The Black Garter, the kind of place where a man could go to hide. Just the kind of small-time dive Lance Fellion was looking for. After ten days spent running from the law, he was ready for a break. Thankfully, the local lawkeepers had given up looking for him. Now, the only ones left were the dregs of the galaxy known as hunters. They weren’t so easy to shake. Men looking to make an easy cred from someone else’s blood, seldom were. It was only a matter of time, before they found him again. Last time they did, three hunters lost their lives trying to take him. He couldn’t help but wonder, how many more it would take to convince them to give up.
At a corner booth, his back to the wall, Lance kept his eyes wandering between the beer in front of him, and the door. Everyone he saw walk in, looked a little rougher than the last. But so far, none had been hunters. For the most part, that type was easy to spot. Loaded down with heavy pistols and even heavier armor, they tended to stick out in a crowd. Even one as diverse and rough as the one occupying the Black Garter.