Vivacious singing of a Japanese voice over a lively track plays with a buoyancy, the fast speech coupled with the quick pace of the instrumentals giving the song a sense of contagious adrenaline. With a dramatic tone filled with the spirits of a passionate artist, with booming and ferocious highs followed by mellow quiet lows switched back and forth to create a dynamic piece, the music generates an aura of excitement.

From the creaky wooden walls with visible planks stacked vertically, the joyous music plays inside a large room lit yellow, and while the music has vocals of its own its joined by a flock of other voices, albeit rather than dramaticized in a song it’s instead clustered in chatter amongst a sea of conversation. Similarly however, the other voices speaking over the song follow the same language.

Much of that conversation originates from a mob of primarily Japanese adults dressed in traditional kimonos, many of whom sit on wooden chairs with a row of rods functioning as back support, yet regardless of its largely traditional design it features no legs but rather levitates stably.

Most of the chairs are joined together in small groups such as twos and threes around circular wooden tables also levitating, all of which are clustered towards one side of the relatively narrow room near the wooden walls which project varyingly sized paintings many of which are gray toned with wooden frames next to hung wheels and other odd items below shelves. The people seated at the table speak amongst themselves, some clashing bottles together and cheering in casual exchanges of friendliness.

Above the conversation, the wall has an exposed frame of wooden planks seemingly makeshift, and below the ceiling are several hovering chandeliers as the source of the yellow light beside spinning fan blades also in the air unattached to any surface to provide adequate conditioning inside.

Along the other side of the room is a solid, long, wooden table that nearly extends across the entire room with hovering wooden stools residing on the side closer to the center, but on the other side is a long row of cabinets below a tabletop littered with transparent bottles filled with various liquids most of which are brown.

On the wall in front of a wide arched mirror reflecting the image of the room back are translucent brown shelves filled to the brim with more bottles in neat rows above one another, and around the arched mirror are more projected paintings.

On the table itself are many bottles and transparent cups spread across the table tended to by other people in kimonos sitting on the stools, drinking up the beverages while hollering to each other. Some of them specifically holler to a single person on the other side of the table, another man dressed similarly but in black with a long beard and elderly face.

At the far end of the narrow room are transparent windows placed along the wall, but in the center is a pair of low wooden batwing doors initially closed. In totality, the whole room largely resembles a traditional saloon popularized about ten centuries ago yet somehow clearly obtaining traffic.

Upon being summoned, the man on the other side approaches those who call for him, and after hearing their requests he then nods and walks back to the shelves along the arched mirror, where he grabs one of the bottles and walks with it to the bar table, where he then grabs for below the tabletop where he then pulls out one of the transparent glasses.

With one hand holding the bottle and the other holding the glass, the man pours the brown liquid clearly similar to alcohol from the bottle into the cup, filling it about three quarters as the liquid splashes around inside the new container.

After filling the cup enough, the man on the other side of the bar table tilts the bottle upright, and he slams the cup on the table gently.

With a light flick of the wrist, the man in the black kimono slides the cup down the table, all the way to the man who had initially made the request, who grabs the glass before it could slide past him.

In a show of gratitude the receiver nods his head before taking a sip from the cup while behind him other adults raise their hands and shout to be tended to.

Past the tables and bar, the dual batwing doors suddenly swing open, revealing the silhouette of a humanoid standing in the center with a straight posture, immediately presenting an ominous aura that seeps into the saloon.

At the middle of the bar, a few customers turn their heads to glance at the doors upon noticing the presence, their eyes sharpening in intrigue as they keep their cups off of their mouths temporarily.

Also near the exit, a group of customers seated around a table all raise their heads and face the open door also with a keen expression, holding bottles in their hand with multiple empty ones standing on the table between them.

Between the open saloon doors, the silhouette remains still for a few seconds, embracing the environment of the saloon before finally stepping forth into the yellow light, revealing itself to be a pale man dressed in a wilted leather jacket above black pants with dark gray streaks. His hood remains off, exposing the four distinct white strands of hair on his otherwise bald head behind his sharp blue eyes, pressing an unfriendly stance.

Meticulous in every movement, the man slowly surveys the saloon with where he now stands still, gazing from the long bar to his left to the row of tables on the right. Every single detail that comes to his vision is analyzed and noted, not a single element left ignored, for every move he made had to be precise.

