy metal bracers lined with layers of cloth. She had sapphire eyes, tanned skin, and a glowing, angelic face.

As she scanned the crowds looking for someone or something, she heard a faint scream coming from behind her. As she gave a glance of her right shoulder, she collided with someone. As her attention returned to the situation in front of her an elderly woman watched helplessly as her basket of fruit and vegetables fell to the dusty street, rolling and scattering everywhere.

'I'm so sorry, ma'am," she said humbly, swooping to the ground. She stood the basket up, collecting items and returning them to it as quickly as she could. The crowds moved more quickly and she ignored the commotion as constantly shifting feet kicked the fruit and vegetables around the street, making it hard for her to correct her mistake, and she grew irritated with the crowds.

Her frustration was cut short as a blood curdling scream penetrated the hustle and bustle of the market street. Her hands stopped working and she slowly stood up, gazing down the street to find men clad in black armor entering the town with weapons drawn.

One man spilled onto the street from a structure holding a screaming woman by the hand. She resisted him and he cut her down in the street as if she were a creature that had wandered into the town and became hostile in it's confusion.

Confusion grew to horror, and horror to rage.

She headed toward the men, navigating the now chaotic crowd of citizens fleeing the scene of the killing. Andorans had been through enough wars and conflicts to know when it's not safe to be standing around. A man passed her with a frantic look in his eyes. he grasped her right bicep firmly with his right hand. "You must come. It's not safe," he pleaded desperately, genuinely concerned for her safety given the direction she was walking.

She quickly placed her left hand over the entire thumb portion of his hand, rolling her hand over his, forcing his grip off of her arm. In the same motion, she extended her right arm to his rib cage beneath the armpit, gently shoving him away from her, releasing his hand as she did so.

She continued toward the men, a steadfast resolve in the cores of her sparkling sapphire gems...

Final Fantasy VIII (A Tribute to Squaresoft)

Vibrant, colorful flower pedals spun into a blurry circular shape. Tanius Magnus rolled the stem of a wild flower between his index finger and thumb, eyes closed as he savored the the sweet aroma. He sat against the wall of Britanny, a small Andoran town on the southern border along the killing fields of Meekash Canyon. He sold flowers to townsfolk and travelers from the outer wall, and had for some time now. The people of Britanny had allowed him to operate outside their city, but they were weary of entry. Black Mages were not a popular kin among common human folk like Andorans, although they upheld a cautious respect for the reputation of the dark skinned folk for being attuned to magic and having a rather large, intimidating physical build.

Tanius opened his solid white, smokey eyes slowly, glancing up from his wild flower at a group of men clad in black armor. Among them, a tall warlord in full plate armor. He held a decorative longsword at the ready in his left hand. The men remained silent, and Tanius-although aware of what was about to transpire-remained perfectly calm and polite.

He took a bouquet of wildflowers in hand, holding it up to the mysterious black knight. "Flowers, good sir?" He said kindly in a deep, rumbling voice.

The knight slapped the bouquet out of Tanius' hand violently with a swift right backhand swing.

Tanius took a deep breath, locking eyes with the man from behind his black full helm.

----------------------------------------------------------

The stench of smoke and death hit Wedge Armstrong like a brick wall as he made his way toward a ruined town on horse back. He was accompanied by a group of lawmen and rangers. Among them were Hector Shaw and his eldest son Ruffus.

As they drew nearer to the devastation, Wedge dismounted his white horse in a panicked state, rushing to the body of a slain Black Mage slumped against the city wall. Hector and Ruffus were right behind him and the others broke off to inspect the rest of the town.

The three men stood before the fallen warrior of The Veldt.

"Poor bastard didn't stand a chance," Hector said indifferently, a touch of compassion in his rough, tired old voice.

Wedge lowered his head, closing his eyes tightly in pain. Tears streamed down his tanned, weathered cheeks. He took a moment to swallow his grief and collect himself, shaking his head every so slightly.

"He could have killed them all, " he explained, voice still strangled by his sorrow.

