Written by Hey everyone, Aleya here!
We are currently fundraising our webhosting bill for Fastfrwrd.info and SolarpunkPresents.com which is on the same plan. The written version of “The Stellar: Origins Part 1” is below and you can scroll. But if you wish to find out what you would be supporting when you buy the fundraiser series of 10 to 11 chapters of “The Stellar: Origins” then read what follows here!
Here is our Pitchdeck for our planned upgrades going forward:
Public Q4 2026 Fastfrwrd Pitchdeck from FastfrwrdTL;DR: At Fastfrwrd, we want to transition to a native app with a map interface, a timeline, and a marketplace as the main tabs. This will facilitate interacting with environmentalists in your area on quests you find or create. Fastfrwrd provides best practices for success. And the marketplace rewards you with things to buy with your Dews (eco points)! We also want to make some game upgrades to make it more fun and engaging. This includes “The Stellar” Lunarpunk TTRPG.
Paying $5 CAD (or more, because we need more than that really) will give you access to a series of stories in the Lunarpunk world of “The Stellar” tracing how the institution originated while navigating a near future of climate catastrophe.
Fastfrwrd, itself, wishes to workshop a ‘Nature Benefit System & Currency’ where environmental stewardship is rewarded in our monetary system over extraction. Taking from the earth and turning it into money has caused climate catastrophe. We are smart enough to figure out a way to make it so giving to the natural Commons and preserving natural systems, growing positive natural relationships in our creative processes, can be put into how money is earned. Fastfrwrd data therefore, willingly gathered, is a great basis for performing the exercise of what a new monetary system could look like. That is one of the lofty goals of this project.
Your support in pledging, sharing, and growing this fundraiser and the broader projects here at Solarpunk Presents mean the world in such times of disruption. $5 CAD is less than $5 USD. So hopefully we’re not asking too much! We need $230 USD or $320 CAD for the bill. If you wish to support the vision more to get us closer to that goal, it only takes a few people, just get in touch through the chat or through emailing: hi (at) fastfrwrd.info
Visit our Patreon to support and get the stories ahead of the planned upgrade to Fastfrwrd & The Stellar!: https://www.patreon.com/collection/2384505?view=expanded
[Transcript: Mention of the above along with a survey respondent who said gamifying climate action sounds like gamifying the suffragette movement or civil rights gamification, to which we respond, the governmental changes that we push for in supporting a ‘Nature Benefit System & Currency’ is one of our goals, while the fun of gamification is to preserve the joy and happiness which reminds us why we fight.]
Trigger warning: Body Horror themes and mentions of delicate scenarios without permission.
The Stellar: Origins Part 1
He snuck into the bedroom from the semi open window letting in the tepid summer breeze that night. They must have thought themselves relatively safe. He sprinkled the dust drug on the girl in her bed and her boyfriend beside her. He carried out the insemination with his tools. For the next nine months she would house a very still child who would not inhibit her menstruation. Unless she met in an accident of some sort, she would not know she was pregnant more than likely, she had some fat on her after all. If she did find out, she would think it was an accident from her beloved.
He would sneak back in in nine months’ time, dust drug her again and take the child out. It was her blood that he needed. Or, his boss, in fact, needed. He just needed the pay.
Once done, he went outside, entered his car, and drove back to the boss’ headquarters. These rich people and their echoingly large mansions. Their secret societies and dirty deeds. He did not have many normal skills. He could not read very well, enough to buy things at the grocery store but not well enough to sit down and comprehend an academic paper. So it never made sense to go to university. Instead he picked up simple skills. Sneaking into places, doing strange and illegal jobs for rich people. All he needed to do was get the job done.
***
2028 was proving to be a semi pleasant year so far one month in, compared to the last 6 months of 2027. Austerity would end in July 2028 and that meant the strict environmental regulations of the past year would loosen up and things would return to a new normal, once great strides in climate adjustments were made. Existential dread still remained, the projected warming of temperatures would still cause feedback loops throughout the entire global climate system. But at least people would no longer be actively making it worse. So far, many nations had achieved record low Greenhouse Gas outputs, and were all pursuing ‘Hail Mary’ answers to the remaining problems, pouring funds and brains into the engine of research and development to speed the discovery along.