Menacingly the man just stalks those residing in the bar, turning his head slowly almost autonomously.

Staring back, the individuals at the bar with their cups keep a close eye.

Similarly, the group at the table with their bottles trail the curious attendance.

“Let’s go, finally somewhere I can rick with!” exclaims a familiar voice senile with a heavy rasp that makes the words almost sound pained, and yet somehow spoken with crystal clear delight.

Right behind the mysterious phantom, an even seemingly older, taller, and absolutely bald man emerges into the saloon, dressed in a brown overcoat over a black jumpsuit with variously colored stains partly noticeable especially in the illuminated environment. He has wide yellow irises which begin to absorb the contents of the room in interest.

Immediately upon entrance, the old man throws his arm around the shoulder of the man in the leather jacket, who upon contact immediately staggers forward from the violation, escaping the old man’s hold.

Ignoring the clear sign of rejection, the old man further follows inside the saloon, and while glancing around he reaches his hand in the inner pockets of his overcoat, where he then pulls out a transparent flask filled halfway with his signature purple liquid.

He notices the lively aura of the various customers speaking in relaxed yet joyous attitudes, to which he grins before taking a swig from his own flask.

Behind him, two more silhouettes appear between the doors, although not as tall as the drinker. After the man continues into the saloon, the two silhouettes are able to also step inside, making themselves known.

On the left, the silhouette emerges to present itself as a young woman with long pink hair and an oversized white and pink hoodie designed to resemble a cupcake with cartoonish sprinkle decals. She waves her hand with pink fingertips back and forth in front of her sweaty face, panting exhaustedly while observing the establishment through moving pink irises. While her legs are predominately bare, the heavy clothing over her torso appears to put her body in a scorching state of agony.

She pivots her head while whining between pants, “Why…couldn’t we have…went somewhere with…better weather?”

Beside the young woman, a visibly more mature woman stands in the saloon, dressed in a formal black blazer–with vivid green buttons on the sleeve and lapel as well as a short green strip next to the left lapel–over a white tank top, and below are tight black leggings. She appears in her upper forties whereas the one next to her appears only in her early twenties, the two with a visible gap in age yet far more youthful than the men who had first stepped in.

She does not appear disgruntled by heat however, but instead her hands remain by her side–with green fingertips– and she presents an optimistic smile, glancing around the saloon with bright green irises below amber bangs on short hair hardly reaching down her neck.

After studying the room before her, she nods her head and fain accepts, “This is good, the areas here seem safe and the people seem civil. Let’s check it out, this might be the place!”

She then follows the other two men deeper into the room, temporarily abandoning the young woman who remains by the exit, still panting and waving her hand clearly fatigued.

“Why couldn’t we go to a place with…trees…or grass…or any kind of plant life? Is this really…our best bet?” complains the young woman, only to find her woes ignored, to which she depressingly sighs and lowers her head.

She reluctantly follows the other three into the establishment, clearly not enthusiastic about the setting despite the warming reactions by half of the group.

With the entrance of the three companions, the diluted intensity of the first entrance leaves the customers who had previously been glaring back to return their gazes to their own lives, as the ones at the bar return their eyes to their drinks and the ones at the table resume their conversations casually as though no aberration had occurred.

Leading the group after having lost his initial aura of mystique due to the casual atmosphere generated by the other three, Meditat silently walks to the long bar table without a second thought, passing the closest stool in favor of the second closest.

Old habits die hard as he slides onto the stool and faces forward to the direction of the bartender, who is currently serving other customers on the far side of the bar.

As Meditat sighs quietly to himself and places his pale hand over his head, Ekitai walks past him and takes the liberty of using the empty stool right next to his unwilling companion by seating himself on it.

With a childish grin, Ekitai takes another swig from his own flask regardless of the fact that he was already at an establishment that seemed to serve beverages, for instead he appears to prefer his own. Then again, whereas the drinks filling the bottles and cups along the table have the familiar brown tones and opacities of alcoholic beverages, the purple substance filling the flask is alien in contrast, not being comparable to the products served.

He temporarily takes the flask off his mouth to then mention in a wavery voice, “Well, I mean I know I led you to this world but I didn’t think you’d be so jumpy to go to a saloon. But I can’t blame you, just know though that this town has excess tax on credits so anything you get will probably be expensive.”