Ruffus looked at Wedge quickly, an expression of confusion across his youthful face. "Who was he to you?" he asked curiously.

Wedge took a moment.

"My sensei... His people, the ones who fought for us against Zenobia, they took a vow of peace when the war was over."

Ruffus was speechless. He stared at the fallen Kel'no Synn master with admiration and confusion. 'Why wouldn't he fight? He just let these people die."

Wedge turned around, heading back for his horse. "You had to have been there to understand, kid," Wedge explained calmly.

"Where are you headed, Armstrong?" Hector asked him as he mounted his horse.

"I'm going to find the people who did this... And I'm going to kill every last one of them."

A Legacy Written In Blood: Rising

Owen and Allison Watson sat together in a nice restaurant in downtown New Haven. It was their favorite spot in town. Owen brought her here on their first date four years ago, and they have been coming here since.

Allison was twenty-five. She had long brown hair, fair skin and brown eyes to match her hair. She laughed out loud, smiling.

"I'm not kidding," Owen said, taking a sip of his coke. He had to drive home tonight, so Allison was drinking wine alone. "It was crazy, there was a pack of wolves just staring at me. One of 'em had the brightest blue eyes. I don't know," he said, pecking at his food. "Felt like they were gonna attack me or something."

Allison giggled. "Whatever."

"I'm serious."

"So what happened?"

"I shot one of 'em and the rest ran away." Allison's jaw dropped. "I'm kidding," Owen said, laughing as he tried to get the words out.

After the laughter died down, Allison got more serious.

"Anything else weird happen at work lately?" she asked, sipping her wine.

He was a little put off and it left a tell.

"What do you mean?" he asked her, his mind racing at this point.

She smiled. "Steve put me up to it. He's worried about you, and now so am I."

Owen leaned back in his chair. He was upset that his best friend and partner would sandbag him and ruin a dinner with his girlfriend like that.

"It was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing, it sounded pretty serious. He just wanted ME to talk to you."

He granted a tiny, wee little smile. "Fair enough, but it was nothing... just a... Look, it's better if you don't know the details."

She rolled her eyes. "Fair enough. Just promise me you're okay."

He smiled wide. "I'm fine."

Final Fantasy VIII (A Tribute to Squaresoft)

Introduction Part 3
The Haunted Man​

Rough, coarse talons thundered across sandy rock. An old, battle hardened chocobo dashed across open desert cliffs with a cloaked rider on it's heavily geared saddle. His long, bright yellow feathers surrounded his face like a lion's mane. He poured his heart into every stride, keeping himself low to the ground as he cruised across the rock face.

He drew to a stop as he reached a cliff face overlooking the sprawling Zenobian Desert. On the horizon, the ruins of Old Zenobia that still stood could be faintly seen peeking over the horizon. Closer, away from that unholy place, a fresh civilization had been growing fast. New Zenobia...

The rider's face was concealed beneath a heavy cloak and hood. He had grey hair that hung over his aged face. He had sapphire eyes to tell a thousand tales of woe. The eyes of a warrior; a soul deprived of it's desires. He remained there, gazing off into the breath taking view. He removed a spy glass from his travel gear and extended the shaft, peering into the lens.

I sometimes come here. I don't know what I hope to find. Why I travel so far to this place...

Each time I tell myself 'I'll go down... I'll see what lurks in the wake of this abomination.' But I cannot show myself there...

The guilt still haunts me... She.. still haunts me...

Loco Mofo
Presents...

Final Fantasy VIII

Dedicated to Hironobu Sakaguchi, and Final Fantasy Fans everywhere​

A Legacy Written In Blood: Rising

Introduction

"I prefer to go out at night, when the sun has rested after a long day of polishing the earth. The light is inherently forgiving in nature. It has a way of shining a false beauty over even the ugliest of situations. It gives cosmetic value to an otherwise worthless piece of merchandise. The light is the great deceiver, not the darkness. When the shadows close in around us and threaten to remind us of who we are, it's in the light we seek comfort and salvation.

I walk the streets of this forsaken city, past the dregs, junkies and whores. I see and hear everything that happens in these streets, this concrete Gomorrah.

