An hour later, Zedd found himself standing outside a low prefab structure with faded lettering above the door: Iron Tap.

The building looked like it had been slapped together from spare parts and old ship hulls, its corners uneven and its exterior streaked with rust. But the muffled sound of laughter and clinking glasses suggested it was far from lifeless.

"This gotta be the spot, right?" he muttered under his breath, raising an eyebrow. He hesitated for a second before pushing the door open. Right.

Stale air hit Zedd's face as the door hissed open, carrying notes of synth-beer, machine oil and somethin that definitely wasn’t real tobacco. All in all, it was a medley of scents that screamed "colony dive" louder than the sign outside could.

The Iron Tap's interior wrapped around him in shades of amber and shadow, overhead strips casting just enough light to navigate by without killing the mood. Almost like they're saving power... or hiding the wear.

A massive slab of scratched metal stretched along one wall, claiming to be a bar despite looking like it had been carved straight out of a derelict frigate. Behind it, a bartender built like a young krogan — I need to look up these fucking aliens, how did giant turtles get to space — moved with surprising grace, thick fingers wiping down glasses through practiced patterns as he cleaned.

The booths lining the opposite wall had clearly seen better decades, their occupants sprawled in various states of post-shift collapse. Boots propped up on chairs spoke volumes about the place's standards – or lack thereof. This place has only been a colony for ten years, what the hell?

Oil-stained coveralls and scuffed boots painted a clear picture of the man behind the bar - working class through and through as his barrel of a chest stretched out a simple shirt that might have been actually a pristine white once.

Nina's wave caught his eye from the back, her grin cutting through the dim like a beacon. She'd cleaned up some, though "clean" was relative considering how little time she had to make it here after work.

Connor lounged beside her, the older balding floor manager seeming to tighten up as soon as he spotted his face. Huh…

The third guy at their table was new – rail-thin with a military-grade buzz cut and ink crawling up his neck in patterns that looked more function than art.

"Thought you'd flake." Nina's words carried enough sass to fill the space between them as Zedd approached.

Metal scraped against polymer as he pulled out a chair, dropping into it with a smirk already in place. "Not my style."

"This the kid?" New guy's voice rumbled low, playful but measuring all the same.

Nina's hand waved between them, casual as breathing. "Zedd. That's Tommy. Works down in water treatment. Likes to think he's tougher than he is."

"Keep talkin', little girl." Tommy's grin flashed sharp in the low light. "We'll see who's tougher next time you need help lifting one of those filters."

Connor leaned back, synthetic whiskey caught the light as he tilted his glass. "So, Zedd, how'd the first day treat you? Elias give you hell?"

"Nah, not really." Zedd matched Connor's pose without thinking. "Bossman's pretty nice to me. Enough to make a kid feel special, you know." His shoulders protested the movement, memories of cramped maintenance tunnels written in muscle and bone.

Connor’s gaze flicked up to meet his eyes, eyes narrowing a little. “Does he now? Big E being so kind, will wonders never cease?”

Nina's glass rose in mock salute, amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "Look at you, beginner's luck. You'll fuck up eventually and get barked at like the rest of us soon enough." The light caught her eyes as she tilted her head. "Or you'll quit and take up something easier. Your call."

A soft chuckle escaped Zedd as his attention swept the room, cataloging details like he always did. Laughter burst from nearby tables in sharp bursts, jokes flying free.. Every worker wore the same edge though – that colony tension that never quite went away, even when drunk.

Connor's eyes, for instance, kept finding their way back to Zedd between sips, measuring him up against some standard only the older tech knew.

Heavy boots announced the bartender's approach, the man's upward nod carrying just enough respect to acknowledge a potential customer. "What're you having?"

Zedd clicked his tongue and returned the gesture automatically, street instincts kicking in before conscious thought. "What do you have that's..."

Metal creaked overhead as Tommy leaned forward across the table, synthetic beer sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his glass. The sharp chemical smell of the drink hit Zedd's nose even from where he sat, mixing with the lingering scent of machine oil and sweat that seemed to follow every worker in here. "Get anything but the synthbrew. Shit goes down like engine coolant."

