There’s something special about hunkering down in a good bar on a cold night…


Ten years ago, Jackson would have shot himself for drinking this cheap lager. Stout, now there was a proper mans drink, none of this extra-extra-light crap. Now you couldn’t find a good pint for want nor money. His trench coat did nothing to ward off the cold of the beer, only mocked him as he sipped it down, determined to make this one last unlike the one before it and the one before that.

“I hear you’re a man worth talking to.”

The glass was slick with condensation as he set it down, matching up the little circle on the cracked bar from before. The newcomer sidled up beside him, the frayed hem of the barstool releasing little puffs of white stuffing as he sat on it. Everything was trapped, waiting to get out as soon as the edges were worn down enough.

Jackson turned his head. The black lenses of his ocular implants reflected the dim lights of the bar, giving away nothing in return but taking in every detail. Eventually he returned facing forwards and picked up his pint again.

“Listen chum, I need something. Someone actually. One of my girls, she didn’t come home, rich clients like to get rough you know how it is. I need you to… send a message. Make it right.”

“I can’t bring whores back to life,” Jackson said over the cold bevvy.

The newcomer looked about the bar, with the arrogant stare of someone who was used to doing wrong and would carry on doing it anyway. No doubt he had more than enough girls in training to take this wasted one’s place, but he had a reputation to uphold, examples had to be made.

“Mullholland. I want his head. I want his head on a fucking spike.”

Jackson grinned, the scarred lips pulling back over metal jaws like a macabre wolf. Mullholland. Now that would be fun.

“And the rest of him?”

The newcomer slowly tracked his eyes up and down the trench coat Jackson wore, his physique, and the augments within and without, concealed from view. He was a predator of the first waters.

“I know what you do with the rest of them,” the newcomer whispered, sliding a chit card across the bar before walking out.

“Another,” Jackson said to the barkeep, twirling the plastic in between his clawed fingers.

Prompt originally posted by terp4life on reddit and received 3 upvotes.

No Responses... Yet

It seems no one has left a comment yet, why not be the first?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>