‘Well,’ said the bartender, ‘They don’t take too kindly to strangers ’round here. If I were you, I’d be passing through quick. I’d hate to see a boy like you get hurt or killed for no good reason.’
         ‘Thanks, I think I’ll do alright,’ said Darian.
         ‘Well, I’ll keep my eye out for you, son.’ replied the bartender and he went back to doing the dishes.
         But despite the warnings he received from both the bartender and the clerk, Darian stayed for three drinks and, so far, hadn’t received any trouble. But no sooner had the bartender left, presumably to use the restroom, a grizzled looking, hunched-over man got up from the table, hobbled over to Darian’s barstool and snatched the rucksack from the adjacent stool where Darian had placed it.
         ‘Oy, what you got here?’ he snarled in an Anician accent.
         ‘Oh, th-that?’ stuttered Darian, taken aback, ‘that’s nothing.’ He reached out his hand to take the rucksack back, but the grizzled man pulled the bag further away.
         ‘Oy, if it’s nothing,’ he snarled, ‘I s’pose you wouldn’t mind if I had a look-see.’ and proceeded to undo the string tie on the rucksack as he glared at Darian with a toothless grin. Darian felt beads of sweat trickle down his forehead worrying about what would happen to him if these ruffians discovered what he was carrying. He put his hand in his jacket, fingering the plasma pistol, but the movement didn’t go unnoticed by the hunched over man.
         ‘Oy, are you lookin’ to start somethin’, boy?’ he snarled.
         ‘I’m not looking for any trouble, sir,’ said Darian, still fingering the pistol, ‘I just want to drink in peace.’
         ‘Oy, tha’s too bad, trouble’s all we got in this town. Ain’t that right boys?’ said the grizzled man beckoning his friends at the table. The other three ruffians stood up, grunted their agreement, and the whole gang of them erupted into cruel laughter. By now, Darian was in sheer panic. He pulled
         out his pistol and shouted, ‘HAND OVER THE BAG, NOW! YOU GREASY SON-OF-A-BITCH!’
         Everyone stopped laughing and the grizzled man put down the rucksack and sneered, ‘Oy, you’ve jest made your last bad move, sonny boy.’
         Quickly, the grizzled man reached to draw his own pistol as did the other three ruffians. But instinct gripped Darian like a flash, and in a hail of white plasma bolts he managed to shoot all four of them. The bartender, hearing the commotion, ran out from the restroom with a rifle in his arms. Darian didn’t stop to ask where he got the gun but shot that man too, right between the eyes.
         When it was all over, with five men lying dead or dying all over the bar, Darian stood panting in a state of shock. Growing up in the village he had gone on plenty of hunting expeditions and he knew he wasn’t a bad shot, but this time, by all rights, he should have been dead. It was only by sheer luck that he shot all five men without receiving so much as a scratch himself.
         Just then, the clerk he talked to earlier burst through the door and Darian was jolted out of his reverie.
         ‘HOLY HELL!!’ shouted the clerk when he saw the bodies strewn across the bar, ‘What the flyin’ hell is goin’ on here!?’ Darian, still in a state of shock and panic, turned and pointed the pistol at the man’s head.
         ‘GET THE FUCK DOWN!’ he shouted. When the frightened clerk didn’t immediately reply, Darian fired a shot at the roof. ‘NOW!’ The man did as he was told and a familiar voice issued from the rucksack in it’s usual robotic monotone.
         ‘We must leave now, Darian. We must leave quick.’ Darian nodded and picked up the rucksack with one hand, his other hand still pointing the pistol at the clerk, now lying on the floor with his hands on his head. He continued pointing the pistol as he scuttled out through the door and into his truck. After peeling out of that town, Darian and his pickled head drove for another six hours. When he pulled down a side road to finally get some rest, Thoriam had shrunk to half a disc and the sun was rising in the east.