Bartender exhaled through his nose, swirling his drink again. "Fine," he muttered. "But understand, I'm not as young as I used to be. The new generation of scum on this planet? They don't have much use for old relics like me. They think I'm in the way—their way. They want me gone. Keep pestering me to leave Muddrift Hive, retire on some cozy garden world."
He scoffed. "Idiots. As if I could just walk away from this life. They don't understand. The universe isn't a paradise waiting for them—it's just a bigger Muddrift Hive. The only difference is that out there, I'd be a nobody. Here, at least, I know how to survive."
His fingers tapped absently against the glass. "I can outmaneuver a rival gang. I can bribe a corrupt officer. But out in the void? When the xenos come, when the greenskins swarm, when the monsters from the dark corners of reality start whispering?" His grip tightened. "Who will save me then?"
Elizabeth set her glass down. "Bartender." He glanced up. She met his gaze evenly. "Just say it. What do you want?"
The bartender exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple with two fingers as he spoke. "I'm old, Sister. Retirement is inevitable. But before I can walk away from this life, I need to secure my pension." He tapped his forehead. "You know as well as I do—our kind don't save for the future. We bet on survival. And right now, I need to cash in while I still can."
Elizabeth watched him silently, her gaze unreadable. The bartender gave her a knowing look. "Some things, Sister, are too dangerous to say out loud. Even for you. Knowing them doesn't make you safer—it just makes you a bigger target." He spread his hands. "So, you see, I can't keep making exceptions for you."
Elizabeth sighed. "Bartender, I thought we were friends."
His smile didn't waver, but his eyes sharpened. "We are friends. Good friends. But what we're talking about isn't friendship. It's business. And business is business."
Elizabeth's expression darkened. "You didn't use to treat me this way."
The bartender's smirk widened, his wrinkles deepening. "And I didn't used to be an old man who needs half an hour to take a piss. But time changes us all, Sister." His voice lowered slightly, his tone losing its usual playfulness. "Yes, I didn't pay much attention to you before. You were just a pretty little thing, a clever girl who had a way with words. You fooled a lot of people." His voice dropped further, almost conspiratorial. "But now I know better."
Elizabeth remained silent. "You had everyone fooled," the bartender continued, voice quiet but firm. "No one ever expected someone like you to be so dangerous. But I know where you come from. I know what you are. I know how much blood is on those hands of yours." He shook his head. "You've lied to me more times than I can count. And I let you, because I was a fool. But even a fool has his limits." His smile returned, but it was colder now. "I won't provide free services anymore. No favors. No gifts. If you want something, you'll have to pay for it."
Elizabeth's gaze turned to ice. "I saved your life, Bartender."
His grin didn't fade. "Yes. And I've never forgotten. I owe you once. Are you here to cash in?" The silence between them stretched.
Anjie sat quietly on the couch, sipping her drink, her attention flicking between them. They had forgotten about her entirely. Bored, she started inspecting the room's decor, tracing her fingers along the worn wooden table, tapping absently on the metal plating of the walls. By the time she had cataloged every detail, Elizabeth finally exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "Fine, you miserable old bastard. Name your price."
The bartender's smirk widened. "Standard rates."
Elizabeth's scowl deepened. "That's robbery."
"I'm a businessman, Sister," he countered smoothly. Then, sensing the rising tension, he lifted a hand. "But since we go way back, I'll give you a special discount. Twenty percent off."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Even with a discount, you charge obscene amounts."
"And yet, my information is always worth it." He spread his hands. "You know that."
A muscle in Elizabeth's jaw twitched. Then, without another word, she picked up her glass and downed the rest of her drink in one motion. Slamming the empty glass onto the counter, she exhaled through her nose. "Another," she demanded. "Then let's get this over with. My time is precious."
Bartender chuckled, already reaching for the bottle. "As you wish." If Muddrift Hive was the heart of information in the Eastern Fringe's lawless expanse, then the Bartender was its central archive. He wasn't just a man—he was a system. He was the unseen force behind whispered deals, the silent observer of a thousand betrayals. Few truly understood how deep his network ran. Elizabeth knew. She sat back as the old man moved toward the back wall. With a quick series of motions, he pressed against a hidden panel, revealing a compartment embedded within. A mechanical whir sounded as a concealed machine came to life. Within seconds, a small iron box was ejected.
The bartender carried it over to the bar, setting it down with reverence. "Still using the old method?" he asked.
Elizabeth nodded. "Old rules work fine."
Bartender gave a satisfied nod and gestured for her to open it. Without hesitation, Elizabeth unlatched the box and retrieved a stack of paper documents. She flipped through them quickly, her eyes scanning the information with practiced efficiency.
Meanwhile, Bartender casually refilled Anjie's glass with cola, as if discussing mundane gossip rather than trading in secrets. "I still remember the first time you asked me for intel on those country bumpkins," he mused, shaking his head. "I was embarrassed back then. I didn't even know the name of the Ferrum. A complete disgrace for an information broker."
Elizabeth didn't look up. "Hardly your fault. That place was buried in obscurity."
"Well," the bartender exhaled, "not anymore."
Elizabeth's fingers stilled slightly on the paper. She finally lifted her gaze. "Go on."
Bartender smirked. "It's funny—back then, you called them country bumpkins. And you weren't wrong. The Ferrum was a forgotten backwater, full of struggling industry and minor nobility clinging to scraps." He leaned forward. "But in the past few years? Everything has changed."
Elizabeth frowned. "How much change are we talking?"
Bartender chuckled. "Let's put it this way—the Ferrum Metallurgical and Mining Group has grown at an alarming rate. Almost too fast. And while the corporation has flourished, so has a certain family."
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Which family?"
Bartender's smirk didn't waver. "The Shrike Family. Just check the document."