The Green Dragoon Inn, Tharkad city,

Tharkad, Donegal Province,
Lyran Alliance

The bar-brawl had been going on for less than 30-seconds, but it was already impossible to tell who was on whose side. It had started as an argument between members of unit's that had been on different sides during the Civil War, but it had long since pasted the point where any such distinctions could be made.

One of the original antagonists lifted a bottle of spirits, intent on smashing it over the head of an already senseless opponent. He grind and he lifted the bottle high above his head.

CRACK!

The bottle shattered, the echoing report of the single gunshot ending the fight quicker than any squad of military police.

All eyes turned to the man sat hunched over a small table in the back, dressed in a soiled ComGuards uniform, his head down low. The still-smoking revolver was held in one outstretched hand, while the other gripped the neck of a whisky bottle. The man lifted his head, his un-shaved face framing to eyes full of anger.

"Some people might think that with a war on you lot would let bygones be bygones." Cairo eyed the rioters one by one, the revolver never moving, "But no: you can't wait to get stuck in, you'd rather fight each other than the real enemy."

"Now there's no need for this to get out of hand…" The bartender tried to defuse the situation, but Cairo shot him a glance that would have stopped a charging Atlas.

"Thing's are already 'out of hand'." Cairo stood, his uniform hanging from his slim build, looking like it had been slept in, "I just don't like it when people interrupting me when I'm trying to get drunk." He tucked his revolver into his belt, and then dropped a few notes on the table, "I was getting sick of this place anyway." Gripping his half-full whisky bottle, he staggered out the door.

The cold night air hit Cairo with an almost physical force, making him cough, doubling other. He looked down the street, trying to decide where to go next. Two days had passed since he had woken in the ComStar infirmary after his encounter with Cain, and he had spent most of it drunk.

He stepped out into the middle of the road, a ground car stopping just in time to avoid running him other. The driver honked his horn, but Cairo just glanced at him before staggering to the other pavement. He finished the last of the whisky in one go, before dropping the empty bottle into the gutter.

His pager went off again, its high-pitched warble cutting into his mind like a blunt saw. He ripped the small box of electronics from his belt and smashed it against the nearest wall, shattering the plastic basing, but failing to silence it. Enraged, he drew his revolver, intent on emptying the remaining rounds into the shrieking pager.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" An MP commanded, leaning out the door of a newly arrived jeep, "Put the gun down, and put your hands on the wall, nice and slowly."

"The fight's in there, arsehole." Cairo spun his arm round to indicate the bar, forgetting that his hand still held his service revolver.

The beanbag round from the MP's riot drove the air from Cairo's lungs, knocking him to the ground. He gasped for breath, letting go of his own weapon as two burly NCO's ran over to him, shock sticks at the ready. He tried to fight them off, but they jabbed him with e crowd-control weapon, knocking him out instantly.

To Be Continued…