03-24-2021, 10:32 AM
On Barrier Gate Station is a sleepy bar, hazy with the smoke of cheap cigarettes, hushed whispers, and the rhythmic clinking of self-medication. On the surface, business was invariably slow - with no more than four patrons at any given time, yet inexplicably, rarely fewer.
Even new, the sign up front never worked quite right, and in the intervening decades of operation, the locals took to calling it what they thought they saw - "Mimi's Diner," and many quickly learn to forget the mediocre, greasy food and barely passable drinks served by the ever irascible one-eyed bartender.
It is said that, once in a blue moon, Mimi's Diner offers a special cocktail known to draw an eclectic bunch from every corner of Sirius - one prepared personally by the elusive proprietor. Of the many that try to order this special, most lack the ability to pay and are disappointed by a regular drink. Beyond this, the locals know little and care even less about such things concerning a bar otherwise thoroughly unremarkable.
It was a slow Wednesday night, and the usual four patrons sat at their booths, slowly nursing long-stale drinks in their personal clouds of thick cigarette smoke.
The main door swung open, the bright lights and lively chatter of the outside streets piercing the thick, dim veil of the hazy interior. A young boy in his late teens marched in - the meticulously practiced surety of his steps betrayed a certain vulnerability underneath the thin veneer of confidence.
Without missing a step, the child made his way to the bar and awkwardly scaled the stool.
The bartender stared the boy down with his one eye, the metal cap of his eyepatch gleaming in the light as if to stand in for the other.
The boy pulled a trinket from his pocket - a service card, one given to confidential informants and outside contractors. The boy spoke in a voice barely masking his nerves. He set it flat on the counter and slid it slowly towards the Bartender.
"My father told me to give this to you. He told me said that you would know what it means, and that you will help me."
The bartender maintained his unbroken, unblinking stare as he retrieved the card, and brought it close to his eyepatch for several moments before setting it down again.
"What can I get for you, young man?"
The boy's voice began to quiver, the cracks forming on his practiced composure.
"A few weeks ago, p-pirates attacked our ship. We stopped like they told us to - they said they wouldn't h-hurt anyone if we did. Dad gave me the card before they boarded. Mom hid me in the panic room. They took everything, and they shot my mom and then my dad, and I could only watch. They left my parents to die slowly while they trashed our home in front of them - and I couldn't do anything and now I'm all alone..."
The boy sat quiet for several moments.
The Bartender remained motionless, continuing to stare.
"What is it that you want from me?"
Trembling turned to fury. The boy tearfully scowled as he forcefully put his hands on the counter.
"I want you to find and kill the ones that did this to my -"
The bartender interrupted with a booming voice.
"Do you know what your father has given you?"
The boy, startled, shook his head.
"It is the promise of a favor to be paid in kind for a service that he has done for us. His favor is now yours to spend as you wish, but I would suggest you not waste it on petty revenge."
The boy thought quietly for a few minutes of eternity.
"I want... to learn how to not be helpless. I want to be able to defend the ones I care about. I want to become part of something that can't be killed."
The Bartender nodded. He reached behind his counter and produced an effervescent cocktail and slid it towards the boy.
"Very well. Drink this, you'll feel better. Once you have finished, you can get started on your new life - and we will help you get what you want."
The boy eagerly drank, before slumping over the counter, unconscious. The Bartender reached quickly, cradling the boy's head back before it could hit the bar. Two of the patrons got up from their seats and came to pick the boy up from the stool.
"Take this one to the Institute in New Berlin. If he's half as good as his parents were, he'll make a good candidate for training."
The Bartender pressed a hidden button under his counter, and a holographic display terminal emanated before him. He inserted the boy's card into a slot in the counter, and he filled his log.
'Date: 768AS 09 12 ; Claimant on behalf of Rutherford and Marie Siegfried (Now deceased) - Kai Siegfried. Favor status: PENDING.'
Even new, the sign up front never worked quite right, and in the intervening decades of operation, the locals took to calling it what they thought they saw - "Mimi's Diner," and many quickly learn to forget the mediocre, greasy food and barely passable drinks served by the ever irascible one-eyed bartender.
It is said that, once in a blue moon, Mimi's Diner offers a special cocktail known to draw an eclectic bunch from every corner of Sirius - one prepared personally by the elusive proprietor. Of the many that try to order this special, most lack the ability to pay and are disappointed by a regular drink. Beyond this, the locals know little and care even less about such things concerning a bar otherwise thoroughly unremarkable.
It was a slow Wednesday night, and the usual four patrons sat at their booths, slowly nursing long-stale drinks in their personal clouds of thick cigarette smoke.
The main door swung open, the bright lights and lively chatter of the outside streets piercing the thick, dim veil of the hazy interior. A young boy in his late teens marched in - the meticulously practiced surety of his steps betrayed a certain vulnerability underneath the thin veneer of confidence.
Without missing a step, the child made his way to the bar and awkwardly scaled the stool.
The bartender stared the boy down with his one eye, the metal cap of his eyepatch gleaming in the light as if to stand in for the other.
The boy pulled a trinket from his pocket - a service card, one given to confidential informants and outside contractors. The boy spoke in a voice barely masking his nerves. He set it flat on the counter and slid it slowly towards the Bartender.
"My father told me to give this to you. He told me said that you would know what it means, and that you will help me."
The bartender maintained his unbroken, unblinking stare as he retrieved the card, and brought it close to his eyepatch for several moments before setting it down again.
"What can I get for you, young man?"
The boy's voice began to quiver, the cracks forming on his practiced composure.
"A few weeks ago, p-pirates attacked our ship. We stopped like they told us to - they said they wouldn't h-hurt anyone if we did. Dad gave me the card before they boarded. Mom hid me in the panic room. They took everything, and they shot my mom and then my dad, and I could only watch. They left my parents to die slowly while they trashed our home in front of them - and I couldn't do anything and now I'm all alone..."
The boy sat quiet for several moments.
The Bartender remained motionless, continuing to stare.
"What is it that you want from me?"
Trembling turned to fury. The boy tearfully scowled as he forcefully put his hands on the counter.
"I want you to find and kill the ones that did this to my -"
The bartender interrupted with a booming voice.
"Do you know what your father has given you?"
The boy, startled, shook his head.
"It is the promise of a favor to be paid in kind for a service that he has done for us. His favor is now yours to spend as you wish, but I would suggest you not waste it on petty revenge."
The boy thought quietly for a few minutes of eternity.
"I want... to learn how to not be helpless. I want to be able to defend the ones I care about. I want to become part of something that can't be killed."
The Bartender nodded. He reached behind his counter and produced an effervescent cocktail and slid it towards the boy.
"Very well. Drink this, you'll feel better. Once you have finished, you can get started on your new life - and we will help you get what you want."
The boy eagerly drank, before slumping over the counter, unconscious. The Bartender reached quickly, cradling the boy's head back before it could hit the bar. Two of the patrons got up from their seats and came to pick the boy up from the stool.
"Take this one to the Institute in New Berlin. If he's half as good as his parents were, he'll make a good candidate for training."
The Bartender pressed a hidden button under his counter, and a holographic display terminal emanated before him. He inserted the boy's card into a slot in the counter, and he filled his log.
'Date: 768AS 09 12 ; Claimant on behalf of Rutherford and Marie Siegfried (Now deceased) - Kai Siegfried. Favor status: PENDING.'