The trio moved slowly but surely clearly focusing their attention on Johny. Well, there was no one else left in the bar, anyway, so that was the most natural conclusion. Be that as it may, Johny was running out of time since the trio were closing the distance between them rather fast...and there wasn't much distance to begin with. He was being surrounded. And he couldn't come up with any feasible plan on how to escape this sort of predicament.

The lights in the bar were either destroyed or damaged by the explosion, so it was quite dark and gloomy inside. Most of the bottles on display in the bar were leaking, creating a depressing atmosphere. "Such a waste," Johny thought, when he glanced at the bar. He was looking forward having a few drinks tonight. But it seems that his drinking luck, as well as his luck in general, has run out. And yet he needed to focus, though, asap.

The trio have been moving cautiously surrounding Johny from three angles. There was clearly no escaping the ER's range. He knew it. They knew it. And they knew that he knew. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Johny heard a shotgun shot and someone screaming, obviously the barman, "For my bar, bastards!" and simultaneously he saw the smallest of the trio being thrown to one of the tables by the shot's kinetic power. There was no blood, though. It seemed that he was wearing a light armour capable of holding small fire arms. Johny thought with a bit of delay that there was still some luck left for him after all...

The shot docker was clearly a bit disoriented and needed some time to recover. Armour or not , the shotgun at such short distance would inevitably take its toll. The other two dockers immediately returned fire and Johny understood what was off with the ERs. Instead of bullets, they fired some sort of plasma projectiles obliterating whatever was left of the bar. When Johny served, he only heard rumours of new rifles, but those never materialised during his time time of service. For the second time Johny knew that the barman had a secret hideout behind the bar and hoped, now for the second time, that the barman was OK.

Johny saw an opening, it was either now or never, the remaining or rather still standing "dockers" were distracted with the barman and Johny had to move fast. This was not the time to be a hero when he was alone, without armour, rifle or even a sidearm. So he jumped into the window and ran as fast as he could...Not a very heroic act, but most of the heroes he knew were now long dead. Besides, it wasn't cowardly running; it was a strategic retreat, he told himself. He needed to get his gear and find out why on Earth anyone would want him dead, by reaching out to his contacts in the army—assuming any of them were still alive and willing to talk. The whole encounter made no sense to him.

He heard sirens of the approaching police сars and ambulances. Even though it was not the richest district in town, such blatant disregard of law and order could not go unnoticed. Nobody liked bad publicity, especially corrupt politicians and lawmen, as this would call for public inquiries, investigations, scapegoats, and disruption of the status quo. This was bad for business. It was especially bad for bad business.

Johny ran for a bit and then started walking fast. Running for much longer would attract unwanted attention. And the police would stop him for questioning, which he would want to avoid. He then ordered an air taxi via his hand communicator to get him to his secret hideout, which was a few blocks away from his place and nobody knew about it. He also never used, so that it could not be ever traced back to him. Old habits die hard and he kept it just in case. Today was "this case". The place was rented through a corporation owned by another corporation and so on and so forth. The usual drill, which worked perfectly for a few hundred years now.

Time was of the essence. Johny realised that he needed to move fast. If someone went through the risk, trouble, and expense of hiring three mercenaries, tracking his favorite place down, learning his hobbies—well, his drinking hobbies, in all honesty—demolishing the poor bar, and injuring a few customers in the process, the odds that his small flat was not under constant drone surveillance were slim or, frankly, none.

He felt sorry for the bar; it was a good one. And Johny also thought that, whether he wanted it or not, he owed one to Andy—the barman. He stood no chance against three experienced mercenaries in these close quarters, where he was unarmed, deprived of his armour and gear. Andy's solo came just in time to give him this precious window of opportunity to escape the onslaught. Johny was grateful and he thought that one day he would repay his debt to Andy. He always paid his debts since he couldn't stand any unfinished business; as they say, there is nothing worse than unfinished business. And today's encounter seemed to be just that—some sort of unfinished business Johny remembered nothing about, but he needed to figure this out to stay alive. There were a few cocktails he hasn't tried yet, he thought with a grim smile. But something has changed in Johny, even though he didn't realize it himself. If an independent observer saw him now, he would notice that his eyes had focused, his face had hardened with resolve, and it was clear that Johny the Space Commando was back in business.