Luna had spent the past 7 months of Austerity, July 2027 to January 2028 suffering withdrawal symptoms from the pre existing world. Having to order groceries ahead of time affected her more than the wait time for sail powered online shopping shipments for example. Everyone was hit with something or another, however, during this time of severe regulations. Only 5 more months to go.
“Morning,” she said as she went into the living room. It was 4:30 am and she had been back home for a week so far, after leaving Molber, unable to keep up with rent prices and work due to her new medication.
“Morning,” her mother and uncle singsonged. They were both getting ready for work. Luna was unemployed and only half heartedly searching for online freelancing jobs. Instead, she spent most of her time on environmental discussion boards, trying to monitor the effects of Austerity and plans of action should it fail. Hurricane season was only a few months away after all.
“You guys have time for breakfast?” she asked.
“Why,” he mom started, “you offering?”
“Yeah,” she chirped. “I feel generous today.”
“That’s ok,” her mother stated, “I don’t want anything without my coffee and the one at work is perfect. I’ll wait until then.”
“What you can cook?” her uncle asked.
“Boiled eggs and cornbread,” she replied flatly.
“That’s okay, then” said her uncle as well. “I’ll figure myself out during my morning break instead,” he chuckled.
“You’re missing out,” she replied. She went into the yard and fished out some eggs from the chicken coop. She would occupy the next 30 minutes to an hour with food but then after that she would become antsy, tapping around on the forums and message boards while waiting for the corner shop to open so she could buy some stuff to smoke. Cannabis and nicotine were an all day activity used to pepper her time when she needed to unwind from her anxious scrolling and messaging back and forth. She had to wait until 8:30 am earliest to get anything from the shop.
The time went slowly but 8:30 am eventually came around.
She walked the two minutes it took to get to the corner shop. There was a primary school right next to it. The children were already in their classroom. Luna walked beside the fence outside of the school that had a bench for the vendors to sit on and sell goods to the children at lunch time. It was empty this early in morning and was a cosy spot to wait for the shop to open.
She heard the school teacher through the open window of the primary school classroom.
“So, who is responsible for climate change then?” asked the school teacher to the class. Luna’s ears perked up. She was always on high alert for anything climate related.
“White people,” said the students in unison. Luna covered her mouth in shock.
“Exactly,” the teacher encouraged. “And what has Dr. Millingham suggested we do to deal with this issue?”
“Cut the South off from the North,” the students said once more in unison.
“Correct,” the teacher, a slender and short figure sometimes visible from the window as she paced between desks, stated. “We cannot use weapons the way the white man does, they have studied war more than we ever could. With Austerity people hope to make a change. But one of the biggest polluters isn’t participating. As we saw in that video from Dr. Millingham, we will never win in a fight of arms and combat against the white man. That is their preference. Instead we must starve the North of all the South has to offer, we must guard and protect ourselves. Everyone, come and take a brochure for your parents.”
The students scraped their chairs and desks and walked in a line to get a brochure from their teacher. Luna was aghast. She wondered if she should shout something through the window, but instead decided to speak with her mother and uncle about it after they returned from work.
The shopkeeper walked slowly towards the building. Luna shook herself to snap out of the tornado of internal distress she felt knowing there was a propaganda campaign of this sort happening in her backyard. She walked over to the shop.
“Hi, Miss Marcy,” she said to the shopkeeper.
“Luna,” Miss Marcy replied in greeting. “We don’t have any yet, you know?”
“Really?” she asked, crestfallen. “How long is the wait?”
“Joke I’m making,” the shopkeeper replied. “Just want see your face when I said it.” She chuckled.
“Wicked,” Luna sighed and chuckled back.
“Give me 2 minutes,” said Miss Marcy.
“No problem,” Luna replied. She paused then took a sharp breath. “Miss Marcy… you know anything about a Dr. Millingham?”
