****(POV)
In a relatively cheap-looking bar, many patrons could be seen enjoying themselves. There was one man at the counter that was apparently trying to kill himself from alcohol poisoning. Sadly Brad was a Climber, so he was bound to fail.
Life was shit, wasn't it? Yes, it was. He felt like his life was akin to his glass: empty and pitiful. "Barman, another one! The strong kind meant for Climbers!" Tonight he would let loose.
The lanky, handsome man on the other side was about to comply when he received a call. The more he listened, and the darker his expression became. After hanging up, he turned toward Brad: "I'll ask you to leave. We don't want your kind here."
"Is that so? I'll ask you to shut your trap and keep pouring. I'm in a bad mood today." His kind? What did that even mean?
"How is your bad mood my problem? Get out and—" the barman was interrupted.
"You can get out. You're fired." A deep voice resounded.