I see a man, a spineless worm, unemployed and hooked on crack cocaine. He collects welfare checks from his brother's mailbox and lives with his girlfriend and her two small children. He spends every penny chasing a high he'll never satisfy and watches her kids suffer, neglected and deprived of a mother and childhood.

His eyes are fixed upon a young woman, a prostitute. Her long blonde hair, slim figure and schoolgirl face earn her the money she needs to care for the product of a trick gone horribly wrong. The uninvited seed of a low-life rapist. A foreign invader who left upon her both a gift and a curse. A bitter sweet signature left upon her world in the form of a pure, and life-long maternal love, marred by the memory of her violator every time she looks him in the eyes.

The pipe in his left coat pocket is still warm, and his mind races, the pane of glass between himself and reality slightly cracked and smudged. Only two things rest on his feeble, one-track mind. That perfect backside and the sexual release it will offer him, and the $600 which rests in her purse beside a loaded .45. Nothing good happens tonight, nothing that can be summed up beautifully, or packaged neatly by a deep moral observation.

People hide within the light, hoping, praying that all of their superficial bullshit is in any way true, or in any way will protect them from the cruel reality of the human condition... evil. Sin, and the capacity to commit sinful acts of violence, greed, or deviance dwell within us all. The road to heaven is paved with corpses... so watch your step."

—Preacher

Chapter 1
Darkness Ensues

This story is dedicated to Sunal Wolfsbane, my dear old friend

The night was hot and humid. The streets of New Haven were quiet and eerie. The orange light from lampposts was polished into a fine, dense glow by the heavy moisture in the air. It was one of those nights when the empty streets felt both inviting, and menacing. For Deputy Sheriff Owen Reznik, this particular night had been quiet, uneventful so far. He sat in his squad car eating a hamburger and listening to the radio at a low volume. He was putting in a solo shift tonight. New Haven was a fairly small, relaxed town. Deputy's often worked the graveyard shift alone, although backup was never too far, should it be needed.

Owen was a Caucasian male of thirty-two years with short black hair and a hansom, defined face with bright green eyes. He had a small, jagged scar above his upper lip from when he was eleven years old. During a little league baseball practice, he had taken a fly-ball straight to the mouth after failing to catch it with his glove. Funny thing, fear. He never quite shook that one day, that one incident. As a result, he became a bench warmer and didn't return for a second year. Sometimes you have to ask yourself, if I had caught that ball, that fateful day, could I be playing for the Yankees right now? Fate is not to be taken lightly, you see. Even if you don't believe in it. For fate in of itself does not exist, it's just a word we use to make the course of our lives more tangible; To vindicate our failures and glorify our successes. You get up in the morning and consider calling in sick. Instead you get in the car to drive to work, and you're T-boned by a semi two blocks from your home. Was it fate, or random chance? Could you have actually stayed home, or by your own will and admission, was it your destiny to cross that intersection that morning? It's enough to drive you insane. Luckily for Owen, he was a simple, new world man of simple beliefs. As far as he'd be concerned, fate would play no part in the events which were about to unfold.

The dispatcher, Carey came over the radio.

Owen. You're around Kennedy Park, right?"

He re-wrapped the burger and put it down in the passenger seat, swallowing that last bite. Grabbing the microphone, he answered Carey. That old familiar doubt and anticipation lingered in the back of his mind. You never knew what your next call would be. What you'd be going into. A kid caught shoplifting, or a standoff with six heavily armed criminals. You could say it was like a box of chocolates, you never knew what you were going to get.

"Yeah, Carey. I'm sitting on Park Lane right now."

"I need you over on Agricola. Some sort of disturbance between two men. It's the alleyway by 85. Doesn't sound serious, but be careful anyway."

"Copy that, dispatch. Heading there now."

Carey was a sweet young girl, only 19. She was attending university to be a criminologist. Owen liked her. Figured if things were a little different, if he hadn't met Allison... but there we go, dabbling in that fate nonsense again.

