Nice Company (Observations of a Lonely Drinker)

Three warriors of the night, all dressed in black cloaks. They had a mysterious feel to them and I didn't know what it was that was drawing me to sit there and stare intently at their table. It was the early hours and the soft glow of the pale-yellow lights above the bar shimmered off the bare steel girders and metal cladding on the walls. A haze of smoke hung high above in places, rendering some of the lighting almost redundant, like a thick fog on a cold Brutor sea.

One of them was a Brutor, tall and muscular with black shades, his hood concealing most of his face, but as he took a deep drag from his cigar his face lit up and I could tell that he was in desperate need of a shave. His heavy black beard seemingly glowing from the embers of the cigar. I couldn't look at him for long for fear that he was looking straight back at me, his eyes concealed behind the black lenses. The other man with his back to me was of Jin Mei origin, he wore black goggles and had a face full of metal spikes, and on the back of his clothing was a bright-red flame and crossed swords logo. He was smaller than the Brutor, naturally, but he had a look of a streetfighter about him. The third man was a true Gallentean. Tall and pale with a bald head and a face full of tattoos. Nice company.

The bar was crowded. The band had finished playing a few hours ago now but people still mingled. A small security drone hovered overhead, primed for any trouble should it happen.

My mind wandered into deep thought for a moment and then I felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down the small of my spine. I swallowed harshly and spun around to the hand that had just slammed hard on my left shoulder.

"You know it is rude to stare?"

Just a few seconds ago the hooded Brutor was sat at the table and now he was behind me, questioning my very existence. I froze. My mouth went dry and I mumbled some words. 

"Yeh, mmm, I yes I sorry I was just yes."

I felt my face turn a hot red. Something about this guy had shredded my nerves.

"It's okay I'm not some wicked axe murderer," he replied with a grin.

Looking down at my uniform he uttered the words, "Republic Military School hey?"

I nodded enthusiastically, taking in his deep and heavy Ammold accent as I noticed a badge on the shoulder of the cloak. The tag [SKRMR] sat beneath a bird of prey and a stunning white lightning bolt.

"You're in a good school there kid, stick with it."

Before I had chance to reply he was on his way. I caught a final glimpse of him through the crowd of people as he exited the bar. I looked over at the table and the other two were also gone.

S. K. R. M. R ... I repeated the letters over and over in my head. I tapped the screen on my C-pad and opened up the latest corporation database. I took a huge gulp of my now warm beer as the screen loaded and crackled into life.

SKRMR. Pronounced SKREAMER. Official registered corp name - Screaming Hayabusa. Unofficial - Screaming Hayabusa! or HBUSA! A small band of nomadic warriors led by Miura Bull, who live out an almost zen-like dedication to the art of an ancient bushido fighting code that they translate to a mental conditioning and flight style. Dangerous. Do not approach. Report sightings to a CONCORD officer.

I slammed the C-pad down on the table and switched it off before looking behind my shoulder, first to the left and then to the right.

The bartender powered down the security drone and placed it below the bar as I ordered my next beer.

MB.