Deacon and Ragnar walked beside each other in the great wide plains between Cille and Elvander. By airplane the time was less than four hours to arrive, but on foot was a different beast altogether. The sky above them began to turn a pitch black hue while the stars began to sparkle in their arrival. The view was something, different from the city skyline that littered the sky with their own lights.

Something about the natural view gave Deacon a sense of calm, just like the rain from the other day. The green grass extended a few miles down the path from where the pair was standing.

A sound emerged from the vast empty space. The noise came from below the duo and close by as well.

Ragnar looked over to Deacon.

"Don't give me that look!" Deacon turned away clutching his abdomen, "I haven't eaten in the last two hours. I'm surprised that I'm still even standing up. We need to find somewhere quick before I start going feral."

Ragnar stopped in its steps and began making computing noises. Deacon looked over to his traveling partner in confusion.

"You better have a good reason for stopping." Deacon sighed.

Ragnar sent a message: Valiant Diner. Three miles.

"Oh sweet, you have a GPS." Deacon smiled at his phone screen. "Now carry me."

Ragnar whirred and held out his hand to give the small young man a boost to ride on its shoulder.

"I feel like a god!" Deacon laughed maniacally atop Ragnar.

The dark path in front of them began to show some light from the street lamps that littered the area. A sign of civilization and maybe food.

"How is it looking Ragnar?" Deacon tapped on the robot's side of its head. "Do you see anything with those eyes of yours?"

Ragnar pointed at the town that was still far away with the naked eye, but to the machine it was only inches away.

Deacon's stomach growled again making Ragnar whir in shock.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't make it stop." Deacon winced. "Can't you like fly again?"

Ragnar replied: Damage. Battery.

"Oh yeah, didn't think about that, looks like we need to make pit stop as soon as we see Valiant Diner."

The two saw a sign from afar that read: You are now entering Livica, the home of the Sweet Potato Chili!

"Oh that sounds good." Deacon smiled.

Ragnar responded with a cheerful whir.

#

An hour passed as the pair arrived into the small town of Livica. Deacon had climbed down from Ragnar to stretch his legs. The closest town available to them as they tried to take a short break on their trek. They passed through small local markets that sold various trinkets like blankets, souvenirs, and sweet potato paintings. The town was a complete opposite from the tall buildings and city buses that Deacon was used to. No traffic and it seemed like everything was basically at arm's reach if they needed to pick up something.

"I wouldn't be surprised if nothing is open at this hour." Deacon looked around the road for an OPEN neon sign or maybe the indoor lights were still on that would let them know that their business was sought after.

Ragnar used its internal GPS to guide Deacon to Valiant Diner, a place that would supply the both of them with something to recharge their batteries, literally and figuratively.

"How far are we from it now?" Deacon looked up to Ragnar.

Ragnar replied: Around the corner.

"Not bad, buddy. Not bad at..."

The parking lot was filled with motorcycles, mostly painted with black and shining with heavy chrome. A large neon sign with the words Valiant Diner in red shined at the pair.

"By any chance, did your GPS mention anything about it being a biker bar?" Deacon stammered.

Ragnar shook its head to give a no.

"Looks like its the only place open in this ghost town." Deacon's stomach gave him a tug toward the diner. "Let's just order the food, get your battery juiced up, and get the hell out. Agreed?"

Ragnar nodded.

They walked toward the entrance; every step they got closer to the diner, the louder the rock music blared without any concern for the surrounding homes. Most likely, they were in the diner as well. Loud yelling was muffled with the music, but just enough to understand that some not-so-nice words were being thrown at the various patrons of the bar.

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"Maybe I can wait until we get to another city." Deacon was prepared to change his mind even at the cost of his hunger.

Ragnar reminded him: Battery.

"Alright, alright! Don't get so pushy!" Deacon swallowed as much fear as he can stomach and marched toward the so-called diner to get themselves settled.

The two quickly dashed to the back of the diner/bar to find some kind of energy source to hook Ragnar up in order to regain some of its energy.

"Looks like we're going to have to make do with that generator."

Ragnar looked at the giant contraption and gave an uneasy whir.

"I don't think they'll mind as long as we don't get too much." Deacon gulped.

Ragnar opened up its chestplate in order for Deacon to pull out his bag and search for the jumper cables to juice up the robot.

"Okay while this runs I'll go in and grab a bite." Deacon talked Ragnar through the plan. "I shouldn't be there too long. Try to stay out of sight and be... a good boy?"

Ragnar's large fingers gave him a thumbs up in agreement.

Deacon let out a loud exhale to prep him for the second obstacle of their journey.

Hunger.

At least for him, it wouldn't be something that would get him into a load of trouble on his part as long as Ragnar stayed out of sight and the food came to him quick.

Even if it was a biker bar.

#

The young visitor entered the bar trying not to make a scene. He was only there to get a burger and get the hell out of dodge as soon as he paid his tab. The former proved to be impossible since everyone's eyes shifted to the entrance of the bar almost as if the smell of fresh blood had dispersed into the air around them.

