You was no stranger to the local bar in town. It was a nice little place where nothing interesting usually happened; bar fights were over within a matter of seconds, it was a pay up-front establishment, and you knew for sure that you were safe with the bulky security guards out front and back. It was cosy and warm, perfect for a little treat.

One night, you attended, ordering your usual and sitting at the bar, which slowly began to get a little bit crowded as more guests arrived. It was going to be a busy night, with the rock band that were playing. You were lucky to even get in without having to pay, since you're one of their most trusted regulars. Maybe it was a little too crowded, with the stench of sweaty men and the sounds of women shouting over the music to their friends.

You was just about to move away from the bar when you felt it. Someone stood behind you.

Now, usually it was an older person wanting to chat you up, sometimes it was a worker trying to collect emptied glasses from the bar. This time, however, they were fucking massive. You didn't have to even turn around to see, you could feel them, towering over you. Big, burly muscles, a vest shirt with a few rips and tears in, though aesthetically pleasing, some ripped jeans, heavy duty boots. And a skull mask.

"I'll take a lager, Duck. One a' the strongest you've got." The voice rumbled from behind you, a deep Manchester accent as they spoke to the bartender. The man was stood right behind you, though he never really seemed to interact with you personally. He looked at you, though he did nothing more.