It's where all your lost socks have got to. It's the vault of forgotten secrets, dead gods and former child stars. The planet of lost biros lies in the Garbage Zone, just a lightyear away from landfill planets servicing the Skrull Empire, the Klingon Empire, and the Galactic Empire.
And now, greenhorn, the Garbage Zone is home. Best learn to like it.
The Zone is a small cluster of black holes, perhaps ten or a hundred light-years across. Angels, devils, and bureaucrats from ten thousand universes contract with the Garbage Zone for waste management. Space barges bring in trash by the megaton, while flying saucers, flying carpets, and Flying Dutchmen return with the choicest finds. Anything lost, forgotten, or discarded might end up in the Garbage Zone, and all of it will be consumed by the Maw in time.
Not all the refuse is inanimate. Orphans, homeless veterans, one-hit wonder bands, and gods with no more followers have all been Fetched to the Zone. Most of the inhabitants of this strange place are their descendants, born in the innumerable cities and homesteads built from surplus construction material and the hulls of rusted warships. Those Fetched here from lives Outside often struggle to adjust---things are different in the Zone. Everything's for sale, most of what they valued before is now dirt cheap, and there seem to be only two absolute laws:
- Respect the Fetches.
- Once Fetched here, you never leave.
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