An irritated groan vents from Meditat as his hand slips off his head which he raises to face Ekitai before in a pique he berates, “We’re only here to scout this region’s civilization, no more, no less, so don’t recontextualize my tactics. And it would have been nice to know that earlier, but it doesn’t matter, I don’t intend to get much from here but a booster.”

Past both Meditat and Ekitai, Kokei and Dana take their own seats at the bar, Kokei taking a spot beside Ekitai and Dana forming the end of the group, allowing Kokei to remain beside her closest friend while simultaneously protecting her from the other customers.

Kokei swivels in her stool to face forward and glances at the various shelves full of bottles while Dana places herself on her own stool, and turns her head to the right upon being spoken to by a wrinkly old man in a kimono with slurred speech.

While studying the bottles on the counter, Kokei ponders curiously, “Hey Dana, is there anything nonalcoholic here? I’m not much of a drinker…but I feel so dehydrated.”

Next to Kokei, Dana glares at the man–speaking to her with his hand hovering over her shoulder–with an infuriated expression as she subtly raises her fist towards his face, and causes her hand to flash to her golden cybernetic form before reverting it back to human.

Across from Dana, the decrepit man’s eyes shoot wide upon the swift act of intimidation, and he throws both of his hands up, retracting it from her, before pivoting his body away from her, seeming to be repelled as desired. He chuckles nervously while facing away, leaving Dana be.

After scaring the old man off after the uncomfortable advance, Dana pivots to face Kokei before finally answering, “Huh? Oh, not sure, I can try asking though.”

While Ekitai gulps down the remainder of his current flask, Meditat beside him raises his hand, and facing the bartender he shouts, “Hey!”

In the distance, the bartender who has just handed a cup to one of the customers turns around to notice the callout, to which he nods his head and slowly begins approaching the requester.

While the bartender is making his way, the batwing doors of the exit are swung open, and emerging from the outside steps is a man dressed in thick light brown yoroi traditional samurai armor that nearly covers his entire body with the proper robes and skirt. The only component missing in the armor is the mask, revealing the man to be elderly with a wrinkly face cooped with a thick mustache and beard. He does however wear a helmet although with a much darker shade of brown similar to the surcoat he has over his armor.

Much taller and wider than the majority of the other customers in the saloon due to the armor worn, the man exudes a heavy presence as he simply stands in the doorway, glaring into the bar with keen eyes.

Again the customers at the center of the bar take notice of the new presence, however this time so do the other customers further back, for more attention was drawn, seemingly by the unique dress but that was the most minor of reasons. Their eyebrows raise in shock, pulling their bottles and cups off their lips in reaction.

Concurrently with the bar customers, the adults at the tables close to the exit of the saloon raise their heads to the entrance with the same peculiar gaze, but so do the people in the further tables farther back, also infatuated by the entrance. They all momentarily silence upon taking note of the attendance, gazing in surprise.

Only with the one man entering in, the entire saloon falls silent for a few moments, for it seems everyone in the establishment has moved their attention to the man with keen concentration, disregarding their own conversations and thoughts.

At the front of the bar, the four newcomers notice the strange silence and follow the gaze of all other customers, which brings them to the man in the samurai armor.

Meditat’s eyebrows scrunch in perplexity as does Kokei’s and Dana’s, although Ekitai only seems to smile casually without any visible disorientation while also holding another flask of purple liquid completely filled.

All of the gazes remain on the man in the samurai armor, who studies the room from the entrance for a few more seconds, reading the room.

At last the newcomer resumes walking, and upon his resumption to movement the dam explodes and conversation floods the saloon just as it was seconds ago, once again returning to normalcy as though there was no phenomenon.

While chatter drowns other chatter, the newcomer makes steady strides to the bar table, where he then seats himself at the closest stool, which happens to be right next to Meditat’s.

As the man places himself on the stool, sounds of his armor plates shifting nearly covers his own groans, but he ultimately manages to sit upright. His surcoat unfolds and the yellow light shines on his armor as he faces forward with a stern expression.

After the strange entrance, the bartender finally reaches the requester, to which he takes notice and returns his gaze back to his own matters, sliding his eyes off of the stranger and to the man in the black kimono.

