El Chupacabra Cantina- 5,000 Lightyears Away from earth

If one were to describe the atmosphere of the Chupacabra Cantina, adjectives like "obnoxious", "degenerate", "volatile" and "Extremely Dangerous" would spring to mind. And nobody embodied these traits more than the individual who had just entered the establishment. Almost immediately, every eye (organic, bionic or antennae) turned to the doorway.

Standing there was a 6 foot 4 humanoid, grey-skinned with a shaggy mane of black hair and a surprisingly neatly trimmed goatee. Muscles rippled and shifted beneath leather biker gear and the wicked looking meat hook and chain wrapped around his right forearm glinted in the dim light, but more attention was on the body bag slung over his shoulder. The man's reputation preceded him as a bounty-hunting, mass murdering mercenary and all around nasty bastich: Lobo, the Self-Proclaimed, Last Czarnian.

The Catina grew unnaturally quiet, even the subwoofers ceased blaring their Latino/Techno fusion. Nobody wanted to make the first pin-drop of sound in case they became the unfortunate recipient of a severe disembowelling. Glaring, red eyes regarded the room and the cigar-chomping mouth curled into a leering grin.

"Hey, don't mind me," said the bounty-hunter. "I'm here strictly on business. And will somebody get some REAL music going for Feetal's sake."

The woofers powered up again, this time blasting death metal at full volume. The other patrons -those that had stayed- were still on edge, but gradually turned back to their drinking, loud-mouthing and pawing at the waitresses. There was no more rough-housing in case the bounty hunter wanted to join in. Rough-housing was a lot less fun when Lobo got involved, in a highly destructive and often fatal way.

Five assorted aliens cleared a space at the bar as he approached and made themselves scarce, mumbling half-hearted excuses to their respective colleagues or dates. Lobo ignored them and called for the bartender, a three eyed, orange skinned Cauldinian.

"Hey Merv," called Lobo, banging his hook on the counter. "Hit me!"

Merv went into the back room, emerging after a few minutes wearing a containment suit and using a pair of metal tongs to carry a Noxious Fragger in a lead-lined flagon. The drink in question was concocted by the Main Man himself, a potent cocktail of Venusian Firewater, sulphuric acid, nitro-glycerine and just a hint of radioactive waste for that little extra zing. Obviously it was instantly fatal to anyone that didn't share Lobo's unique physiology, which was pretty much everyone. In fact only three months earlier, former busboy and aspiring pop star Gleegor Marx dropped a Noxious Fragger, killing himself and half the patrons in the bar. The other half were killed by a certain Czarnian, hacked off that he was still sober. Luckily Merv -who'd stepped outside for a smoke break- managed to throw together another before Lobo moved onto the next unfortunate establishment.

Merv watched warily as Lobo knocked back the drink, the liquid literally burned its way down his gullet, causing acrid smoke to spew from his nose. When he finished, he let rip with something cross between a cough and a belch then spat a glob of blood onto the floor, where it remained, sizzling on the marble. Merv removed the flagon, dropping it in a decontamination bin.

"Did ya get it done?" he asked.

Lobo still needed a moment as his healing factor repaired his vocal chords, so he just removed the bodybag and slammed it down on top of the bar.

"I see you chose dead over alive," said Merv.

Lobo grinned, wolfishly.

"If it's my choice, I always do," he said. "Little Bastich was giving me grief anyway."

Merv nodded.

"That's Gareth alright. You mess him up good?"

"He's in one piece, but you'll wanna opt for a closed casket," said Lobo. "Say, ain't you gonna check it's actually him?"

"I believe you," said Merv. "You say it's my boy, it's my boy."

"Hey, Merv, I ain't exactly one to talk, but this was a little harsh, doncha think?"

Merv shrugged.

"Snot nosed punk shoulda known better to steal from me," he said. "Besides, ain't like I can't have other kids."

Lobo chuckled and lit another stogie as the bartender put a package down before him.

"500 g's as agreed he said.

Lobo pocketed the cash and got up to leave.

"Later Merv!"

"Hey Lobo, wait up," said the bartender. "Another job's come through if yer interested, real messy one."

"Who's it from?" asked Lobo.

"According to my sources, he goes by the name of Stoker, but I doubt that's his real name."

"I only care if the money's real," replied the bounty hunter. "What's he offering?"

"5 Mil."

Lobo whistled.

"That's a lot of scratch," said Lobo.

"There's a lot of fragging to be done."

"Where's it at?"

"Planet called 'Earth'" said Merv.

Lobo knew the place well enough. Not bad for a backwater spit of dirt, even if there WAS an abundance of goody-goody capes.

"Yeah alright, I'll take it," said Lobo.

Merv handed him a piece of paper.
"Go to this address, you'll get further instructions there."

Lobo took the paper. "Thanks Merv, keep my spot warm, I'll be back before you can say Feetal's Gizz."

Lobo turned to leave, but it wasn't until the roar of his Space Hog faded into the distance that Merv and the rest of the bar let out a collective sigh of relief.

The Main Man was some other poor sap's problem now.