Haven't noticed any severe problems with last night's post, so into the
story proper. Probably most of you have already seen this once, there's a
few revisions here and there...

Chapter 1

It was a quiet morning in Fingals. An anonymous gang of heavies was sitting
around tables, looking as though they hadn't moved since the night before.
This was, of course, the case.

The doors crashed open, and in marched... someone. It was a
woman, decked out all in brown, except for the swinging bag. She looked
around, smiled and made for the bar.

The barman raised his frighteningly bushy eyebrows as he saw
her coming. He didn't like the look of the bag.

"What do you want?"

The woman smiled. "I'm a student. I'm looking for bar work."
She put her Sean the Sheep rucksack on the table next to her. The barman
shivered, he had a nasty suspicion.

"Something in the bag?"

Again, she smiled. "Of course. My lecture notes." Before she
could finish the sentence, however, one of the drinkers had snatched the
bag, and was reaching to open it. The woman sighed and moved towards him,
but the barman persuaded her otherwise. A sawn-off shotgun can be good
persuasion at close range.

"We just want to check the bag," he told her as she froze.
"If it's like you say, you can do a shift tomorrow." While he had been
speaking, the man with her bag had peeked inside, seen the sheaf of notes on
biochemistry, and nodded to the barman.

There was a long pause, and the woman raised her eyebrow.
The barman shrugged and lowered the shotgun.

"We have to be careful, you know..."

"I know."

"You hear the stories about a Trakenite with a rucksack full
of guns."

The woman nodded, smiling. She could feel the tension
leaving the room. She reached over and took her bag.

Unfortunately, she fumbled and dropped the bag to the floor.
A pistol dropped out and struck the tiles with a clunk.

"It's HER!" shouted everyone present, leaping to their feet
and drawing guns.

Nyssa swore and raised her hands. This was getting a little

"Yes," she said.

"All right, yes, it's me," she said. The crowd were edging
towards her slowly but surely.

"I don't have a quarrel with you people." One lad was
starting to get a little too close.

"I'm just looking -" She could see he was getting edgy.

"For a boy," all the guns in the bar were now aimed at her.
She started to move backwards, slowly.

"Who calls himself -"

"Shoot her!" yelled the barman, and the nervous boy raised
his gun. Nyssa aimed a look at the barman.

"Not yet."

With that, she flexed her fingers. The spring-loaded wrist
holsters deposited a handgun in each hand and in the next second she was

* * *

An energetic two minutes later, Nyssa looked at the wreckage of the bar.
Everyone seemed to be dead, apart from a few who were making gentle bubbling

They had been so tense from the moment she had entered. The
weasel had to be somewhere close.

She quickly stashed her weapons back in Sean, and walked

"Don't look back, don't look back," sang the jukebox, but
there was noone alive to hear it.

Prologue - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five

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