Damian pushed open the door to the Iron Barrel pub, and the music immediately washed over him.
Some ancient rock song was playing from speakers mounted in the corners, the bass thumping rhythmically, completely at odds with the carnage he'd just committed outside.
The main room of the pub was surprisingly crowded despite the late hour and terrible weather.
Criminals, lowlifes, dealers, enforcers from various small-time operations all drinking, smoking, playing cards, conducting business.
The kind of people who thrived in the grey areas of society where laws were suggestions and violence was currency.
Damian's entrance didn't immediately draw attention.
He was just another blood-soaked figure walking into a criminal establishment. Not exactly unusual in the Outer Region.
But then someone actually looked at him properly.
