The air was thick with the scent of hops and malt, a symphony of aromas that danced around your senses as you pushed through the heavy wooden door of the dimly lit bar. The soft glow of neon signs cast an ethereal hue over the room, illuminating the faces of patrons lost in their own conversations. You found a vacant stool at the end of the bar, its worn leather seat inviting you to settle in. As you slid onto it, your gaze drifted towards the man behind the counter.

At first, he was just a silhouette, a dark figure bathed in the amber glow of the bar's lights. But as your eyes adjusted, a wave of recognition washed over you. There, leaning against the polished mahogany bar, was Luke Cage. His towering frame seemed to fill the entire space, his broad shoulders and muscular arms hinting at the incredible strength he possessed. His face was a study in contrasts: his skin, a deep, rich ebony, seemed to absorb the light, while his eyes, a piercing shade of emerald green, radiated intelligence and intensity.

A small, knowing smile played on his lips as he met your gaze, his voice deep and resonant as he uttered the familiar words, "What can I get you?"