“FUCK!” He cussed, his anger evident in a spray of spittle. He wound up his arm and, embodying the might of a bear, swept his fist forth. But I was undeterred. I nimbly ducked his blow and hit his dick with a solid straight. Warm blood burst from his 7 orifices as he folded and launched into a table.

Drinks flew and glass shattered, eliciting several irritated yelps. Amidst the chaos, a smug grin stretched across my face. Unfortunately, my gloating was interrupted by an erroneously irate bartender, “What the fuck!? Get the hell out of my bar!” I turned and was met with the barrel end of a rifle. The ambient hustle and bustle had suddenly vanished, the silence broken only by soft muttering. The bartender continued, "Go on, get out! Don't fuck with me, I'll pump your asses fulla lead." Hounded by the countless eyes of the crowd, and the barrel end of a gun, I quickly made my exit.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Once outside, I began to ponder what just happened. ‘The injustice of it!’ My taught nerves gave way to indignation. ‘I didn’t even swing first, I was just defending myself!’ My rumination halted when I heard a clamoring inside. The shutter doors burst open and that stupid drunk came flying through and plowed face-first into a pile of horse shit. ‘Ah, how serendipitous,’ I thought. A grotesque smile marred my once ugly look. I put my boot on the back of his head and pushed his face deeper into the dung heap. In response, he let out a muffled moan but didn't move much. He hardly seemed conscious anymore so I removed my foot. Feeling somewhat rejuvenated, I stalked into the night.