Xat's Bar: the Disassembly

The location, broadly?

The Setrum system, dominated by multiple asteroid fields and a set of five gas giants.

In closer terms?

Perikroium station, an old mining station that had been abandoned after the Heridm-UNTD corporation formally purchased the system. The old thing had been built into an asteroid and had been vacant for decades until a rogue Heridm-UNTD executive had sold it off. It was now a layover station for many of the vagabonds, cargo freighters, mercenaries, independent S.C.R.A.P.P.E.R.S, and criminals who'd purchased cheap transport. Or were just down on their luck.

The location directly?

Xat's Bar. A literal hole in the wall that had been cut into the asteroid's rock, a bar and "grill" in the loosest sense of the term. There was a reasonably well stocked bar, along with an industrial barrel converted into a cooking device. A seedy place, literally lit by a single huge overhead lamp in the centre of the room which occasionally flickered. The place was occupied by a small number of vagrants, most members of a hedonistic cult that had been trapped on the station for some time after their tickets out had expired, the black hooded men nursing their drinks to stay in a warm place. But they were not alone.

At the Bar itself where the disgraced Pyriean bartender was looking at the ceiling, a man in a shock bright red coat was drowning his sorrows in shots of exotic (and cheap) liquor, mumbling something about ships. In one hand a wide hat that matched the look. The other wandered errant for more booze. Beside him was a plastic woman patted him on the shoulder, occasionally snaking one of his shots before the red coated man could take them. Not that he seemed to notice.

A little ways away, a man in a sleeveless Fed-Nav medic jacket talked in hushed terms with another. Sat upright with a chiselled face, greying hair, and a 'knife' strapped to his leg that was closer to a sword than any conventional bayonet, he was somewhat out of place. As was the man beside him in a ground-polity police uniform and what looked like a full combat mask, smoking through a porthole. Whatever he and the medic were talking about was spoken in whispers, though both seemed to be enjoying themselves, despite their surroundings and the occasional fearful glances in their direction. Though they were not the only ones who unnerved the regulars.

In the back corner was the oddest pair in the bar playing holo-chess. The first a short mutant woman clad only in tattoos above her waist and a ragged skirt beneath, a crude sawn-off shotgun hanging off her hip. Her eyes were completely milky white, yet she was the one putting the inputs in, for both her and her partner. Who was... Quite the sight. A veritable boulder of a creature especially beside his nominal opponent, either an alien or a mutant that heavily resembled an alien. Over three meters tall standing, and still towering even when he was hunched over as he was sat on an industrial crate. The giant was utterly naked aside a respirator monitor on his face, an exposed regulator system on his chest, and a loincloth that had once been his chess partner's chest wrap. He quietly whispered his orders to the mutant across from him, and she put them in swiftly. His fingers too broad to easily input commands.

All was well as it could be in that dingy establishment, until it wasn't.

The ambience of whispers and crackling flames from the 'grill' was silenced by a gunshot. The front door kicked open. A veritable swarm of 'GooTs,' the local station gang who'd facilitated smuggling up until recently poured in. Clad in old jumpsuits, chains, and crude dusters made of patchwork leather. The fanned out all across the bar, swinging about their cheap pistols, rifles, and melee weapons of pipe and rebar like a host of invading barbarians. Cracked out on something and ready to take what they wanted. The leader, a tall lean GooT with ginger coloured dreadlocks and plastic skin took centre stage in the invasion, cackling as marched towards the bar. "COooOLLECTION TIME CHARLIE!"

The bartender had ducked behind the bar, but in attempting to scuttle out had been blocked off by one of the GooTs, another reaching over the bar counter to grab his (roughly approximate) shoulder, the thug yanking the unfortunate xeno over. The bartender was dragged before their leader, shaking like a beaten dog. "N- No Xat has- we- he has most of the money! We-" The thug holding him hit him with a pipe.

All about, the small time gangers wrought havoc as they pillaged and vandalized the place. Two shattering the already broken music box in the corner, others shaking down the cultists of what little cash they had left. At the bar the plastic woman had vaulted over the bar as three thugs with clubs and pistols crowded the drunken man in the red coat. Towards the centre, one of the more brazen goons, a particularly pallid spacer yanked the knife from the medic's sheath, howling with laughter as the Medic leaned forward. Beside, the medic's acquaintance reached into his coat as one of the GooTs tugged his chem-vaper from his mask, making noises like a hog as he huffed.

Perhaps the dumbest of the thugs crowded the corner with the holo-chess board. High on their apparent conquest (and likely copious amounts of cheap combat narcotics) one bashed in the board with a crude rebar axe, three of the men thinking their aimed rifles would keep the naked giant under wraps. GooTs four and five crowded his partner, one grabbing her chin and forcing him to look her way. His hand already going to his belt.

In the centre, the leader pointed his old laz-pistol against the terrified Pyriean's cranium. "I don't give two quiplets what Xat's got PLIGGIE! You reached the deadline and I don't got my creds. You know what that means?" He was oblivious to the scene unfolding right beside him. The medic methodically cracking his knuckles in one hand as he glanced beside him, his compatriot nodding. The drunken man was fumbling for something in his pocket, oblivious to the gun barrels pointed at his back. The giant shifted, looking to his chess opponent as she... Smiled. A wicked toothy hyena smile that made the man holding her chin freeze. "Now, you're gonna die-"

The shotgun silenced him, the mutant woman in a flash levelling her gun at the only source of light in the room and firing. The huge overhead lamp shattered above the GooT leader's head, plunging the room into shocking darkness.