He pulled away from the curb he'd been parked at, heading north on Park Lane toward Agricola Street, which was only a few blocks north-east of his location. Kennedy Park was a nice area during the daytime, but it seemed to change after dark. It got more gritty and dangerous. So this call came as no surprise.

Cruising slowly down the street, he came to the alley near 85 Agricola. He shut the lights off and stopped discretely, assessing the scene. He made eyes on a man hunched over and mounted atop another person. He quickly called for backup, exiting the vehicle afterward.

He approached the scene with his sidearm grasped firmly, the suspect directly between his sights.

"New Haven Sheriff's Department! Put your hands in the air where I can see 'em!"

He couldn't see the victim, but the person wasn't moving at all. The suspect however, slowly stood up with a menacing, hunched posture.

Owen's stomach tightened. "Easy! Keep your hands where I can see them, or I will open fire!"

The man slowly turned around, locking eyes with Owen. He held something in his right hand. Looked like a knife, or something long and metallic like a blade.

"Put the weapon down, and those hands up! Last warning!"

The suspect didn't comply, but rather advanced on Owen, as if to will his gun away and attack him as he had the poor soul laying behind him.

Owen panicked and squeezed the trigger as he'd been trained to for years.

A round exploded from the barrel and found it's mark in the suspect's chest. It pierced the left side of his breastplate with a vicious shockwave of recoil surging through tissue, flesh and clothing. What should have been a direct kill shot, seemed to have avoided him all together as he pressed forward still.

Owen squeezed the trigger again, horrified with disbelief. The man absorbed yet another 9mm round at close range. This one he actually seemed to feel. It slowed his pace, almost staggered him. That's when Owen heard the squealing of brakes pinching rubber. His backup had come crashing in at the sound of gun shots.

The suspect finally yielded, turning from Owen, dashing into the darkness of the alley, dropping the tool he'd been holding in the process. Owen took a few calculated steps to pursue, firing two more rounds which may or may not have found a mark.

What the hell just happened? Could what just happened have really happened? No time to really digest it.

His sight moved down toward the unidentified weapon. A long, metal spike, bloodied at the tip. This night couldn't get any stranger. With so much adrenaline and emotion surging through him, he almost picked it up, contaminating the evidence.

Settling down a little, he holstered his sidearm and rushed to the victim as another Deputy ran down the alley after Owen, gun drawn.

"What the hell's goin' on, Reznik?" the Deputy asked in a panic, looking around the scene frantically. He'd never had a call like this before. Shots fired and all. New Haven was a model American Town. Nothing like the neighboring city of Blackwater, which was full to the brim with crime and violence.

Owen knelt next to the victim. There was blood everywhere. On the ground around him, soaked into his cloths, and all over his neck and face. As Owen went to check for a pulse, he took notice of two evenly spaced puncture wounds on the left side of the neck. He tightened his brow, perplexed even more than he had been. It would take a week to come off this adrenaline rush.

Hands slightly shaking, he checked the man for a pulse. No good. He was already dead.

Owen stood up slowly, glancing around the alley, inebriated with fear, shock, and confusion.

Final Fantasy (A Tribute to Squaresoft)

Chapter 1
Sands of Zenobia

Ana dashed through the crowded, busy streets. Posters, banners, post-it adds and flyers were pasted, hung and tacked all over the city. In windows, on walls, utility poles, news stands, hanging from wires and cables strung from building to building, and on billboards laid out everywhere. People in fancy, new world cloths walked or drove vehicles around town, shopping and going about their business. The inner slums were booming on that sunny Saturday morning.

She stopped as she passed a television set in the window of an upscale home electronics shop, just outside the core of the city. She leaned against the glass, listening to the sound of the picture machine. It was a simple recording of a woman giving a news update. News feeds were the only thing you could get in the slums, and the news was filtered propaganda.

"Efforts continue today in the signing of energy contracts that will allow Zenobia Prime to construct reactors and generators, virtually over the houses of land owners in the slums. Dozens of city blocks have had to make way for the massive project, forcing thousands of residents out of their homes if these contracts are signed. Why should people give up their homes for these new reactors, Mr. Ducrinus?"

