The clock at the pub struck at five o'clock. Just like the surrounding Patron Syndicates and the customer that was minding their own business at the pub, the poised old bartender had his body sweating and nervous with the scenic view of all four Mediators filling one of the pub's tables.
Likewise, many of them put on an awkward expression as the scene unfolds.
"Have I gone senile? Are these hallucinations?" whispered the bartender to himself.
"H-hey," one of them pestered their shocked partner, whispering, "Why does everyone look so stiff??"
"You don't know about the Mediators of the Hunter Gathering!?" muttered that companion with disbelief. "These are high profiled people of this Lowstreet, I heard that one of them could take down an entire Syndicate if they wanted to."
Let alone taking down an entire Syndicate, we were just a poor and humble community service worker that symbolized the concept of peace in the most hostile type of environment on earth.