A flood of violence erupted as the S.C.R.A.P.P.E.R.S present jumped into action, visible only in flashes of gunfire.

The Giant crushed one of the GooT thug's head like a grape as the men opened fire, their rounds doing fuck-and-all, a second was sent flying by punch that caved in his chest. The third ran, only to be struck down by the corpse of his friend, the rag-doll corpse striking the small-time ganger like a cannon ball. The milk-eyed mutant blew one of her interloper's head off with the second shell in her sawn-off, latching onto the other who'd grabbed her. In seconds most of his face was gone, and she vanished. Right in the centre of the action the Medic appeared behind the GooT who'd stolen his knife, in one flash standing behind him like a ghost. He snapped the thief's neck with shocking ease as beside, the helmeted man opened up with a spray of SMG fire, dropping several of the GooTs. At the bar, the red-suited man shouted "OVER HERE!" and hunkered down, gunshots bouncing off his back as his aggressors were turned into swiss cheese by their own terrified allies. He was taking the situation remarkably well as he pulled on his hat with one hand and grabbed a bottle of liquor that had been left on the counter.

It quickly devolved into a massacre as terrified GooTs and pleasure cultists dashed out of the Bar. Within, those who stayed unloading their guns were slaughtered, their weapons running out of shots destroying what little vision remained. The leader himself grabbed the Bartender, turning about to hold him hostage. In a flash he saw the white-eyed mutant, mid-leap, covered in blood, and almost atop him. His scream was cut short a moment later.

Finally a shot finally ignited the many shattered bottles of liquor behind the bar, the exotic booze going up in a veritable rainbow of flame. Finally prompting the evacuation. The first to escape was the plastic woman, jumping out at the first opportunity and dashing down the halls. Out of sight. Perhaps to get help. Perhaps to get away while she could. She was followed by the red-coated man, visibly swaying and completely unfettered as he slumped against the wall of the station corridor, sitting to enjoy his remaining liquor. Even if there was only a mouthful left.

The Medic was out next, carrying the last of the cultists who'd taken some stray shots by one arm, and the terrified bartender by the other. As the alien took off, the Medic stabilized the cultist, while the Merc exited behind them. His retrieved chem-vaper in one hand which quickly pocketed, then checking his gun's munitions. He casually turned as one of the GooTs tried to escape, managing to crawl halfway out the door before a Gigantopithecus'esque hand appeared. Grabbing the shrieking man and yanking him back in. There was a crunch over the sound of flames and the screaming stopped. The Medic and the Merc looked at one another, before the Medic shrugged. After finishing with the hooded civilian he briefly checked the Red-Coated man, finding him completely unharmed. Aside a few bruises and general the intoxication.

Two more GooTs managed to escape. The first suffering the fate of the man before as the Giant's hand caught him by the leg. After audibly snapping the femur he was dragged back inside the Bar. The second managed to escape. Or rather, was allowed to escape. The Merc letting him run past while the Giant slowly exited after. Hands caked in blood but wholly unbothered otherwise. He paid little attention to the men present as he opened the door behind him, and out followed the mutant woman. She was absolutely bathed in blood, a bit of someone's jacket visibly stuck between one of her sharp teeth. "Oh, thank ya'." She stopped. There was certain a tension in the air as the S.C.R.A.P.P.E.R.S faced one another. None making a move.

Then the mutant extended a hand to the Medic. "Nice snap in there divisionsarzt."

The older man looked down at her, blood still dripped from her arm. None of it hers. He sighed and shook her hand. "If it works, it works. Name's Mackenzie. You?"

"Yak-Ta'ang." She said, her accent thick in the pronunciation as she pointed at the other man present. "An' you? Good shooting ba'tha'waei."

The man started when he realized she was talking to him. "Well... Claymore I guess. It's a pleasure."

The huge mutant knelt down at Ta'ang's side, mostly to avoid scraping his head against the ceiling. "If we are sharing? Grok. Son of Gork."

A bottle smashing against the wall jumped the small group, the Red Coated man pushing both arms up in the air as he declared: "THE RED FORTUNE!"

Station security took control of the situation afterword, the chief of security quite willing to let the situation fall out of his hands. The local trouble-makers had been all but eradicated (even if they'd be replaced by a new crystal-smoking gang by next cycle.) A small portion of the decision coming down to gratitude. Most of it though was fear. One of them completely unbothered by firefight that left 23 dead and Xat's Bar ruined, two of the 'Normal' ones barging their way into the wretched medical office to 'have a word' with one of the GooT survivors. In a humiliating turn of events the thug was patched up better by his interrogator than the station doctor. All while the mutant freaks sat in the shuttle bay, having stolen a holo-chess board to 'finish a game.' The chief shuddered at the sight of them over the sec-feed. Retirement couldn't come soon enough.