Lower Decks Comic Novels & Stories

Debo put his hand on his chest: “Really? Francie: “ Lie! Kataleya: “ Hahahaha Lordylla: “ Zeuck is beautiful! Kilaila: “ He is the youngest of the pirates. Francie: “ I don't like pirates! Especially Zeuck, who also shows off those well-defined abs of his, his strong arms, his courage, that voice of his so... I mean, I think it's all... Absurd! Lordylla: “ Of course you do! Kataleya: “ Hahahaha Francie: “ Seriously! It didn't mean anything to me! Debo: “ Well, you can see how insignificant he is to you! Lordylla ironically: “ “Oh Zeuck, you’re hurt! What happened?" Francie furious: “ Shut up! Everyone laughed at Francie and shook their heads. Dercek and Graden were sitting at a table playing

Certainly not the treasure trove of redeemable cans Scott had described. “There’s nothing much in there, hardly anything at all,” Scott said, the disappointment evident in his voice. “That’s okay,” Jesse replied, eyeing the room’s floor. Near the middle it looked yellow, sagging, maybe even rotten with age. “I dunno if we should go in there. I mean . . . that floor looks like it’s about to fall through.” Scott grunted, sounding as if this was little comfort, indeed. “Yeah. Suppose so.” “Hey, what if all the rooms’re like this?” Jesse complained. “It’ll take forever, an we ain’t gonna get enough to buy one comic book.”

She has been to her Father's company before, but this company was five times bigger in comparison. Anxiety began growing in her heart like a bonfire because, she knew for sure, she will not be received well. Meanwhile, in an office located on the 50th floor, Darryl was in his seat looking gloomily at this laptop. His best friend, Donald Dark, was adding more insults to injury by teasing him heartily. "WOW, where is my married man? I miss you! Oh my, see how you look in less than forty-eight hours of marriage! It has made you look like a fifty years old man.

She assured him. “It is an old house. You are bound to find something to fix. Let’s just let the dust settle a bit before we get into something as big as a sinking floor board. Promise me you will find something smaller before ripping out the floor to our new home?” He laughed. “I promise I won’t rip it out IF it doesn’t need it. I’m not worried about one soft spot. It gives the room character.” She smirked at him. “Now sir, please escort me to my new room” she said with a British accent.

**Lara's pov** The lower cargo hold of *The Obsidian Fang* was a masterpiece of human and werewolf misery. It was a long, low-ceilinged cavern of damp oak, suffocatingly dark, and packed so tightly with the dregs of the eastern continent that the air had turned into a toxic sludge of old sweat, sour ale, and the sharp, volatile pheromones of three hundred Alpha mercenaries on the absolute brink of starvation. Every time the heavy longship crashed over a massive swell of the Blackwater Sea, the wooden hull would groan like a dying beast, spraying icy salt-water through the seams of the planks to drench the men huddled on the floor.

Julien let out a sigh and couldn't help but complain under his breath, "You could have told me earlier. I almost shit my pants because of Albert's scare..." Albert, who was standing nearby, chuckled and pointed to a factory building not far away, saying, "Mr. Julien, this floor is mainly for show. The real interesting stuff is downstairs." "Downstairs?" Julien pointed at the floor and curiously asked, "There's more down there?" "Yes." Albert nodded. "The lower floor is newly built." Charlie also smiled and said, "That's right, Julien. The lower floor is where the fun is. Come on, let's go take a look together."

The bad news was that they were down to only thirty five borgs and, unlike the rebels, had very little conventional armor to take up the slack. That news was depressing, damned depressing, and it dragged at Marco's spirits. They might survive one more battle, if they were lucky; then it would be over. If Lucy was depressed, there was no visible sign of it as she led him onto a lift and touched a button. The elevator lurched and fell. Marco eyed the indicator. It stopped on sub-level six - the very depths of the war Era catacombs.

He could not comprehend why they reacted so strongly to what was just a joke. As they walked along, Adrian noted that the lower deck was far from satisfactory. The noise from the boiler room and the crashing waves was deafening, and the air was thick with a murky haze. However, he noticed many people living on the lower deck wearing cheerful smiles. It seemed like they were quite content living in such an environment. "Sir, you don't look like someone who belongs on the lower deck," one of the men said. "What do you mean?" Adrian asked. "I noticed that you seem unaware of why these people are here," he continued.

He takes a swig of the rum before closing the cap and looming his gaze on the small imp-like man. “Catch!” The deckhand tosses the flask at the empty hand of Lard. Without looking he is able to catch the drink container in his hand and then places it back into his bag. Next, he uses the same hand to lick at his fingers and turn the page of his book. “You ever stop reading?” Gardax speaks in a sullied manner but Lard does not seem to mind. The smaller figure looms his gaze at his higher-ranking comrade and shrugs his tiny shoulders. “No. should I not? This world we inhabit sucks harder than a whore slurping a goat cock that comes coin. Why the hell wouldn’t I want an escape?” Gardax shrugs hi