(This is the story text from the corresponding Radio Cataclysm podcast episode. If you prefer audio, you can subscribe here. Read and listen early on Patreon.)

In a small town on the blasted tip of old Kentucky, just across the border from the Eastern Hinterlands, Zeck Strauss threw a furtive look over his shoulder before ducking into the Blue Coal Tavern. He didn't hear the clip-clop of the horse drawn paddywagon two streets over, nor see the electric bloodhound leading two masked figures in his direction.

Zeck sidled up to the bar as only he could sidle. “Whiskey, neat, with a twist. One cherry, skin and stem only. Easy on the vermouth, pal.” The bartender nodded. Zeck surveyed the tavern. The air was thick with cigarette smoke. Most of it came from two young boys at a table in the corner. They were sharing one cigarette at a time between them, one boy coughing and hacking up phlegm while the other puffed like a dragon. Then they switched. When they got down to the filter, they'd light another one off the cherry and keep going.

In the opposite corner, an enormous hulk of a man drained beer after beer while his friend of average size studied a hand drawn map, yellowed with age and burnt at one corner. The man with the map pointed at a place of interest and whispered something to his gigantic partner. The giant grunted, nodded, and downed another beer. The waitress brought him another tray with six full glasses and exchanged them for his empties.

The only other patron of the Blue Coal Tavern was an old man in a wizard's cloak at the end of the bar. His drink was full, but most of the ice in it had melted. He was eating complimentary peanuts a few at a time and licking his fingers between each trip to the bowl.

The bartender set Zeck's whiskey on the bar and tweaked his mustache five times to indicate the price. No sooner had Zeck reached into his satchel for his wallet, though, than two Churlian Imperial Guards burst through the front door, guns drawn. The masks were in place on their helmets, complete with bulbous black eyes and sculpted chelicerae. One was a full head taller than the other. Both wore the bulky, mass-produced armor of the Empire's police force. Between them stood an electric bloodhound, its eyeless head turning to and fro as it sniffed the smoky air. “Freeze!” said the Guards, their voices mechanically amplified by the mouthpieces in their masks.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. The giant set down his ninth beer, only half empty. Like a magician doing sleight of hand, the other fellow rolled up the map and deftly stuck it up his sleeve. The boys in the corner set their cigarette, smoked nearly to the filter, in the ashtray. One of them looked equal parts relieved and nauseated. The ashtray was full of butts; they'd already smoked half the pack. The old man in the cloak dropped his peanuts back into the bowl.

The taller Guard holstered her gun and drew her scanner. “We are looking for two dangerous fugitives,” she said. “They may have altered their appearance. We have tracked them across half of Kentucky. Our hound has scented their vehicle, but they have likely masked their own scents and changed their faces. We will perform a multi-spectrum scan of all denizens of this tavern.”

“Up against the wall,” said the short Guard, motioning with his gun. “Non-compliance is an implication of guilt, and may result in immediate arrest or physical action taken against your person.” The two boys looked to the waitress, panic in their eyes. She nodded at them and gave a reassuring smile, then she and the bartender stood against the wall like prisoners waiting for the firing squad. The old man joined them. “You there,” the short Guard said to Zeck. “Leave the drink.” Zeck took a furtive sip and set the glass on the bar before taking his place in the line-up. The giant's head nearly scraped the ceiling when he stood. His friend only came up to his nipples. One of the boys had turned a pale green, and swayed a little on his feet, but he and the other youth took their place at the end of the line.

Once everybody was against the wall, the guard with the scanner went down the line one by one. He held the scanner up to the waitress's face. A light flashed, shining through her skin and reflecting off of her skull. The scanner chimed. The Guard moved on to the bartender. In the flash from the scanner, the bartender's titanium framework shone brightly through his silicone skin. The scanner chimed. Next were Zeck and the old man. Their skulls flashed normally and the scanner chimed, but the Guard paused for a moment before moving on from Zeck.

The Guard came to the beer drinking giant. When the scanner flashed this time, instead of a skull, the giant's true face showed through his false skin. The scanner buzzed angrily.

