A Bar is the far reaches of the Galaxy -
Lobo sat at the bar, his size dwarfing the stool beneath him, he slammed his empty glass on the counter with enough force to crack the surface. "Another one, Johnny!" His voice boomed across the bar, drowning out the music. "And make it a double! The Main Man's got work to do, and I ain't doin' it sober!"
The bartender, a multi-armed creature with eyes that seemed to see in every direction scrambled to comply, filling the glass, sliding it across the counter with the desperate speed, he knew exactly what happened when Lobo didn't get what he wanted.
Lobo caught the glass without looking, his red eyes still sweeping across the room, cataloguing every face, every movement, every potential source of information. He had been searching for three days. Three days of dead ends, of useless information, of beings who couldn't tell the difference between a real lead and a hallucination. His patience was wearing thin, and when Lobo's patience wore thin, things tended to break.
He downed the drink in one gulp, the liquid burning a trail down his throat.
"Alright," he said, "Listen up, you fraggin' rejects. I'm looking for someone. A woman, dark hair, bad attitude, daughter of a certain cosmic tyrant who thinks he's the center of the universe." He paused, letting the words sink in, watching the reactions ripple through the crowd. "Anyone seen her? Anyone got a lead? Anyone want to keep their kneecaps intact and their internal organs on the inside where they belong?"
The bar fell silent.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Patrons averted their eyes, suddenly finding their drinks, their tables, the patterns in the wood grain fascinating beyond measure. A being in the corner, a tall, spindly creature with too many eyes began to inch toward the exit.
Lobo's hand moved to his gun. The being froze.
"I wouldn't," Lobo said, "I'm not done talkin' yet."
The being sat back down.
Lobo sighed. He reached for his glass, found it empty, and slammed it back on the counter.
"Useless," he muttered, his voice carrying across the silent bar. "All of you. Fraggin' useless. You'd think in a galaxy full of chatter and gossip and beings who can't keep their mouths shut, I'd find one.. ONE, who knows something useful."
He stood, his stool scraping against the floor with a sound like nails on a chalkboard. His boots were heavy against the metal. "I'm going to ask one more time," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "And then I'm going to start breakin' things. And when I say breakin' things, I don't mean tables and chairs. I mean things that scream. Things that bleed. Things that beg for mercy before I get bored and move on to the next one."
His hand moved to his belt, where his favorite guns rested in their holsters.
"Anyone know where Grail is? I know she was here."
The bartender's throat worked. His eyes darted around the room, searching for help that wasn't coming. He had served Lobo before. He knew what happened when the Main Man got impatient. He had seen the aftermath, the wreckage, the bodies, the hollow-eyed survivors who would never be the same.
"I... I heard something," he said, his voice a nervous burble that barely carried across the silence. "Someone. A woman matching that description. She was looking for something. A piece of technology, something from the old universe."
Lobo's eyes narrowed. His hand paused on his gun, but didn't leave it.
"Technology," he repeated, savoring the word. "What kind of technology?"
The bartender's voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid the walls themselves might be listening. "I don't know exactly. She was very careful. Very secretive. But I heard her asking about something that could pierce the veil between dimensions.. Something that could travel through the barriers that separate realities."
He paused, his eyes darting around the room.
"And I heard she was looking for someone who could get it for her. Someone who specializes in... rare items."
Lobo's grin returned, wide and dangerous. "Rare items you say..." he said slowly, letting the words roll off his tongue. "And who might that be?"
The bartender's face went pale, it was a remarkable feat for a being with green skin and three sets of eyes. "You know who. The Collector. The one who trades in things that shouldn't exist. The one who deals with beings that don't have names, that don't have boundaries."
Lobo's laugh was a roar that shook the room, that rattled the glasses on the shelves, that sent several patrons scrambling for cover.
"The Collector!" He slammed his hand on the counter, the impact sending cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. "That fraggin' magpie! Of course! He's got his hands in everything, doesn't he? Always sniffin' around the edges of the universe, lookin' for the next shiny object to add to his hoard."
He turned to leave, his boots heavy against the floor, his laughter still echoing behind him.
Then he paused, turning back to the bartender with a grin that showed too many teeth.
"Johnny," he said, "Thanks for the tip. You've been... useful. I'll make sure to remember that."
The bartender's face went even paler, if that was possible. "You're... you're not going to break anything?"
Lobo's grin widened.
"I didn't say that," he said. "But I'll try to keep it to things that deserve it."
He walked out of the bar, his laughter echoing behind him.
.
.
.
.
The Collector's Den - Somewhere in the Galaxy
The ship was a floating junkyard.
It drifted through the void, its hull patched with scrap metal. Lights flickered along its surface, casting shadows that danced across the debris of a what seems like an old civilization. It was the kind of place where beings came to trade in secrets, in stolen goods, in things that had no business existing.
Lobo's bike roared to a stop at the entrance, its engines growling with barely contained power. He dismounted, his boots echoing against the metal platform, his eyes scanning the darkness.
"The Collector!" he shouted, his voice carrying across the void. "I know you're in there! Come out, you fraggin' pack rat! The Main Man's got questions, and you're gonna answer 'em!"
Silence stretched across the platform.
Then a voice emerged from the shadows. A being who had seen too much and survived too long to be easily intimidated.
"Lobo." A pause. "What a... surprise."
A figure stepped into the light.
The Collector was small, barely five feet tall with eyes that seemed to see everything. His robes had once been elegant, but now they hung on his frame like rags, their colors faded by time and neglect. His hands were adorned with rings, one of the rings was a dead yellow power ring.
Lobo's grin was sharp, predatory. "You know why I'm here, Collector. Don't play dumb with me. It's a bad look on you."
The Collector's smile wavered, just slightly. "I... I may have an idea."
"Good." Lobo stepped closer, his boots echoing against the metal floor. "Then you know what I'm going to ask. And you know that I ain't leavin' until I get an answer."
The Collector's throat worked. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape that didn't exist. He had dealt with Lobo before.
"The woman," he said, his voice carrying a note of desperate conciliation. "The one you're looking for. She came to me, she was looking for a piece of technology. Something from the anti-matter universe." He paused. "So she could pierce the veil between dimensions."
Lobo's eyes narrowed. His hand moved to his gun. "And did you give it to her?"
The Collector's silence was answer enough.
Lobo laughed. "You did! You fraggin' gave it to her!" He shook his head, his grin widening. "You know who she is, right? Who she's working for? Who her father is?"
The Collector's face went pale. "I... know. But you know me, I always think that they are just another customer. Another being looking for something rare and dangerous."
Lobo's laugh grew louder, "Another customer! Ha! That's rich! You've been in this business long enough to know that there's no such thing as 'just another customer' when they're askin' for dimensional tech!"
He stepped closer, looming over the smaller being.
"Alright, Collector. Here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell me where she went. Where she was headin' next. And then I'm going to go find her, and you're going to pray that she doesn't find out you talked."
The Collector's eyes darted around the room, searching for escape, for leverage. "I can't. I tell you, she kills me, I don't tell you, you kill me, you understand my current situation right?"
Lobo's hand moved to his gun.
"I'll pay you better to talk," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "I'll pay you in continued existence. In the ability to breathe. In the privilege of seein' another sunrise."
/-\
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