Somewhere on some backwater planet in a forgotten sector of space, was a bar. Not a big establishment. Not even well stocked. What do you expect from a place who gets a supply freighter once every twelve months? The wine was awful, the bourbon watered down, and even the water was bad for you. This didn't stop many of it's regulars. They came from all over the place, from the many arms of the galaxy.

The smell of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor was everywhere. Sweat and blood mingled in the walls, floors, and counters. Dust would have gathered, but bodies were being thrown about too much for that. It was night, so it was colder than usual. Small lights around the place gave a particularly eerie atmosphere.

Two men were locked in a fist fight, one much taller than the other, but the shorter one seemed to have the advantage. His race was known for densely packed muscles, making them small but scrappy. He easily brought the brute to his knees and pushed him against a wall. Once slumped on the floor, the dwarven creature crawled up his chest, grabbing a handful of hair, and brought a fist back.

But stopped.

Not of his own will. Everything had stopped.

The door was open. A single figure stood in the light from the street. His boots were wet with the rain, caked with mud. A trench coat flowed behind him, small tatters along the edges. On his head, a small hat rested, jet black and still dripping.

But what made people stop, was his face. More specifically, his eyes. They were small red slits, focused on the floor. When he brought his head up, you could see them accented against the scarred blue skin.

"Good evening," he said, offering a crooked smile.

Some people returned to their conversations and drinks, while others watched him approach the bar. Using his sleeve, he cleared a spot from the counter, smearing the reddish gray stain across the wood.

"Surprise me," he muttered, taking his seat. One of the local prostitutes approached him, placing both hands on his shoulders. An impressive feat considering his 6'6" body structure. She placed a head on his elbow, and Therex's nose cringed at the smell of her perfume.

"Hey handsome," she said, trying to sound appealing, but her voice coming across as hoarse and abused.

Ignoring her, Therex reached for the drink that had just been poured for him. Raising it to his face, he welcomed the strong odor of it, capable of overpowering the assault the whore had brought with her.

"You look lonely," she tried again. "Maybe I can help."

Therex set the glass down and turned to face her. She was attractive, sure, but Therex wondered how much of her wasn't makeup and cosmetic surgery. He slid both hands around her waist and leaned down to her ear. She tipped her head back and lout out a soft moan.

"I am very lonely," he whispered. "But, I'm afraid you'll just have to find someone else to con."

She giggled, pulling him close.

"Oh, but I could show you things that no other girl could."

"I have no doubt," Therex said, humoring her for now. "Any good stories?"

"Yes," she said coyly, "But those cost extra."

"How about I tell you one for free," he said, letting his voice be heard by everyone. "A story."

The whore merely scoffed, and pushed him away. Obviously she was upset over her lack of pay or pleasure. Shrugging, Therex turned back to his drink. Instead, he was looking down a gun barrel. It was black and shiny, appearing well used. It smelled of old style explosive powder used in slugthrowers. It had been fired recently.

"Yes?" Therex asked, peeking over the gun, mildly interested.

"I... I know who you are," the scrawny bartender stammered out.

"Oh," Therex said, slightly more drawn in. "Who am I?"

The bartender looked over Therex's shoulder and Therex followed his line of sight. Hanging on a wall behind him was a poster. With his name scrawled on it, including the title, "Butcher", and a reward for capture.

"Butcher?" Therex questioned, sipping his drink. "Not, 'Butcher of Blah Blah?'"

Unamused, the bartender tensed on the trigger.

"I'm gonna take you in."

Therex lowered his gaze and smiled.

"You and what army?" he replied smugly.

Suddenly, the sound of forty chairs scuffing against wood, and 50 some guns having their respective safeties turned off. Therex kept the smile, and turned to look past his arm.

"Ok, you got me," he said, laying his hands out on the counter. "Can I still tell you the story?"