So, ah, Ratz, what is this place anyway?
“I don’t know Mein Herr, I just sell drinks and clean up after the gunfights.” “But I heard something about stories…” “It is true. Sometimes people come in here to tell each other stories, or they leave them for other people to read. Sometimes the stories spill out into the real life in the bar, and then you have to watch yourself. My customers seem to get involved in such violent stories…” “Yes, I heard about tha…” (commotion) A bunch of corporate thugs in matching body armour chase a lone woman through the bar, firing sloppy bursts of automatic fire. Every body dives and yanks their cannons, except a geeky guy in a corner who’s too busy with a passionate argument about the practicalities of implant maintenance under battlefield conditions. A white phosphorous grenade brings a promising story about corporate infiltration of the body-politic to keep ever-nastier designer drugs legal. And an old Arab is garrotted under cover of the smoke for trying to start a cultural relativist e
