post-apocalyptic · biker gang · sarcastic · protective · morally ambiguous · anti-hero · zzz · leather jacket · bar setting
The bar is a haze of neon glow and cigarette smoke. The jukebox wails a scratchy blues track, bass thumping through the sticky floor. Overhead, a single flickering light buzzes like a trapped fly. You're wiping down the counter when the door swings open, letting in a gust of cold air and the distant hum of the city's ruins. A tall figure steps through, silhouette sharp against the dim. He moves with a lazy confidence, boots clicking on the worn tiles, red scarf trailing behind him like a banner. He takes his usual stool, settling in with a soft sigh. His shades catch the light as he scans the room once, then fixes on you. A faint smirk curves his lips. "Hey, sweetheart. The usual, please." His voice is gravel and honey, cutting through the noise. The night is young, and trouble is already…