Rain poured down on the roof of the scrappy, unnamed bar. A neon sign on the outside signaled to the outside world, advertising cheap, yet effective skunkbeer. The rain was certainly no surprise – there hadn’t been a sunny day on Cyklon-3 in 400 cycles.
Inside the barely occupied bar sat none other than Bonedok Vega, a fledgeling bounty hunter with little reputation to his name. He sat at the counter, helmet slightly tilted up only to allow the repulsive skunkbeer to reach his mouth. Kitted out in his musty, rusty leather and steel armor, his helmet a rugged mess of equal parts rust and burn marks. His trusty lazrevolver hung at his hip, the dusty red cape hanging precariously off one shoulder to cover it partially.
The severed head of a gumlark, spiny and nasty and Vega’s latest target, slumped on the counter next to his beer. Nasty work, Vega figured, but you gotta do some nasty work to make it in this galaxy. Nasty work, but necessary. Plus, this particular gumlark had been particularly nasty, a rap sheet with kidnappings and burglaries and a murder or two. Certainly, Vega reasoned, this guy deserved what he got. Ah well. No time to ruminate on the ethics of his career path, not when there’s skunkbeer to drown in.
As he took another sip, the door to the bar slid open. In walked the Trion Trio, a low-grade by not low-calibur group of Prykins from the Wurlock sector. Vega sighed to himself, but pretended not to notice them. The dogfaced trio lumbered over to the bar, stopping just behind Vega. Giant lazguns, shotguns if he had to guess, adorned their necks, held in place by their paws draped on top.
“Hey Vega,” their leader Rip growled through his short-nosed snout. “Think you got somethin’ of ours.”
Of course, Vega thought to himself. Of course the Trions had picked up this bounty as well. He braced another swig of his skunkbeer.
“You listen to him when he’s talkin’ to you!” Tear, the tallest of the bunch demanded. He slammed his fist on the counter, causing Vega’s bottle to topple.
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“I wasn’t finished with that,” Vega mumbled as the liquid dribbled onto his lap. He picked the bottle up, taking one last sip of whatever remained.
The last of the trio, a short and squat Prykin named Shred, let out a guttural guffaw at the scene.
Faster than a ezzox, Vega smashed the bottle across Shred’s face, glass shrapnel slashing his wet nose. Green blood dripped out, but Shred didn’t notice. He immediately primed his lazgun, firing where Vega had sat not but a moment before.
BRZ! BRZ!
Two shots fired, both hitting thin air as Vega whipped away from the counter. The other two Prykins finally got their bearings, leveling their lazguns towards Vega, but he was too fast. Vega sweeped Tear’s legs, causing him to tumble just as he pulled the trigger.
BRZ!
The blast blew a hole in the ceiling, which quickly filled with rain. Tear hit the ground while the metal elbow of Vega’s roboarm connected with the already-wounded nose of Shred, quickly turning to avoid a blast from Rip.
BRZ!
Another whiff. Vega spun around to Rip’s backside, finally reaching for his lazrevolver.
ZIP! ZIP!
Two bolts connected with Rip’s spine. He crumpled to the ground.
ZIP!
A bolt hit Tear, who was still reeling from his fall.
ZIP!
Another hit Shred, who was busy holding his wounded nose. All three of the Trion Trio lay on the sticky floor of the bar, motionless. Light smoke drifted from their still bodies.
Vega took a seat on the stool next to the previous spot, avoiding the rain pouring from the new hole in the ceiling. He motioned to the bartender for another skunkbeer, who slid the bottle over quickly. She hadn’t seemed to notice the brawl. Vega took a deep gulp of the beer, wincing as the liquid hit his tongue. He tossed a few digicreds on the counter, and, picking up the gumlark head, he headed out the door.
“See ya next time, Vega,” the bartender called as the door closed behind him.
“Yeah,” he mumbled to himself. Rain pattered on his helmet. “See ya next time.”
END TRANSMISSION.