“Him big on social media,” she replied, puttering about behind the metal mesh to prevent robbers reaching into the cash register. The shop surveillance camera ran on solar charge and no doubt recorded the exchange.
“I am just hearing of him,” Luna stated. “What’s this about separation from the ‘North?’” she asked.
“Yeah, that him say. Cut off ties, form our own union of Southern nations and people of colour. Trade amongst ourselves. Don’t let them into our nations. Cut ties.”
“Yeah but then who would I sleep with?” she asked mockingly.
“You nuh sleep with black man?!” Miss Marcy asked.
“It’s a joke,” she quipped. “I sleep with people who like Shoegaze music, guitar music, some of them black but many are white. Where I’m supposed to find my white Shoegaze people?”
“Shoegaze?” asked Miss Marcy.
“Stuff like this…” she pulled out her phone and played a few bars of her latest music obsession, a recent song from one of her favourite bands. “Just a lot of guitar and effects.”
“Noise,” hissed Miss Marcy.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Luna, rolling her eyes playfully. “I’m joking though,” she finished, stopping the song. “Separation isn’t the answer. White people… suck a bit but many of them are trying to not suck. And humans in general suck. Separating from whites won’t change that.”
Miss Marcy laughed. She fished out Luna’s usual order; 3 bags of cannabis, 1 bag of tobacco leaf, 1 pack of onion skin papers. The bags were biodegradable in salt water. The herbs locally and organically grown. The onion skin paper required no trees, just using waste materials from restaurants.
Luna handed over the cash. She did not have much money left from her time working at the grocery store overseas. She would have to think about funds soon. But for now, she could obsess about the environment and skimp on searching for freelance work.
“Thanks, Miss Marcy,” she said happily now that her order was filled. “But… yeah, Dr. Millingham… why is he being taught in the schools?”
“A lot of people think him have a point,” said Miss Marcy.
“Hm…” Luna trailed off. She wanted to smoke and she did not want to do it at the shop. “Okay,” she said. “Later.”
“Later, Miss Shoegaze,” cooed Miss Marcy with a laugh.
Luna walked back home. On the way she searched ‘Dr. Millingham’ and found several videos with a high view count. There were also articles.
She opened one of the articles.
Dr. Edward Millingham proclaims separatist answer to Climate Crisis, more than just Austerity to lead us out of chaos.
Dr. Millingham spoke about the effects of colonization on the peoples of the world and the resultant systems of oppression and extraction. ‘No more suffering’ he yells on the mic at a gathering in Freeport. Thousands listen eagerly at the stadium. ‘We have tried their way long enough! It does not work for us! So let us make a world that does! We shut them out. They are not welcome! And we save our lives!’ Roars of agreement erupt from the crowd. Dr. Millingham then led the crowd in a long prayer.
“Luna?” said a voice just as she was about to enter her gate. She looked around. Paucy.
“Hey there,” she stated kindly. Paucy was a plump elderly man in the community.
“You looking very fine today,” he stated with a dewy expression.
“Oh…” she felt uncomfortable, “thanks.”
“When you going to visit me at my house?” he asked. “I have a big T.V. running on solar. And only the finest rum. You would love it.”
“No, thank you,” she stated, pushing open the gate. “Take care, Paucy,” she said in closing before walking away.
She went into her room and rolled a joint. She opened her laptop to read the forum while she rolled. Soon she was smoking and typing away.
Heard about this guy in Driftwood Bay talking about separatism as an answer to climate, she typed.
People are tired of the colonizer, stated X1Bay on the message board in response.
But that’s clearly not the answer, she responded.
Is the person getting support? X1Bay asked.
Thousands in a stadium, yeah, Luna answered.
Is it some eugenics thing? Colin83 asked, jumping into the discussion.
More ‘separate but equal’ from what I can tell, Luna responded.
Not great but could be worse, Colin83 stated.
Luna was of the opinion that this was how such things started. She felt unsafe. She puffed a bit more. Soon, her negative emotions disappeared when she played some music, Dancehall in fact, not Shoegaze, and felt the effect of the cannabis take hold.
