Johny looked around, trying to lock on to anything that would stand out if he’d been on a mission.

“Exactly,” he thought, when his eyes landed on three men. They were dressed - or rather disguised - as dockworkers. One of them kept throwing quick looks at Johny, as if checking his face against a memory.

The men glanced at each other, whispered, and exchanged those tiny signals and body movements Johny used to read without thinking twice. Unfortunately, without his tools - which he no longer had, obviously - he couldn’t pick up anything of what they were saying. They were too far away. He cursed to himself but kept watching the three men.

“It’s him. I’m sure of it,” said the biggest of them.

“You’re right, boss. It’s him. And he doesn’t look that tough. I don’t get all this fuss about him the client had. Let’s do him right here, right now.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to be patient and plan at least one step ahead? Haven’t you noticed the bouncers? Haven’t you heard what I said before? Sometimes I’m surprised you’re still alive, Gunner. You must be really lucky. But luck runs out. Remember that. You know better or at least you should.”

“Sorry, boss. I just want to get the job done. Get in, get out, collect the cash. Have a good time. You know me.” The dirty smirk on Gunner's face said it all.

"Yes, exactly, I know you. Space Marines are as tough as they come. Clearly this one has seen better days. But we wouldn't be paid such a handsome fee for nothing, wouldn't we, Gunner?" The boss said it, calmly, as usual. His voice, however, was stone cold. And Gunner knew better than to annoy his boss further.

"Okay, okay," the Gunner said defensively, "I got it".

"Good then. Let's proceed according to our plan, shall we?". The boss said, a menacing smile barely there. The other two men just nodded lightly.

The one they called boss pressed a small button on his wrist communicator and all three simultaneously ducked under the table. Then the explosion shook the building.

Johny's eyes caught the movement of the three just on time, and a split second before the explosion. Even though he needed to keep the appearence of not staring at them non-stop, his reflexes, hardened by thousands of hours of training and real battles, still served him well. He started ducking under the table...he wasn't as fast as he used, the realisition which came to him too little too late.

Nevertheless, and like in the old times, everything slowed down for Johny. He saw the sharp pieces of exploded windows flying towards him like a shrapnel. Yet he felt like a character in a slow-motion episode in the action movie. Sadly, he wasn't the one writing or controlling the narrative. Moreover, he was, for all senses and purposes, the decommissioned one and out of action for quite some time now.

Thus, there was absolutely nothing he could do about the unfolding events save for covering his neck and head with his left arm while he was ducking under the table. He felt broken glass penetrating his body. The big and small pieces. It was, indeed, quite painful. Yet it was the first time ever he was glad that his left leg was a prostethic. "Finally, less fucking pain," he thought with a weird smile on his face.

Johny found himself under the table and quickly assessed injuries to his body. Nothing serious but multiple small wounds were causing some bleeding and restricted movements of his left. That wasn't optimal but it could have been much worse.

He observed his surroundings. The bar was already deserted and the barmen was nowhere to be seen. He hoped he was OK. Johny really loved this non-pretentious place. "Fuckers," he thought, "ruined such a nice evening and a great place". He was angry now, in fact, he was royally pissed. His face hardened with a resolve. The whole body stiffened and was ready for action. He didn't know why exactly, but clearly the whole show was just for him. This, frankly, pissed him even more if that was even possible at this point.

He noticed that the three left their table and started moving into his direction. They moved like pros, each knowing his role, covering each other's six. The fake dockers, as Johny nicknamed them already, clearly had some serious military training in the past. And Johnny could appreciate professionalism when he saw one. This was worrying. Dealing with just goons would have been much easier. With or without guns Johny would not have any trouble taking them out...he had plenty of experience in this department.

The three "dockers" were carrying the rifles Johny never saw before even though they somehow reminded him of the standard issued Empire Infantry Automatic Rifle, ER, as they called it. Johny wasn't a fan of it, but it did get the job done. But it wasn't it and something about it felt off. This, somehow, was even more worrying...