Agent Warrens clapped an empty document shut:
“That’s it. Case closed.
Logical mission complete.
Efficiency: zero.
We don’t care.”
The agents turn, already preparing to leave the bar.
Mimi, in desperate panic:
“Wait!
So who won?!”
Agent Blayne, not even turning around:
“That large creature
with six arms.”
Blindy bursts out laughing:
“…YES! YES, AND FUCKIN’ YES!
DOCE, motherfucking ‘Karr-Vell’ Manos
WINS AGAIN!
Best bartender in three sectors!
My man DOCE—
TELL THEM ALL TO GO FUCK THEMSELVES!”
All this time, Doce had been calmly serving drinks,
polishing glasses,
staying completely out of it.
He didn’t even raise an eyebrow.
“Gracias.”
Then he slowly scanned the bar
and said, in the most casual tone possible:
“And now…
anyone who’s not drinking
or ordering—
A LA MIERDA!”
The door creaked.
Heavy metal footsteps hit the floor.
A low mechanical hum spread through the bar.
Everyone froze.
Blindy whispered:
“Oh no…
Not now.
This was getting good…
And here comes the guy
who’s about to shit all over the mood.”
Zeros scanned the room
like a predator deciding
who to kill first.
Then he spoke—
in the voice of a falling star
about to wipe out a city:
“I. FUCKING. HATE. HUMANS.”
A wave rolled through the bar—
like a shockwave.
Kluu’Vres, instantly, smug:
“Thank you!
See?! Even he agrees—”
Zeros slowly turned his head.
“I also hate ALL aliens.”
At that moment, T.8.0.0 caught his eye.
“And fucking droids.”
The FORST agents were already near the door
when Zeros shouted after them:
“And these useless agents.
And bartenders.
And mercenaries.”
His gaze lands on Mimi—
who immediately drops his eyes,
pretending he has NEVER existed.
“And this dumbass
with the stupid hat.”
Zeros lifts his head.
“I hate
ALL OF YOU.
EVERY SINGLE ONE.”
Dead silence fills the bar.
Agent Blayne reaches for his whistle…
stops…
slowly lowers his hand:
“Oh… shit.”
Blindy covers his face:
“Well.
Show’s over.”
But Blayne can’t help himself—
panic wins:
“S-sh-sh… shame!”
And he lets out a weak…
pathetic…
miserable whistle.
ffFWEeet
Agent Carracks instantly clamps a hand over his mouth
and drags him toward the exit:
“SHUT UP, TREVIN!
Don’t provoke the psycho droid!”
Agent Warrens, already outside,
jumping into the vehicle:
“Yeah, yeah, we’re leaving!
Debate’s over. Everyone won.
No one won. I don’t care.
LET’S GET THE HELL OUT!”
Carracks shoves Blayne into the vehicle, and FORST takes off at every legal and illegal speed available. The bar settles back into its normal level
of trauma.