Reset with a calm mind back to his own mission, Meditat lets out a soft sigh before then requesting, “Do you serve Royx?”

Only a cast of bewilderment responds to the request by the bartender, whose eyebrows are scrunched and head is tilted. He just stares at Meditat, silently at first, as if he was trying to decipher an alien transmission.

After just standing for several long seconds in confuddlement in front of the arched mirror, the bartender finally implores, “Sumimasen, dōiu imidesu ka?”

Taken aback at first by the sudden use of the foreign language, Meditat blinks twice also with the same bewildered face back at the bartender. However, he swiftly deciphers the question as: ‘Excuse me, what do you mean?’

He sighs and shakes his head, acknowledging that there was a language barrier and that the bartender likely wouldn’t be communicating with English.

Restarting, Meditat raises his head and repeats, Gomen! Royx. Anata wa sore o teikyō shimasu ka?” Luckily for him, the language which he detected as Japanese was one he had previously studied and acquired an adequate basis on, thus he nonetheless was able to communicate even if it meant not using his own default tongue. Still, he was able to respond well, clarifying: ‘Sorry! Royx. Do you offer it?’ to rearticulate his request in a manner hopefully comprehensive.

“Oshikko mizu o nomu tame ni koko ni konaide kudasai, otokonoko,” suddenly reprimands the man in the samurai armor next to Meditat in a harsh tone, to which Meditat returns his gaze back to him, dazed by the odd comment as he wasn’t referring to him at all.

Even more stunning was the actual comment itself, ‘Don’t come here to drink piss water, boy,” for it appears he did understand what Meditat’s request was yet responded harshly in a manner uncalled for.

Astounded by the blunt abrasion of the man, Meditat’s eyebrows sharpen into an irritated glare, insulted for no reason.

Rather than causing another upset however, Meditat returns his gaze back to the bartender, trying to ignore the peculiar comments as peace among the townsfolk was imperative to their mission, even if it meant dealing with offhand comments that couldn’t be retaliated against. He lets out a sigh, acknowledging that the locals weren’t as kind as he had hoped for, but knowing that regardless he had to do his best to get along.

He raises his head back up to the bartender, and follows in a kind tone, “Anata ga izureka o motte iru? Ippai de jūbundesu. Arigatōgozaimashita!”. Again he attempts to make his appeal: ‘Do you have any? A single cup is enough. Thank you very much!’

“Chimon, kono otoko ni tsukaenaide. Kare wa watashitachi no meiyo o bujoku shite iru dakedesu. Kare wa watashitachi ga sono yōna fujun'na nomimono o motte iru to omoimasu. Kono otoko ni anata o miorosa senaide kudasai,” unexpectedly orders the man in the samurai armor, now glaring intensely at Meditat with a hostile face.

Around Meditat, the bartender, Ekitai, and Kokei all turn to face the man, all with stunned gazes. Dana turns her head last, befuddled while Kokei’s eyes widen in concern, her hand tightly gripping the edge of the table.

Meditat finally turns his head to face the man in the samurai armor as Kokei anxiously knocks Ekitai’s back, for she too heard the man order: ‘Chimon, don't serve this guy. He is only insulting our honor. He thinks we have such an impure drink. Don't let this guy look down on you.’

While Ekitai struggles to chug his flask as he’s being knocked from behind, he watches Meditat glare straight back at the bartender with equally discontent eyes, glaring back with sharp eyebrows and gritted teeth barely visible from the ever so slightly parted lips.

With a bitter tone, Meditat confronts the man before him, “Watashi wa anata ga daredearu ka wakarimasenga, watashi wa ki ni shimasen. Hottoi te. Wakarimasu ka?”

All of the sudden now, Ekitai begins lightly bumping Meditat’s shoulder, now wearing an equally perturbed expression after having heard Meditat’s bold declaration: ‘I don't know who you are, but I don't care. Leave me alone. Do you understand?’

“Hey hey…my man…my point five…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” quietly advises Ekitai, for it seems now even he is wary of the situation.

Not only was Ekitai concerned, but the entire saloon had fallen silent, for not a word was spoken but rather total quietness just like when the man had entered.

However, rather than facing that man, instead every single customer stares straight at Meditat with vigilant eyes, completely appalled by the retaliation. Not one of them had their drinks to their faces, but rather they were held down, just watching the one conversation still ongoing at the front of the saloon.