"Excellent question. One year from now if those very same people didn't have power to cook, or listen to their radios, they would be crying, asking why we didn't build enough reactors to meet the energy demand in the slums."

Sarovoc Ducrinus, brother of Lucious Durcinus, the Emperor of Zenobia. Sarovoc was the President of Zenobia Prime, an umbrella corporation inside the framework of the Zenobian Government housing MiraTech, the corporation that controls all of Zenobia's energy supply. They are a big time technology powerhouse that is responsible for everything technologically advanced in Zenobia, and the majority of the continent.

"Shouldn't believe what you hear on the news."

Ana turned around, smiling. "Jin!"

Jin was her best friend, and ally in the resistance. He stood 5'9", a few inches taller than her. He had a lean build, brown eyes, and scruffy black hair coming down to his eyes. He wore a black and red leather coat, just like hers over a simple white shirt and jeans with scruffy white shoes. They both wore buttons and patches clipped onto and sown into the thick leather fabric. They were a variety of rebellious and anti-government slogans, resistance logos, and a few Rebel Radio patches. On the back and shoulders, was a homemade crest hand woven into the fabric. It was their resistance patch, their symbol of freedom, and justice, a depiction of Zenobia's core, as seen from the reaches of the slums, and a white dove flying free in the sky around it.

"The others are waiting," he said, "let's not keep them."

She nodded, walking with him under the far peeks of Zenobia's core.

Will Draw your RP Character For Money

I have folks who feel honored to be chosen to draw my characters...

Can you do any styles besides generic anime?

Final Fantasy VIII (A Tribute to Squaresoft)

Introduction Part 2
The Last Right of Hades​

The blood-stained spearhead of Wedge Armstrong's qiang glistened in the rays of a setting Andoran sun. Crimson drops of Gallik Baal'ian blood splattered on the plush green grass beneath his feet. He wore a red bandana around his forehead which danced in a cool evening breeze. He was much older now. Fourty-five to be exact. His black hair had begun to fade and grey ever so slightly. His blue eyes were as sharp as a hawk's as he stared downward, spear cradled under his right armpit at the ready.

At his feet lay a soldier, throat slashed, body lifeless. He had been the first to approach, and the first to die.

"I have no quarrel with any of you," Wedge explained calmly, eyes darting from side to side. He was surrounded by men clad in various degrees of black armour wielding longswords. "But I cannot allow you to harm the people of this village."

It was no use. Their slain brother would be avenged, or so they had hoped.

One of the men advanced from Wedge's rear left. With one calculting backward thrust of his right hand, the shaft of the spear crossed his back and sunk into the throat of the Gallik Baal'ian soldier. As the qiang made contact, the man had already swung his sword toward Wedge's neck. He raised his left hand swiftly, ducking away with a quick step as he forced the blade high and avoided the strike.

As he finished his evasive step, he took a forward stance, gripping the qiang with both hands. His Kel'no Synn training had come a long way. Casius' gift to the few who called him a friend.

The soldier grasped his throat as two more lunged forward from either side before him, swords at the ready. Wedge whipped the qiang to his left, forcing it back to the right at the last second. The soft, durable wood flexed back to the left as he guided the shaft to the right. The spear head slashing the Gallik Baal'ian's throat with a vibrant spray of crimson droplets. A very rare, special, waxy wood was used to make this qiang just for him.

He followed through toward the second attacker who blocked the strike with a counter swing Wedge deflected quickly with a twisting of the wrist which snapped the shaft against his sword, sending it away from his body. He countered with a quick push kick followed by a vicious thrust to the eye socket.

He yanked his qiang from the lifeless skull as his victim collapsed to the ground, preforming a flawless overhead spin into a low forward stance, spear tucked under his right armpit.

The remaining soldiers reevaluated. They had never seen a simple spear used so efficiently.

Wedge pressed the pace, lunging forward as he swung his weapon in a full circle around his entire body. As he landed he would sink quick thrusts into unarmoured areas of his foes bodies before preforming another 360 lunging attack.

