Split Personality (Unedited) now only $0.99



In the last year I have immensely improved my writing skills; I even went to a writing course! From this new perspective some of the older released material no longer looks so new and shiny. That includes Split Personality. Until its eventual and inevitable remastering, Split Personality Unedited will remain available as an E-book. But it shall be available for super-accessible price of 99p! That is all – check it out on Amazon.

Taking Flight – Chapter 1

Copyright © David Noe 2011

Picking up Trash

Written by: David Noe & Kieyotie McDermott
Edited by: Laura Loolaid

The forum that was, could no longer support our ideas, there were so many…

I had met Kieyotie at a Firefly fanfic group, and our collaborative ideas soon grew into a new fictional universe of our own. This text is a considerably edited version of the original roleplay notes; there is also a parallel version of the story from Trouble’s perspective. After all the years, the stories, the roleplay, and the new crewmembers, Tucker 9/Tucker X is the place we always return to, even with newer and remixed storylines – this is where it all began!


Chapter 1 – Picking Up Trash


Smoke swirled and rose through the gaps in the rotting ceiling-boards of the bar as the many patrons drank themselves into a relaxed stupor. Work on Hubris was hard. Tucker 9, the desert moon’s only real source for crops and livestock, was no exception. Every waking cycle the townsfolk would struggle to create life out of sand and rocks. Their pay-off – a simple, mostly happy life, free from the burdens and bureaucracy of central civilized worlds. Dust rolled in from the street as people came and went. The mixed sounds of horses and charging hover-cars rose up and muted again each time the doors swung back to their rickety frames.


“Another!” The man at the bar uttered a low growl as he slammed his now empty glass down, causing cracks to appear around its base. He wore a large hooded coat that almost engulfed him. Dry blood covered his hair, face and hands.

He was unsure of how he had even ended up in this bar; his whole life up until this point felt like a haze. Impatient, he patted himself down, finding a small tin filled with herbs and smoke-papers in his top pocket. His hands had  passed over a holster and a protruding handle jammed to his left side; he made a note to examine the weapon once he was on his own.

At least the motion of rolling felt familiar. Maybe if he thought hard enough, the rest would come back… His head began to ache again, as if remembering meant a physical ordeal.


The bartender returned with a drink. Placing it on the counter, he lit up the man’s smoke. He decided against asking questions, and turned to serve another customer instead.


Alone with his drink, the man looked down at himself in an attempt to gain some answers. His eyes jumped from bloodstain to bloodstain, provoking more questions. Besides some obvious knuckle damage, he seemed in good enough shape, just in need of a good clean-up. He took a deep lungful of smoke, and let his gaze slowly explore the room, avoiding directly looking at anything – or anyone – in particular. The bartender gave him an occasional sideways glance but left him be. The man slammed another empty glass down on the bar, stubbed out his roll-up, and got to his feet, using the stool to steady himself.


Rubbing his head, he slowly made his way towards the bathrooms. The pain he had awoken with gave way to numb discomfort. The door to the bathroom swung open. He squeezed himself past a heavily intoxicated patron, and quickly locked the door behind him. The smell almost knocked him out, and the floor welcomed him with a puddle better left unexamined. Yet for now, these were the least of his concerns.


He rested for a moment slumped against the door, trying to gather his thoughts. He still wasn’t sure how he’d come to arrive here but one thing was certain – it had taken some struggle. Slowly, he made his way over to one of the more intact mirrors. It was missing a corner, and had a large crack running all the way through. He stared at himself, turned on the cold tap, and let the sink fill.


As he gripped the sides of the basin, his eyes wandered back to his reflection.

‘Who am I? ‘Why don’t I remember?’

He stared some more.

Continue reading Taking Flight – Chapter 1

Seeker – Chapter 2

Copyright © David Noe 2014

Written by: David Noe
Edited by: Laura Loolaid
Cover: Laura Loolaid
Proof-reading: Kayleigh Marchant

The novel “Seeker” introduces Jewel Harper, a junior specialist working for a bounty hunting  organization known as The Seekers. This chapter allows a glance into Jewel’s everyday: she completes a job, and takes a little off-time in Rystar station, the local Seekers’ hub. We see her idle moment interrupted by an out-of-ordinary job offer; she butts heads with her mentor on the way out.

The first part of Jewel’s adventures is available as e-book on Amazon; the second is currently being edited.


Chapter 2

The corridors and criss-crossing catwalks of Rystar station were easy to get lost in, but Jewel, dwelling here between jobs, had made good use of her minimal downtime and the sprawling hive could not dissuade her. The bright, multi-colored store-fronts started to dim, marking the arrival of midnight. The translucent wall sections were slowly darkening, creating the illusion of a twilight. The hikari-plate walkways curving out of sight caught the last fleeting rays and carried them to the station’s inner depths.