Tommy's eyes flicked up to Kenny, a drunken grin spreading across his face as overhead strips cast harsh shadows across his features. "No offense, bro."

The bartender's expression didn't shift an inch as he stared down at Tommy, massive arms folded over a chest that looked like it could stop small-arms fire. Light from the strips overhead caught the family resemblance between them - same sharp jawline, same way of holding tension in their shoulders, same look in their eyes that promised trouble if pushed. "Shut the fuck up, Tommy. I will throw you out again."

"B-but big bro..." Tommy's voice jumped several octaves, that earlier rumble vanishing as he spluttered. His buzz cut caught the dim light, making the growing flush on his neck more obvious as it crept past the edge of that intricate tattoo; some kind of tribal pattern that wrapped around his throat like a noose.

Huh, I can see the resemblance. Zedd's gaze bounced between them, noting the similar way they both shifted their weight when annoyed, how they both seemed to take up more space than they should.

Kenny's massive palm dropped onto Tommy's shoulder with enough force to make the smaller man wince, the gesture carrying more warning than affection. "Ma doesn't like you drinking anyway. Don't give me another fuckin’ reason, okay?"

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He turned back to Zedd, expression neutral again as his eyes performed the same evaluation Zedd had seen a thousand times before. "Now, what can I get for you?"

A smirk played across Zedd's face as he caught Nina watching the exchange, her fingers drumming an uneven rhythm against her glass. "Let me get a Hydropunch."

Kenny's eyebrow lifted slightly, but he kept quiet. The rest of the table wasn't so subtle - Nina nearly choked on her drink while Connor let out a stretched out snort that was half-laugh, half-something else entirely.

Tommy just stared, his beer forgotten mid-sip as condensation dripped down the side of his glass onto fingers stained permanently black around the nails.

Zedd didn’t flinch at any of it. Most of the others who knew him back on Earth always seemed to act the exact same whenever he avoided drinking, drugs or anything like that, being honest.

The harsh overhead lighting cut shadows across Tommy's face as he spoke, making him look older than he probably was. "Look, I know I called you a kid, but..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his glass.

Connor's shoulders shook as he laughed, the sound mixing with the constant background noise of glasses clinking and boots scraping against metal flooring. "What are you doing, kid?” His laugh pitched up in a way that wasn’t nice at all, a frown nearly forming on Zedd’s face. “Fuckin' Hydropunch? That really what you drink?"

"Yeah, you ten or something?" Nina's voice carried that same teasing edge from earlier, a little bit harder now with a good bit of drink behind it. “C’mon, big guy, drink somethin’.”

Yeah, no… no. Noooooooo. Zeke let out a snort rather than voice the worries in his mind at that idea, clicking his tongue as he glanced at each one of them in turn asnd shook his head. "Trust me…. You… I… Let's just say I'm better off not drinking. I get weird when too deep under..."

He paused, choosing his words carefully as his fingers traced patterns on the table. "Any influence, really. Don’t smoke, don’t snort, don’t drink. Even a little iffy with medications sometimes. Couple beers might not do it, but I don't wanna risk it."

Tommy's eyebrow climbed higher, the man's earlier embarrassment forgotten as he exchanged glances with a suspicious-looking Connor. "Whatever you say, kid."

"All…right." Connor's tone suggested he was filing that information away for later.

Why? Zedd didn’t really know. He also didn’t particularly care.

Zedd turned toward Nina, catching the way she was trying not to smile as she toyed with her nearly empty glass. The constant hum of the bar's atmospheric processors provided a steady backdrop to their exchange. "Also, you can make jokes about me being a kid when you can high five me, deal?"

Nina's tongue stabbed against her cheek as she did her best to suppress a laugh. Suppressed or not, it was loud enough that it drew looks from nearby tables, the sound bouncing off salvaged hull plates. "Oh, newbie’s got jokes?"

"For days." The words came with a grin, carrying just enough challenge to make Nina's eyes widen as she leaned back in her seat.

Tommy's snort drew their attention back to him, his glass now significantly emptier as he set it down with more force than necessary. "By the way, heard you've got a knack for tech," he said, words carrying that careful casualness that meant anything but. His eyes had lost some of their drunken haze, replaced by something sharper. "That true, or just newbie hype?"

