Chapter One:
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Shepard was feeling good about himself when he entered the Space Bar 1, during his short 4 minute break at Space Station Delta Epsilon. Being between important missions as he was, a drink and some relaxed conversation was just what the space hero needed to keep in shape.
"-God damn" Shepard exclaimed in an extreme fashion, while walking towards the bar, "-What a mess." he added laughingly.
All eyes were on Shepard, during his ten second stroll towards the barstools, and the Commander grinned inside of himself, as, evendoh he never directly gazed at any other living creature, the hard military training he'd put himself through over the course of fifteen years, had placed an extra pair of eyes firmly on the back of his head allowing him to see all the faces he might get to smash one day.
Shepard sat down extremely on a barstool, breaking it, and proceeded to unload the carcass of a local bar patron over the desk with a loud thwacking sound, upon which blood giblets filled the air. He then snorted a while, as to grab some more undeserved attention to himself, and when the barkeep wheeled over to where he sat, handing him a glass, Shepard spit in it so hard that it broke.
"-What can I get you, sir?" the robot bartender asked politely, while fetching yet another glass.
"-God damn,
I'm asking the questions here.
Understand?!" said Shepard, while breaking the second glass between his thumb and index finger, simultaniously grabbing the throat of the bartender.
The booze-droid went quiet, sobbingly. Shepard understood how he felt, but didn't care, and only upon feeding it the broken shards of glass did he release the damaged metal neck.
"-Hasta la vista baby" he snorted.
As the robot was just about to turn and leave, the meaty hand of the commander chlomped him on his back, sending his metal face straight into a mirror, harming a few bottles of club soda on the way.
"-Your face, your ass." explained Shepard.
"-Whiskey. Straight up."
