R.R. Stephenson
Bio
Creative writer, storyteller, and worldbuilder. I craft immersive lore, rich characters, and compelling narratives across fantasy, sci-fi, and tabletop settings. I post mostly flash fiction!
Stories (33)
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Selections from the Grand Bazaar
Russ kept his rifle aimed at the door of the shack, listening closely for any sounds beyond his own breath and the soft rustling from Buddy. He had found Buddy as a puppy, abandoned on a pile of trash, and from the moment Russ cradled him in his arms, he knew he’d never let him go. Trustworthy friends weren’t easy to come by in the Gutter, but Buddy loved him unconditionally. Now, the dog was poised to leap at the flimsy plywood door, ready to protect his master, unaware that what lurked outside could tear him apart in an instant.
By R.R. Stephenson11 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar
Fountainhead Armory 4-4. The Beacon of Long Days. The Spire of Malice. The Lead Citadel. The Shithole. The factory was all of these things. The 4-4 structure and its sprawling campus stood as a monument to Fountainhead’s dominance in Vargos. Weapons, drones, ammunition, and experimental killing machines rolled off its assembly lines around the clock. Its efficiency and market dominance was indisputable as the second-largest munitions factory in Tokyo produced only a sixteenth of Fountainhead’s output, and that was only when its workers and machines were overclocked. The air around it hummed with the rhythmic clanging of assembly lines and the endless whir of conveyor belts stretching in every direction, so vast it would take a day of careful observation to determine where just one of them truly ended.
By R.R. Stephenson11 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar
Another day in Neon Heights, but this one felt different for Lola. She was still buzzing after last night. She’d gone out dancing with friends at a Zenith cocktail bar and met someone she couldn't forget. The woman was a stellar dancer, her hot pink bob cut twisting as she moved across the dance floor, her bright red eyes burning their way into Lola’s memory. They’d bumped into each other at the bar that night, the mysterious woman ordering a vodka soda, Lola’s favorite drink.
By R.R. Stephenson11 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar. Content Warning.
“Do people fear us, sister?” The women sat cross-legged across from each other at the peak of a ship’s spire, docked in the near-limitless spread of buildings and piers that made up Harbor 9. The woman in the purple sheet did not meet the eyes of the woman in the yellow sheet as she asked her question, remembering a critical role of her order: never see the face of another Wraith.
By R.R. Stephenson12 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar
Stick-up boys don’t last long in the Grand Bazaar, and they especially don’t last long in the Sprawl. Most get away with their first couple of hits, maybe a third or fourth if they really know what they’re doing. But after that, most either end up flatlined or find themselves in a new district doing something worth a damn.
By R.R. Stephenson12 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar
Nia slipped out of the ceiling vent, her breath tight in her chest as she let her legs dangle over the dusty shelf. She peered down, gauging the drop, then let herself slide down. The shelf wobbled under her weight, groaning like it might collapse, but she flattened herself against it, spreading her weight. The floor stretched before her in eerie silence—an abandoned office frozen in time, its lifeless husk still clinging to echoes of past inhabitants. The Shatterdome district had long since been forsaken, its only visitors the scavengers and ghosts of its former self.
By R.R. Stephenson12 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar
A Eulogy for Pully Jenkins Pully grew up to be a Hotlung, to the surprise of no one among his family and friends. The work was good: he'd receive a commission on every questionable package someone in town needed delivered, and he'd get to see all of the city instead of just the smoke stacks and factory floor his family all called home. Every morning after he got the courier's license Pully sprang out of bed and was out with his link turned on ready to take whatever job came in first. There is a void in the community now losing a young man on his way to better things, and as such we as a community pay the price.
By R.R. Stephenson12 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar. Content Warning.
"Stop moving it, I'm trying to get the thing to sync up!" Maria thrashed with irritation as her sister tried to wrestle the dirty headset from her head. The two girls had wandered into the Roman Stacks outside their tenement. The city spread for miles all around them, but in these piles of waste the girls were never looked at as street urchins, just residents, and they loved every second of it. The place hardly had a view of the sky when you stepped into it, its abandoned shacks and leftover garbage piled into the heavens forming towers that rivaled the Corporate buildings downtown. Vargos was an urban jewel looking at those towers, but these towers were a monument to the filth the city never cleaned, just shuffled from one area to another.
By R.R. Stephenson12 months ago in Fiction