A group of bikers scoffed at Deacon then finished drinking their beers with their eyes fixed on the young man. The gangsters looked rough with scars and tattoos decorating their bodies; the only thing that covered them was their vests they proudly wore over them. Patches of the charters, areas, and other kinds covered their vests like badges of honor. They talked amongst themselves, but still gave a side eye to Deacon, who was walking in clueless to their words.

Deacon managed to find a vacant barstool among the flying fists and beer bottles that crashed onto the walls behind him.

"Do you have a menu?" Deacon calmly asked while chaos ensued around him.

"No sir," A tough-looking bartender stood in front of him with his neatly-trimmed mustache and bulky muscles towering over him. His hands were occupied with a glass that needed cleaning, "We only serve burgers, wings, our famous sweet potato chili, and..."

"And?" Deacon grew curious.

"Beer." The bartender let his hopes down.

"I'll get a burger and can you put some of the chili inside?" Deacon didn't have much of a choice at that point, so why not make the most of it.

"Sure can." The bartender tossed his hand towel over his shoulder. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Sure, any kind of lager is fine by me." Deacon smiled.

"Local good?" The bartender grabbed a tall glass from his inventory.

"For sure!"

The bartender placed the glass under a tap to pour some local brew that made Deacon's eyes shine in glory. He then used a non-serrated knife to slide the foam out and put it in front of Deacon.

"All I ask is to not make any trouble." The bartender's voice sounded serious, but the craziness in the bar gave Deacon a mixed-feeling about it.

"Yeah, no problem." He quickly took a sip of beer.

As he waited for his burger to arrive, the group of bikers from earlier decided to make a quick visit to the stranger and sat next to him. They outnumbered him by three extra heads; then again for Deacon any amount of people was considered an unfair advantage.

"So I take it you're not from around these parts, are you?" The leader of the group smirked. His hair was shaved on one side and wore a pair of sunglasses over his head. The man was no younger than thirty, but had the confidence of a teenager.

"No I'm not," Deacon sipped his beer. "Just here for a quick pit stop before I head out again."

"Where you from stranger?" A lackey from group asked.

"...Tyur." Deacon hesitated to answer.

"Tyur?" The leader sounded puzzled. "Never heard of it? Are you lying to us?"

"It's on the border of Cille." Another member confidently answered.

"Ex-- Exactly." Deacon stared at the man in amazement.

Tyur isn't exactly a popular city, but then again, Cille was not a really popular country to begin with it usually was used as a transport hub whenever some of the countries feuded and didn't want to deal with each other personally.

In other words, a middle man.

"How did you know that?" The leader asked his friend.

"I majored in Geography." He answered.

"Is that so? Well, alright then." The man turned away from his cohort and back to Deacon, "Did you pay a visitor fee when you crossed the border?"

"I'm not sure that I can say. I guess my friend paid." Deacon's face gave an uneasy twitch for digging himself into a grave.

"Oh, a friend?" The leader smiled. "See, I think you're lying to me because we always collect our fees upfront."

"He don't look too familiar." The third member who sat on the other side of the stools added his own comments.

"I say you're right." The leader stood up from his stool. "You see, we always wait by the border to ensure we get every visitor's fee, but I don't remember seeing your face, let alone your friend's."

"Listen guys, I don't want any trouble." Deacon slowly reached for his phone inside his pocket as the bartender came by to deliver his food.

"Enjoy your chili burger."

"He will after he pays his fee along with interest for dodging it." The leader grabbed his chain from his vest pocket to wrap it around his right fist. He wasn't looking to ask again.

The third biker lunged at Deacon to hold him tight to prepare him for his boss's chained-up fist.

"I'm sorry!" Deacon cried out.

"Sorry for what?" The leader smirked as he raised up his fist.

"I wasn't apologizing to you," Deacon nodded at the bartender, "I was telling him."

A large crash emerged from the entrance of the bar.

Ragnar stood by the destroyed wall that used to house the front door. The robot was a titan amongst the variety of heathens that were in the bar.

"Ain't that a Shadow Cannon's robot?!" The leader turned to Deacon, "Are you a Shadow Cannon?!"

"No, I'm just here for the food." Deacon quickly grabbed his burger and slid away from the thrown bodies that Ragnar juggled. The robot grabbed the biker's leader by the head to throw him behind the bar toward the spirits that were kept on the shelves. The bottles shattered all over the biker leaving him cut up and defenseless. The other three gang members already found themselves on the floor bloodied, bruised, and knocked out.

The giant machine waded through chairs, tables, and knife-wielding maniacs to get to Deacon, who got on top of the bar to piggy-back on Ragnar's shoulders while it continued to lay waste to the diner.

The duo hurriedly proceeded to the exit to avoid any other repercussions from the owner of the establishment.

"We're so sorry about the door!" Deacon yelled apologetically to the bartender and pointed at the fallen bikers, "Put it on their tab!"