Not moving his gaze, Meditat maintains his glare on the man in the samurai armor, who after hearing Meditat’s harsh comeback, only chuckles in amusement. The chuckling further angers Meditat as evident by the further sharpening of his glare, which flares as his hands on the table ball up into tight fists.

Ultimately after the silent pause, the man slides his hand by the bottom edge of his surcoat and grabs it, lifting it to the side to reveal that on his hip is a sheath. On the tip of the sheath is a wooden hilt with a gunmetal disk, the shape signature to that of a katana.

Revealing the sheath like a holster, the man then offers, “Shōnen, watashi wa korera no buhin no sherifudesu. Mondai ga areba,-gai ni dete dansei no yō ni atsukatte mimasen ka?”

Quickly the revelation dawns on Meditat as his eyes widen in horror and dread, and behind him the other three are also cast with terror after hearing the threat: ‘Boy, I'm the sheriff of these parts. If you have a problem, how about we step outside and handle this like men?’

Now is the time Ekitai quietly mentions, “So I should’ve mentioned this before, but the sheriff is distinguished by the samurai armor and dark brown surcoat. But uh…what I can say now is that I think it’s actually worse if you hurt him. So…we’re kind of stuck. Operation G-T-H-O-O-H?”

Also speaking quietly, Meditat softly lambastes, “You said everything was fine here.”

“I said everything was ‘fun,’ I mean it’s literally the wild west with samurais, it’s cool as hell. But like…either he kills us or everyone else does so….”

Meditat lowers his head and closes his eyes, letting out a deep sigh of misery. He contemplates for a few seconds in the silent saloon as everyone waits for his action with anticipation, some of them at the edge of their wooden seats.

An electric jolt is trailed by a whoosh past Meditat, who immediately opens his eyes wide to the sound, raising his head up alert.

On the center of the batwing doors of the saloon, a glowing lime green liquid substance has been splashed, and seconds after impact the doors corrode and completely disintegrate while the liquid spreads like a cancer across the whole door, swiftly consuming it to leave the exit completely open.

“They can’t lock it now,” briefly explains Ekitai, to which Meditat glances back only to find that Ekitai has his handgun raised, aiming at where the batwing door once was, having been the one who took the shot as the barrel of his handgun secretes smoke.

“Akuma! Dorobō! Sorera o eru!” roaringly commands the sheriff, and as Meditat faces ahead of himself he watches the sheriff immediately draw the hilt off of the sheath, revealing his long gunmetal katana which slashes for him only to clash against a translucent blue blade projected from the target’s right arm which instinctively is pulled forward.

His mouth open to expose his grinding teeth, Meditat holds his own against the sheriff’s blade, remaining seated as he wasn’t able to move himself due to being locked.

While staying steady, he hears shouting and roaring from behind, to which he glances around the saloon to see all the customers sliding out of their chairs with enraged faces all looking straight at him.

Customers in kimonos suddenly slam their bottles on the edge of their bottle, shattering the top off to leave jagged tips sharp enough to cut flesh. The sound of glass shattering fills the room as those who’ve readied their bottles begin marching towards the intruder on the order: ‘Devil! Thieves! Get them!’ by the sheriff.

Discerning swiftly that they were surrounded, Meditat groans while keeping his blades clashed against the katana for warding the sheriff off, but off his back shoulders each a blue cable projects up, their anchors catching onto the chandeliers in the air.

His body is then pulled backwards in a rise, making space from the sheriff and concluding their clash with him now on his feet. His blade vanishes as he brings his arms and legs close to his body, balling himself up.

Up in the air, Meditat–in an equally ferocious voice to the sheriff– sonorously directs, “We’re getting out of here, now! To the door!”

He then throws his arms and legs out as his whole body flashes blue before projecting an omnidirectional bombardment of blue bolts which scatters across the whole saloon.

Horrified by the suddenly perilous events, Kokei shrieks before covering her head with her arms, bending down as the blue hail flies past her and into many of the hostile customers, who upon impact collapse to the ground unconsciously, dropping their bottles which shatter on the wooden floor.

