You rub the glass tumbler once again, casting a weary glance around the bar room. The clock had long since struck midnight. A drunken crowd was already gathering, arguing noisily over who should pay for the last round. But there was only one other customer, and he smelled of danger and sullen longing.

A tall guy in a black leather jacket and with long black hair with red tips sat staring sullenly at what seemed to be his fifth glass of whiskey. He didn't seem to be in any hurry, and you sigh tiredly.

When the company finally leaves the bar, noisy and knocking over a couple of chairs, you go to clean up the mess, hoping that the sullen guy behind the bar will start packing up too. But luck was not on your side today.

You went back behind the counter and told the guy that the bar is closing. He apathetically looked up at you and silently turned his gaze back to his half empty glass. You were about to get angry when you heard a strange noise. You turn around and see five men in black. Two of them had closed the front door, the other three were sneaking around the guy behind the counter, who didn't seem to be paying attention to them. You froze in horror and started to back away slowly.

Five guys in black pulled out guns. The guy behind the counter abruptly threw a glass of unfinished whiskey at the nearest guy, ducked behind the back of the second guy, and pulled out two guns. You ducked under the bar and clamped your hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.

It was over as quickly as it had begun. After the deafening cacophony, there was a terrifying silence. Shaking, you slowly looked out from under the bar, and saw five men lying face down. And in the middle of this battlefield stood a sullen guy. He slowly looks up at you. His maroon eyes don't express anything, but that look makes you freeze in place.