The short Guard with the gun fired upon the giant, spraying him with tiny spiders that wove a thick web across his body in the blink of an eye, pinning him to the wall. But the strength of the webbing was no match for the drunk strength and sheer mass of the brute, and he tore right through it with a growl and a mighty belch. The Guard pulled a lever on his gun and shot the giant with a debilitator. The half-dollar-sized spider landed on the giant's neck and immediately skittered over to his carotid artery, where it sank its fangs in. The giant swayed like a tree in a storm. He grabbed at the spider, but the venom worked swiftly. The giant collapsed onto the Guard who'd shot him, pinning him to the floor.

A number of things happened all at once then, so quickly and chaotically that Zeck was unable to extricate himself from the morass. The giant's map reading friend grabbed for the holster of the Guard who was still standing, but the Guard was faster by a hair. She drew her gun and blasted the outlaw with weavers. In seconds, the man was encased in silk from head to toe. His shrouded form fell to the floor with a thump. The excitement was too much for the young boy with nicotine sickness, and he barfed right onto the Guard's shoes. He and his friend soon found themselves plastered to the wall by spiderwebs, side by side.

The Guard was out of ammunition. Her short partner was still pinned underneath the giant, flailing his arms and struggling to free himself. The bartender and the waitress ran and sheltered behind the bar, leaving only Zeck and the old man in the wizard cloak standing in the open. The tall Guard pulled an eggsac out of her belt and started to load it into the gun, but it stuck to her glove, creating a brief moment of vulnerability. The old man seized the opportunity. He produced a staff from a fold in his robes. The gem on the end glowed with an otherworldly light. The mage raised his hand and, in a voice that Zeck expected to rumble with power but instead creaked like a rusty hinge, said, “Snake magic!” A garter snake appeared in the mage's hand. He seemed disappointed to see it, as if he'd expected a viper or a boa. He had no time to waste, though, so he threw the snake as hard as he could. It slapped gently against the Guard's chestplate and fell to the floor, where it immediately slithered away. “Well, shit,” was all the old man got out before the Guard shot him with weavers, binding him in silk.

“Bravo,” said Zeck, clapping for emphasis. “Well handled.” He walked backwards as he spoke, inching closer to the drink he'd left on the bar next to his satchel.

“Halt,” said the Guard. She aimed her gun at Zeck.

“Oh, I promise you, officer, I have no ill intentions. I merely require a stiff drink to calm my nerves after witnessing that display of bravery.” Before the Guard could object, Zeck picked up his drink and downed it in one gulp, cherry and all.

“Put the glass down. Slowly.”

“Of course, of course.” Zeck obeyed.

The Guard drew her scanner, holding it in her left hand even while she kept her gun trained on Zeck with her right. “Open your mouth. Why do you have so many dental caps? Remove one. That's an order. I need to scan your teeth.”

“Oh, that won't be necessary. Clearly, you have your men. The fellow who attempted to acquire your firearm is in league with the fugitive giant who your partner is currently restraining on the floor. Before you arrived, they were carousing and reading maps together, no doubt planning their escape from justice. Of course, they underestimated your speed and skill. The friendly bartender here can vouch for my innocence. I'm a mere bystander. I'm simply passing through town, and I stopped in for a tipple. Wrong place at the wrong time.”

The bartender stood up from his hiding place behind the bar. He looked at Zeck, looked at the empty glass on the bar, looked at the Guard. He opened his mouth, but instead of the friendly chime Zeck was expecting, the bartender let out a series of loud buzzes, followed by a short siren and five tugs of his mustache.

“I'm no thief!” Zeck said. “I was in the process of retrieving my wallet when these public servants interrupted us with a far more pressing matter. Now that their quarry is subdued, I'll gladly pay for the drink.” He pulled something from his satchel.

“Freeze!” the Guard shouted. She shot Zeck with a blast of weavers. The thick webbing pinned his arms to his sides. The Levin Deciball acoustic laser slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. The weavers continued their work, soon wrapping his legs together and covering his head like a hood. The world went dark and silent.

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