Still cowering on the seat, Kokei stays still as beside her Dana slides off of the stool and the forearm sleeves on her blazer vanishes as beneath her forearms and hands morph into her golden cybernetic form. She uses her right morphed hand to grab Kokei and pull her off the stool while the other is held out like a shield. Still tightly holding Kokei, she walks her towards the exit while what was once casual and relaxed chatter has become minacious screams.

Last to get off the stool, Ekitai takes one last swig from his flask, dripping the last remains out of the container before tossing it behind him where he also aims his handgun before firing an orange shot at the bartender, who upon getting struck his skin begins rapidly sliding off his body, to which he screams in agony. He cries, “Herupu!” in a beg for, ‘Help!’ as his flesh and tissue slide off before organs which follow suit as his whole body is undone.

Ekitai aims at the customers and begins firing more bolts while the bartender’s skeleton becomes exposed, his bones dismantling before his whole body collapses on the floor, and his tortured screams is finally put to a rest.

Still in the air, Meditat glances down at Ekitai and castigates, “He was innocent!”

Still on the ground, Ekitai glimpses up at Meditat and vindicates, “They always appear that way, but remember last time? I just saved us from a rehashed plot twist, you’re welcome!”

“Just help them get out of here!” commands Meditat, choosing to step away from Ekitai’s argument, and he spins back to face down at the sheriff, who stands on his feet with his katana raised straight at him in front of a furious face.

Trudging through the battlefield made in the bar, Dana guides Kokei towards the exit, stepping over collapsed corpses and glass shards, as both of them face forward with fearful expressions. Past them flies variously colored bolts from the ground at customers chasing them, in turn causing said customers to shrivel up into gray husks and completely implode in on themselves.

Above them plummets whole volleys of blue bolts from the ceiling at customers further back, in turn causing them to collapse over tables, chairs, and each other, dropping their jagged bottles unable to reach their targets.

Trying to keep their heads away from the mayhem, Dana and Kokei hike over more bodies and exposed guts, to which Kokei covers her mouth. Behind the two, a few customers slip past the defenses and chase them, raising their bottles and roaring aggressively in preparation to slam it down on them.

As the nearby customers slam their bottles towards the two’s heads, their arms are grabbed in coils of golden tentacles that emerge from Dana’s body, which pick up their bodies before tossing them back into the crowd where they then get shot down. More tentacles protrude from her back, their tips expanding into wide flat shields while others peek over the shields and fire their own bolts, golden, at the onslaught.

The two however abruptly suspend and take a step back, watching as right in front of them the sheriff samurai backsteps, swinging his katana elegantly against Meditat’s translucent blue blades that protrude off of his arms, which he swings back with his white hair gliding behind his exposed head.

After the clashing passes Kokei’s and Dana’s path, the duo resumes their escort, Dana’s tentacles continuing to protect their back as they proceed by Ekitai, who endlessly fires out of his revolver-esc handgun on the frontlines.

Continuing onward, the two raise their heads as cyan light shines on their bodies, indicating their proximity towards the exit. They trudge forward a few more steps before finally coming to a stop and turning around to face the mayhem in the saloon, watching as Ekitai fires bursts at the front line of customers nearing them while Meditat promptly vanishes and immediately reappears behind the sheriff with a blue trail connecting him to where he had once stood, and after the dash he then impales the blue blade through the sheriff’s chest, having bested him with movement.

After retracting his energy blade which successfully relinquishes the sheriff of his consciousness, Meditat faces the remainder of the horde, stepping away from the body and holding both of his hands partly curled in the shape of the guns, where he then fires by jerking his wrists.

Watching the chaos unfold with seemingly no end, Kokei throws both of her arms forwards and shrieks as a flood of pink electric arcs fire off of her body, curling around her back in thick streams before then spreading over the saloon and surrounding the remaining customers. All of the customers promptly freeze in place, unable to move as they're surrounded by the pink arcs that slither around them like snakes.

After firing the charge, Kokei lowers her arm before crying, “Let’s go!” to which both Ekitai and Meditat face her, and they both make their way to the exit, Ekitai sprinting while swinging his arms back and forth while Meditat stays behind Ekitai to cover him before then dashing forwards to the exit.

Once the four rendezvous at the exit of the saloon, they all nod to each other before facing away from the frozen customers over their fellow corpses, and together the four step outside of the saloon and into the outdoors where their adventure was only beginning.