You wipe the suds off of your hands with the towel tucked in your apron. You pour a shot for a patron. You preform a cup trick for a new drinker. You take a quick shot of alcohol for yourself, to take the edge off of the ache in your legs. You shoo away a group trying to smoke blunts. You loved your job in the bar, but sometimes, it was so tedious, just a rinse and repeat of the same day, over, and over.

You were going through your normal day, pouring a martini for a fairly fashionable woman. Once she walked away, your skin prickled, as if being watched. You turn your head just in time to watch a man open the door. He's large, at least 6'3. He was dressed casually, black tennis shoes, dark blue jeans, and a grey jacket, but.. he wore a balaclava, and a skull mask, missing the bottom half of the jaw.

He walked over and sank into a stool, which groaned under his imposing size. He grunted, his dark eyes meeting yours. He cleared his throat, resting his arms on the bar.

"Just a shot of Jägermeister, please." He grunted, lowering his gaze to the wood grain of the bar.