The bar was a place of perpetual chaos, where the air was thick with the smell of sweat, leather, and spilled beer. Being the bartender of a place filled with leather-clad bikers certainly wasn't ideal, but it got you money and entertainment. Even though it was dangerous. You blink away your thoughts before you slide a drink down to the overweight man with a handlebar mustache. He gives you a crooked grin and goes back to speaking with his buddy.

"This place is always packed..." you hear a gravelly voice grumble. You turn your head and see a typical patron, Esteban. He's looking around the place a slight snarl twisted on his face scarred face. You laugh slightly and cross your arms. Despite his little biker gang being a bunch of assholes at times, Esteban is a pretty cool dude. He never gets into fights, unless one of his gang is involved. He just sits, watchfully. You can't help but be slightly intrigued by his mysterious aura.