One by one he picked them all apart using his qiang and basic Kel'no Synn in perfect unison. He left only three wounded soldiers. Two of them could not speak for they had collapsed windpipes from carefully placed strikes to the soft tissue of the throat. After executing those useless to him, he approached the third soldier, who had over seven deep stab wounds all over his lightly armoured body.

"Who are you?" Wedge asked sternly, standing over him, covered in his comrades blood. The soldier hesitated before smiling.

"We are The Last Right of Hades," he explained as he shivered within death's creeping embrace. "And we have come to kill you all."

Wedge wasted no time thrusting his spear through the dying man's eye socket. As quickly as it had begun, this conflict had ended.

Final Fantasy (A Tribute to Squaresoft)

Introduction Part 1
Reflections From The Future

"My name is Hans Venechenko. You don't know me, but you know our story. You know her legacy.

It's a story of love, hate, friendship, betrayal, courage, and sacrifice. All the hallmarks of a good story. It's about rebellion, men and women taking a stand to defend their land and people before there was nothing left to fight for. It's the journey of how one girl from the slums of Zenobia inspired the world to form a revolution, to take our freedom by force, although at a grave, and unforgettable cost.

This is her story, but it's my story too, and I'm about to share it with you."

Introduction Part 2
Desert Rose

Ana Maria Grace rolled over in her comfy bed of soft, warm, purple sheets in her cosy room. She was sound asleep, dreaming of some better time and place. A land of innocence, love, and peace. Angelo slept comfortably beside her. He was her large, furry brown dog. Her beautiful blonde hair rested over her forehead, covering her left eye. Her eyes were shut as she slept the morning away against her fluffy purple pillow.

The buzzer inside of her old mechanical clock clang it's usual dull, metallic, insistent racket. New clocks had something called a chip that was made from data or something. Here in the slums of Zenobia, there was no fancy, fussy technology. Bikes that ride themselves, you just sit and stare at people passing by. Neat little boxes that show moving pictures. Nothing so sophisticated.

The inner city was like something from a comic book or fiction novel. Some futuristic metropolis turning time like the inside of a clock. Late at night you can look out your bedroom window, peer north into the night sky, and see it's lights glowing, flashing and blinking like stars hung just above and below the horizon.

She opened her sparkling green eyes quickly, smiling wide. She smacked the plated spring on the clock, silencing it for another twenty-four hours, and leapt from her bed, startling Angelo as she did so. He slowly got up off the bed, jumping to the hardwood floor with a surge of energy that would last for the next 12 hours.

"Can't come today, Angelo. I'm goin' to the inner districts," Ana said, leaning over in the doorway. She shut the door on him, and he tilted his head with a whimper.

She jogged down the stairs of her tiny home, running into the kitchen where her mother was sitting, reading the Zenobian Times over a cup of tea. It was a shabby little home nestled into a nook of Zenobia's slums, but it was cosy, warm, neat and welcoming.

"I made breakfast," her mother said lovingly, eyes fixed on the article still, no doubt retaining the words as she spoke to her daughter.

"Not hungry, mom," Ana replied, kissing her on the cheek, heading for the door.

Ana's mother looked over her shoulder at her oldest daughter as she grabbed her coat from the rack. "Stay away from those hooligan friends of yours!" her mother yelled out to her as she dashed out the door.

The streets of Zenobia were bustling that particular morning. Buildings, trees, structures and rooftops towered over power lines and into the sky. Bikes, strangely built cars and trucks filled the busy streets. Some were paved or stone, others were run down dirt roads, usually in a series of gritty backstreets networking the outermost corners and reaches of the slums.

Far beyond the cluttered, towering groupings of buildings, the massive structures and sky scrappers of the inner core of Zenobia loomed on the horizon like pillars of the heavens, watching over the poverty, despair and corruption that ensued every day amidst the outer slums...

Loco Mofo
Presents...

Final Fantasy

Inspired by Squaresoft's Body of Work From 1987-1999
Created by Loco Mofo

Dedicated to Hironobu Sakaguchi, and Final Fantasy fans everywhere