She laid back and giggled to herself about old Paucy trying to bribe her into giving him some over a bit of television. She had her own solar power to watch stuff on her laptop. Unlike other people in the community who gathered at the bars in the area to watch shows and browse online on their phones in public solar powered buildings like the bars and shop.
I miss you, came a voice in her head. It was not someone writing her on the message boards and forums. It was a voice in her head. It was back again. Delinus. She closed her eyes and smiled.
I miss you too, she responded to him.
Why did you leave? he asked.
I had to, she responded. I was almost out of meds and penniless. And you were away in Lore Avon Paix. I couldn’t wait for you. You never said when you would come back.
Why did you end up so broke? he inquired.
The medication made me super groggy, she answered. I kept missing work. They decided not to pay me for the last month. I didn’t expect that. They were angry. I had to leave and fly to Driftwood Bay.
I miss you, he said again.
I miss you too.
***
“I’m not sure I’m on the same page as you, mate,” said the man in a wheezy Cockney accent. “You’ve come this far, no need to get cold feet just now.”
“But…” the middle aged man sat in the garage, squirming in his seat under the stark fluorescent lights beside the foldable table where the Cockney sat. The Cockney held a gun looking item in his hand. A set of papers and a pen lay on the table before the man. They were in a shed and garage in a suburb at dusk. “That chip you wanna put in my arm… what if I want it removed?”
“Then you come to us and we remove it,” wheezed the Cockney airily. “Trust me, we have people who want to move on to bigger, better things all the time when they earn the big bucks with us. Hence why we’re hiring you. We have a special keyword and passcode and tool for removing the chip. Only with us. In the meantime, the chip gives you access to buildings, computers, phones, and vehicles, saving us a lot of time. I’ve got one, look,” he stated, pulling up his sleeve to show his wrist where a small scar was visible.
“Oh… and it’s just for unlocking stuff?” asked the middle aged man.
“Yeah! Look, Roger, you can’t read beyond a second grade level, you’ve got a criminal history, you got no prospects for a well paying job outside of going back to drug dealing. You should jump on this opportunity. You get a million per quarter. That’s 4 million per year. It’s good money. If I were you I would’ve signed the paperwork yesterday which… I’m here, aren’t I? So I did.” He chuckled, extending the pen over the paperwork on the table.
“Can’t I…” Roger hesitated. “Can’t I have my girlfriend read it first?”
“Ah, ah, ah,” said the Cockney. “The boss is very private. It’s standard stuff. Privacy clauses, terms of termination, average stuff.” He paused to let Roger think. “1 million per quarter…” he mouthed and shook the pen in a friendly manner. Roger caved and grabbed the pen and wrote his sloppy signature on the dotted line. “Excellent, my friend!” said the Cockney. “Now for the chip?”
Roger nodded slightly then closed his eyes and extended his arm.
There was a press of cold metal on his wrist. A loud ‘Pop’ sound, a sharp pain, hot heat. And then nothing but a dull ache.
“See!” said the Cockney. “It’s done. Easy! Even got a numbing agent to make it hurt less.”
“Really?” asked Roger, a lasting pain in his wrist and a visible scar where the wound had been cauterized.
“Yeah. Except…” the Cockney stood, walked around the table, and shot another chip into the base of Roger’s skull before he could move or react. “Chips are for life, and if you speak about anything private or share anything private otherwise in a way detectable in brainwaves, a cyanide capsule will release from the second chip.”
“YOU SON OF A…!!!” Roger rose to his feet, enraged and murderous.
“Ah, ah, ah!” said the Cockney as Roger grabbed his shirt and pulled back his fist to punch him. “I’ve got a remote too, it can release the cyanide.” He showed a small remote in his other hand. “ We expected you to be angry.”
Roger could barely speak, eyes popping out of his head, arm trembling, still bunched in a fist, jowls shaking in anger.
