Manhattan bar

[Kane]

Quite suddenly, the large doors to the bar were flung open. A flash of lightning from the storm outside lit the place in monochrome for a moment, creating this darkened profile of a robot. Said robot, now visibly different from the others with a metalic green coloration and a mouth flap giving the illusion of "real" speach, stood for a moment before storming inside the bar. Yes, storming. He had only one red eye, but it burned with such hate and loathing that one of the plants withered up and died on the spot. A long trail of muttered, colorful obsenaties followed him in that would have killed off an entire church full of nuns. Heck, one or two of them would even put the best cursers in the world to shame. One of the less vulger terms mentioned that Xeno's mothers never knew their fathers and their fathers did't even know they had kids. It was, admittedly, a bit hard to understand exactly what he said, because he kept swiching between english and german terms, sometimes swiching entirely into german.

The robot, people now guessing it was Kane, flung himself into a chair and Seethed. He managed to stop swearing and just sat there, as if willing the table an excuse for him to smash it. At last, he said, "Bartender! A 'Flaming Tomorrow', and step on it!"
The robot at the bar paused for a second, then gave the computer equivilent of a shrug and prepared the necissary concoction of vile substances. Several different types of poison, from beer, to ale, to vodka, to sake, and every other alchoholic beverage known to man, and some that aren't. All of this was stirred up and a real wooden match used to light the top in an impressive blue flame. This flaming drink was served, and Kane mearly stared into the dancing flames for a bit.

After a bit, he passed his hand over the top to put out the flame, then opened his "mouth" and downed about half into a chemical analyzer. After that, he just seemed to drift into his own world and took sips of the, now on fire again due to a strange auto-ignition property, concoction once in a while.

---

This is the real true story of rock and roll; it was not about anything more then, how to live your life, as a gangster, in sartorial splendor, and turning the world into a place where normality would never return again...- Malcolm McLaren