Jewel favored this time of quiet. She took a little extra time measuring her steps before boarding a station transport unit. After a bit of motor-humming she found herself in the quietest section, on the doorstep of a secluded bar called ‘The Jenevere’. Just like the rest of the station, it was deserted. Even the bartender had left his post. Jewel instinctively settled into the corner-most booth and keyed in her order at the tabletop menu. She forwarded the bill to her shuttle, and waited impatiently. She was rewarded with a Rystar staple, rabbit lasagna, and a small glass of lightly carbonated water. Jewel had simple tastes but savoured every bite. Although meager in its size, the meal had satiated her enough. Content, Jewel pushed her plate into the receptacle, relaxed in her seat, and nursed the remainder of her drink with a careful eye on the entrance. For a brief period, Jewel could enjoy having the establishment all to herself. She often planned her drop-off’s to coincide with the station’s nocturnal stage. Her penchant for solitude was in stark contrast with the vehemently social ways of her homeworld, Ar-Kaos 4.


A well dressed gentleman appearing in the doorway ended her moment of bliss. He made a determined stride in Jewel’s direction. She tensed up and mentally recited the location of her concealed weaponry.

“Seeker Jewel Harper?” He approached the booth. She didn’t acknowledge him, but observed covertly that the new arrival was tall, a few heads taller than her, with broad shoulders. His wrinkled face a shade of sienna, with mahogany eyes and a slightly deformed beaky nose – a combination Jewel had often seen among Rystar’s Old Guard. He placed a thick paper folder on the table. Jewel raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Paper documents were a rare sight, especially in the world of bounty hunters.

“This folder contains information on a private contract that only you can fulfil. Inside, you will also find a forward payment in the form of authorized Standard Credit prints. It would be in your best interest to read what is written within.”

Jewel maintained her focus on the entry-way. She was unimpressed by the man’s self-assured attitude. With a frown that consumed his entire face, the man gave off a sigh before bowing his head and turning to leave.

Fare well, Seeker.”

Continue reading Seeker – Chapter 2

Space Junk (excerpt 1)

Copyright © Laura Loolaid 2015

Written and edited by: Laura Loolaid

“Space Junk” series consists of one character’s posts in an ongoing forum roleplay. It takes place in an already-built world, and *might* tie into some universe-establishing storylines. [Innocent whistle] This excerpt introduces the new character.


The sign read: “Space Junk”.

Stenciled letters were peeling off a coppery egg – perhaps a retired shuttle, several giga-seconds past its glory, or perhaps a maqueta from those “Awld Spayce” galleries. Either way the craft was going nowhere now, its overblown butt-thrusters buried in makeshift shacks and unkempt weeds; its location and label symptomatic to those miscella-marts that peppered the port districts on so many moons.

Most times the hatch was bolted up and the shop’s keeper nowhere in sight – not that many would stray in these obscure paths anyway. But every once in a while an inviting light shone through the airlock, and the lucky guest was treated with genuine interest and undivided attention.

For now there was only the off-colour haze from the local sun, dragging its way through the third sector of a long moonday. The proprietor emerged from a crooked alley, and gave her tattered traveller’s mug some exaggerated bottom taps, quietly scanning the area behind the act. She climbed the narrow metal steps leading to the shuttle’s hatch, and popped it wide open, shining dim daylight all over the shop’s innards. Most wallspace was covered with narrow storage shelves, populated with items and components of questionable value – or function for that matter. Electronic parts that would most certainly be useless for repairs, strips of cable visibly too short to connect, diagnostic tools with dead displays; household containers and shiny utensils; various bits of scrap metal; jars holding pebbles, fossils, and bones; a proud pair of cattle skulls; framed pictures, a few paper books. One corner was dedicated exclusively to dinosaur toys.

Amidst the bizarre and vintage, sat an oddly well-lit and well-aligned island of strapped-down shipping crates. These were tightly packed with essentials that a traveller might find handy in their journeys through the lonely skies: water flasks and pocket-size purifiers, sewing kits and rolls of all-purpose repair tape, ration cubes, canteens, mini-burners along with spare fuel and fire-building tools; gnaw-gunk and rolling papers, caffeine capsules; a small selection of sweet bars and dry-fruit; heavy-duty socks, protective gloves, and thermal undergarments; rebreather assembly kits, simple folding knives, low-light vision aids, and basic field medi-packs.


She stepped through an indoor hatch into a narrow hallway that lead to comms centre – shaped like yester-gen cockpit, true to the overall theme.
Continue reading Space Junk (excerpt 1)