“Look,” said the Cockney. “We don’t want to hurt you. We don’t want anything bad. But you have to see it our way. We’re paying you a lot of money to protect global scale secrets and information. You can’t expect that to come without a price. The secrets you learn here stay secrets for life. But you can quit whenever you like, you just can’t ever talk about anything private you did with us, anything identifying. It’s A.I. monitoring, it can detect it.
“This is high level stuff, mate,” the Cockney carried on to say, “you’re on the same level as the C.I.A., the government. This is the big time. It’s gonna come with some caveats. But the perks… when I tell you about what money does to women? The level of lifestyle you’ll get access to? You hate me now. But know, in a week or so, there’ll be so many perks, the chip won’t mean a thing.”
Roger released him, dropped to the chair and hung his head low.
The Cockney pat him on the back. “Cheer up, mate,” he said kindly, in a way. “They did the same switcheroo with me. You don’t know how much time I spent plotting my revenge. Last week I celebrated the birthday of the guy who chipped me at a casino with him, getting lapdances from international models in our private room. I can assure you, you’re gonna forget about this soon.”
Roger muffled sobs. His life was no longer his. However, he could not think of another way.
“Fine,” he sobbed quietly.
“That’s it,” said the Cockney, still patting Roger on the back. “This is just a bump in the road. I ain’t got no more tricks. Well. Unless you betray us. Otherwise, I’m like a kitten.”
Roger laughed bitterly.
“Do you wanna meet the boss now?” asked the Cockney.
“What…?” Roger was puzzled, “now, now?”
“Yeah!” said the Cockney. “You signed the papers, you’re chipped. You’re one of us now. The boss likes greeting the new recruits and giving them a warm welcome. He’s having apperitifs at the moment. We can drive over. It’s just 15 minutes. You can see the lifestyle of the rich and the famous.”
Roger tried to cheer up. “I…” he began, tremulously, “I guess so.”
“Let’s go!” said the Cockney, leading the way out of the garage, onto the driveway of the suburban home and into the SUV that was parked there. Roger joined him.
“So… I know you’re upset with me,” said the Cockney as he drove. “But I was wondering, how did you pull off that burglary? The bank heist?”
“What?” said Roger, uncomfortably.
“We hired you when we found out that you got away with that bank heist, we’ve got our sources. The boss was impressed.”
“Oh,” said Roger, gaining some level of composure now, “we got a tip that the bank’s security services had to hit sustainability targets and would turn off security settings every 10 minutes for a minute to save on emissions and hit their targets worldwide. They thought it was a cheap way to ensure they didn’t get high government taxes if their A.I. monitoring went offline once every ten minutes for a minute. Thought it wouldn’t change the quality of the service much. We would make our move every ten minutes cutting into the roof, then tinkering with the safe, doing that like 5 or 6 times until we got it to unlock. In and out after.”
“Brilliant,” said the Cockney. “Everybody’s cutting corners trying to observe Austerity, you’d never think of something like this otherwise.”
“Pretty much,” said Roger.
“How about we play some tunes then?” asked the Cockney. He turned on some rock music. “You smoke cigars?” he asked.
Roger nodded.
The Cockney pulled two cigars out of his shirt’s front pocket, handing one to Roger and putting his in his mouth.
“Has it got cyanide in it?” Roger asked.
“No… touche though,” said the Cockney. “Just the regular cancer. And in any case, you’re not supposed to inhale.”
“What’s the point otherwise?” asked Roger, taking the cigar clipper from the Cockney who was now busy lighting his smoke.
“That’s just what they say.”
They drove along puffing on their cigars and the Cockney bouncing along to the peppy ‘80s hair metal tune.
The community they drove through now was incredibly opulent. Large homes behind high fences, great estates with grand yards, topiaries visible from beyond the fence.
“Man… look at these houses,” gasped Roger.
“Yeah. Lifestyles of the rich and the famous,” the Cockney replied. “You’ve never seen excess like this, when I tell you these people live in another world…”
“Hm,” said Roger as they turned the corner and drove into the path of a great gate that permitted no view of the estate behind it from the road.
