Mercury sat at a round table in the Cogs and Queens tavern in the lower city. They taste the air with a parched mouth, having just escaped another firefight with the Sharn Watch.

Riiiiiip. Mercury sighs, holding their left arm with a newly torn bandage. Bastards got me. Two years they’ve been hunting me down, and in all that time, they only just got me. Pathetic.

“Oi! Can I get ya a fuckin’ ale or what? It’s a fuckin taproom, not a restin’ room. Order or leave!” the hobgoblin bartender says.

“Look, I’ll fuckin’ drink anythin’, long as it’s under a silver,” Mercury reaches into their thigh-bag, and places the coin on the table, leaning back. Ya got shot. Good fuckin’ job, Mercury. They pull the bandage tight, wincing.

The hobgoblin walks over holding a tankard of a strange purple mix. “Here’s ya drink,” he slams it on the table, takes the silver coin, and walks off.

Mercury reaches for the bullet on the table that was recently lodged in their arm. A souvenir. How lovely. “So, what’s new in the world? Any new rumors?”

“Yeah, fuckin’ rumors all right. Apparently, some rich head up in the top layers of the city thinks lizardfolk should be slaves and started a lizard camp a day out from the city. True or not, somethin’ strange is happenin’ out there cause my delivery men see guards headed that way all the time.”

“Sounds interesting. Might be worth to fuck over. Free some folk.”

“Yeah, 'cause you’re such a do-gooder. Don’t lie Merc, you’ve been comin’ ‘ere for the past year, treatin’ my waterhole as a damn safehouse. You pick on people, no matter if they’re good, or if they’re evil. All that matters to you is the fame of being a wanted criminal, and the right to brag in front of others in your field. I know men like you. You all share the same stupidity.”

“Well, good thing I’m not a man.”

“Speakin’ off, what are you anyway? I can’t pin ya for a woman.”

“I’m just me, Hektar. Nothin’ more to it. I’m just Mercury.”

“Sure,” the hobgoblin rubs the glass he’s holding clean, squeaking all the way across the room.

“But seriously, Hek. Thanks for not kickin’ me out. Even if it means I have to pay to be here.”

“Don’t all taprooms require you to pay before you stay? It’s rule number one, Merc.”

“No shit,” Mercury chuckles. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

Mercury pulls a small green gem out of their pocket, placing it on the table. A few moments go by, and a guitar materializes where the gem once was. They begin plucking the chords. E, G, B, e, B, G, E - E, G, B, e, B, G, E. (guitar tabs)

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The door kicks in as six guards storm the tavern. “Is she here!?” the head guard demands, looking at the bartender.

The bartender smirks at them. “This Tavern of mine currently has no female guests. Trust me, I think I’d know.”

Mercury leans back in their chair, continuing to play their song. “So close no matter how far, couldn’t be much more from the heart.”

One of the guards scans the room and pulls on the shoulder of the one beside him. “There’s the girl.”

“Forever trusting who we are, and nothing else matters.”

“Oi!” the guards shout. “Stop playin’ that shit, or we’ll tear your tongue out.”

“Never opened myself this way, life is ours we live it our way.”

The captain walks closer, resting his hand on his rapier. “I said, quiet wench!”

“All these words, I don’t just say… And nothing else matters.” Mercury sighs, taking their hand from the strings and gripping their six-cylinder on their hip. They watch them approach closer.

“Oi! I thought you said you weren’t harborin’ any women in your tavern!” the guard at the bar says.

Mercury giggles to themselves. “He’s not.”

The first guard unsheathes his rapier, the second one going for his sidearm. The four towards the tavern bar begin drawing their weapons, swords, and daggers to prevent Mercury from escaping. None fast enough for Mercury.

Crack. The first bullet left Mercury’s chamber, leaving the man dead.

Crack. The second who’d bear witness to the deaths while he bled.

Crack. No man was as fast to stop the small, beautifully handsome fiend.

Crack. For their hand was quick, their fingers quicker, none could intervene.

As the fifth one takes his shot, Mercury takes a step brave.

Crack. None would be the one who put them at the bottom of a grave.

Crack. The sixth held his throat, and Merc looked into his eyes.

For they knew the poor guardsmen was only taking what jobs would arise.

“From where you’re sittin’, must feel like today was shit luck,” Mercury says, holding the last man dying. “Truth be told, ya took the job knowing what might happen. I’m fairly sure when I go to hell, I’ll see you there.”

Ears ringing, table flying, I’m flying. The wall, it’s no longer there.

Mercury lands in front of the bar, propelled across the room by an explosion. What? Who just. Where’s six. Mercury reaches for their sidearm with their left arm, only they can’t reach it. What. Where’s? No. They look across the room, seeing their left arm blown clean off with their revolver still in grip. Mercury tries to hoist themselves up with the aid of their tail, falling forward onto their knees. I can’t. I’m gonna. No!

A man with a long mustache looks down at Mercury. “What luck. Wasn’t expectin’ to see little pink down here,” he looks across the room, blood reaching from their dismembered arm to themselves. “I guess from now on, they’ll call you little pink mist,” he brushes his mustache smiling. “Take it all, boys! Leave no coin untouched. Scavenge the guards, but leave pinky alone. They’ve had a rough day. We don’t want it to get rougher!” he laughs. “Imagine all the things you can’t do with a missing arm.”

The world went black.