Zedd met his gaze evenly, noting the way Connor and Nina both tensed slightly at the change in topic. "Depends on who's hyping me."

Tommy's laugh boomed through the bar as he slapped the metal counter, the sound echoing off salvaged hull plates and making nearby patrons jump. "Fair enough." His grin turned sharp at the edges, all trace of drunken good humor vanishing. "Just don't mess with the water system, yeah? You screw that up, and you'll have the whole colony on your ass."

The smirk stayed on Zedd's face as he leaned back in his own seat. "Noted."

Nina's eye-roll could've powered the colony grid for a week. She jabbed a finger Tommy's way, nearly knocking over her glass in the process. "Ignore Tommy. He's just bitter because his system's held together with duct tape and prayers." The words came out sharp enough to draw a wince from nearby drinkers.

"Hey, if it works, it works." Tommy's defense came quick as he lifted his glass, amber liquid catching harsh light from overhead. Shadows played across his face as he drank, the tattoo on his neck seeming to writhe with the motion.

Something red flashed in Zedd's peripheral vision – a tall glass mug sliding across scratched metal with practiced precision. The liquid inside glowed like reactor coolant, though the smell hitting his nose was pure sugar and artificial fruit. His gaze tracked up to Kenny's massive frame, the bartender's slight nod carrying unexpected weight.

"First drink for a colony newbie," Kenny rumbled, massive arms crossed over his chest. "Always on the house."

Tommy cupped a hand over his mouth, voice carrying clear despite his attempt at subtlety. "He's lying. Your shit's just cheap."

"Tommy!" Kenny's voice sounded like a dog bark.

"Just talking work, bro!" Tommy's hands shot up in surrender.

Nina's elbows hit the table with enough force to make glasses rattle, her body leaning forward as her voice dropped low. "Hear about the pirates?" The question carried weight beyond its words, drawing immediate tension from the others.

Tommy's permanent grin vanished like someone had hit a kill switch. Connor's shoulders bunched under his shirt, easy slouch replaced by barely-hidden readiness. The whole table seemed to hold its breath.

"Pirates?" Zedd kept his tone neutral even as his mind spun through implications. The word hit different out here, two hundred light-years from anything resembling law enforcement.

Nina nodded, fingers drumming against her glass in an uneven rhythm. "Heard some chatter from down by Omega. Crews hitting suppy routes. Nothing confirmed, but..." Her words trailed off as her expression hardened a bit.

"New Abraham’s a good bit from Omega. It’s the Traverse, sweetheart,” Connor said with a raised eyebrow, tossing Nina a smirk that the smaller woman didn’t quite return.

“But we’re on the edge of the Terminus, though,” Zedd couldn’t help but chime in, with a little bit of a laugh, awkward as it was.

Nina scoffed, biting her lip as she looked his way. “He’s got you there, old man.”

“Like, that’s just a thing,” Zedd continued, an eyebrow raised to match Connor’s slowly lowering one as the man seemed to glower a little. “I mean, depending on the galactic map you look at, we’re in the Terminus.”

The older engineer set his jaw. “Well, whatever, we have laws here, not like the fuckin’ Terminus." Connor's voice came out in almost a hiss, as if daring them to contradict him. His eyes roamed all three of them but periodically landed on Zedd. "But… to be fair, it's not like we’ve got borders out here. If they're desperate enough..."

Tommy's glass hit the table harder than necessary. "We've got militia." The words rang hollow even to him, his earlier buzz seeming to evaporate under harsh reality.

"Yeah." Nina's laugh could've stripped paint. "Because a handful of half-trained volunteers with secondhand gear are really gonna scare off pirates." Her fingers had stopped drumming, now wrapped white-knuckled around her glass.

Zedd blinked, eyes dulling as he felt another odd pull. What the hell is that?

"Anyway." Nina straightened suddenly and getting Zedd’s attention again as her short rose above her midriff, her grin too bright as she gestured for another round.

Music throbbed through salvaged speakers, the bass line almost matching the colony's constant hum. "No point worrying about it now. We've got drinks and bad music. Let's enjoy it while we can."

Zedd grinned behind his glass.