The Cockney rolled down the window, held out his wrist to the intercom on the gate and a red light scanned his wrist.
“See,” he said to Roger. “I’m chipped just like you, brother. We’re in this together. You truly move past it, I’m telling you. Just wait ‘til you see inside.”
The gate opened and a sprawling, precisely manicured yard appeared as the SUV drove through the gate. A beautiful, castle like manor appeared in the distance, lit up with yellow lights in the night.
There was an orchard full of bare trees in the winter air on the left, a large field on the right that looked like it would be planted in spring. They drove down the driveway for 4 minutes to reach the house in the back.
They parked amongst a group of other vehicles. Roger climbed out of the SUV nervously, the Cockney rather chipper.
“Looking forward to a glass of bubbly,” said the Cockney. Roger remained silent and followed his lead.
They entered an absolutely cavernous hall upon entry, a butler opening the towering front door and letting them in. Roger gasped. There was gold and marble everywhere. Greek like statues on either side of the walkway into the hall. Ahead of them a gathering of 20 or so people stood around eating canapes while the wait staff walked between them. Classic music played and echoed around the room, a group of six live musicians scoring the scene.
A man walked off to a room to the side and a young woman in a maid’s attire rushed into the room and stood near the door. When the man re entered a minute later, the young woman scurried out of the room. It was only noteworthy because of her nervous appearance and the serious intent with which she moved and stood.
Another woman went off to the side room which Roger figured was the restroom. The young maid entered the room again, stood to the side and when the female guest returned she scurried out of the room once more.
Meanwhile, the Cockney had beckoned over one of the wait staff with champagne and gave a glass to Roger who accepted absentmindedly, taking in the entire scene before him. Another waiter seemed to be carrying around mini quiches.
“Can we wave that waiter over?” Roger asked, a bit peckish.
“Oh, the food’s only for guests,” said the Cockney. “Nevermind, we can always go in the kitchens.”
Suddenly a large man, tall with a wide and protruding chest stepped towards them. He beckoned them in and the Cockney chugged his champagne before stepping forward and gesturing for Roger to follow. As they moved into the room the young maid entered the room along with a few other wait staff who also hovered on the edges of the room, not seemingly doing anything.
It was odd and noticeable if one cared about what the staff was doing, which the rich people gathered probably did not.
“This is him?” asked the man in a low and monotonous but posh sounding British accented voice.
“Yep,” said the Cockney. “The Heist Man himself.”
“Good.” The tall man opened a door to a large study in a hallway off to the right of the grand entrance. He sat behind a large oak desk and pulled out a folder and placed it on the table. There was a lectern with a bronze eagle on it to the side of the desk in front of chairs aligned in rows. “Welcome to your new position,” said the tall man to Roger. “I am Lord Boron. You are a new apprentice with much to learn, but time is upon us. Your task to assist Mr. Cockney with is this: There is an agitator in Driftwood Bay, a Luna Hodgins. It is now your task to have her lose her mental faculties and get put away in a mental home. You are not to be distracted from your task of rendering her mentally unwell and hospitalized for the rest of her adult life. This is your mission. Do not fail me.”
“What did she do?” asked Roger.
“And I want it done in 6 weeks,” Lord Boron carried on saying as though Roger had not spoken.
“We’ve got our ways,” said the Cockney, speaking up before Roger overstepped again which he seemed to have done, addressing Lord Boron as he had. “We can get it done,” he assured Lord Boron.
“Excellent.” Lord Boron tapped the folder on the desk twice with his index finger and nodded at the Cockney, then left the room with a few long steps.
“Yeah,” whispered the Cockney when he was gone. “Don’t talk to the boss yet.”
“But… what did she do?” asked Roger.
“Best not to ask questions in this job,” said the Cockney. He picked up the folder on the table. “He’s shared what he wants us to know in this folder. It’ll give us the information we need and nothing more.”
The Stellar Lunarpunk TTRPG: https://fastfrwrd.info/the-stellar-%C2%A4-lunarpunk-ttrpg-%E2%98%86/