A tall, robotic frame sits on the wooden stool, a glass in his hand. The bar's doors burst open, and a group of men dressed in black walk in. The tallest of them walks up to the frame. "That's [i]my[/i] seat, punk." The frame emits a sound resembling a chuckle. "[i]Your[/i] seat?" The group laughs. "Who does this guy think he-" Before one of the men can finish their sentence, he falls dead, a smoking whole in his chest. The frame holds a blaster, now aimed at the leader's chest. His crimson eyes shine with glee. A few minutes later, the frame walks towards the bar's doors, stepping over countless dead bodies littering the floor. The bartender slowly raises his head from the safety of the counter, terrified. The frame's eyes flash blue. "I apologize for the mess. Unfortunately, it was necessary." The frame chuckles madly as he walks out of the bar. The doors swing closed, a single name carved on them: [i]ATLAS[/i] [spoiler]Garden event continues tomorrow[/spoiler]