At a quite bar late at night, only a few tired customers sat at their tables, slowly drinking what was left in their glasses. The lights were dim, the air smelled like smoke, sweat, and old alcohol. In the middle of the room, a blonde woman lay across the counter, not moving much.
Her name was Launch.
Her messy blonde hair was spread everywhere. Her cheek was pressed against the wooden bar, and her eyes stared forward, empty and unfocused. Her clothes were dirty and wrinkled. A wine bottle lay near her arm, half-finished.
She was completely drunk.
A woman behind the counter walked over. She wore a work apron and looked both tired and annoyed.
"Launch, we're about to close," the barmaid said, gently tapping her shoulder. "Time to get out of here."
Launch didn't answer. Her eyes twitched slightly. Her fingers moved, slow and clumsy, like her brain was still catching up with her body. Then, without lifting her head, her hand reached into her coat pocket.
Click.
A cold sound echoed through the quiet bar.
The barmaid's eyes widened. She froze.
Launch had pulled out a gun. She didn't even lift her head, but the barrel of the gun was already aimed straight at the barmaid's face. Perfect aim, even though her body still lay limp across the counter.
"Get lost," Launch mumbled. Her voice was lazy and slow, but there was something serious behind it.
The barmaid didn't flinch in fear. Instead, her hands started shaking—but not from being scared.
She was angry.
She slammed her fist on the counter so hard that some nearby bottles shook.
"You dirty drunk!" she shouted. "This is why no one lets you in anymore! I took pity on you. I gave you a place to drink when nobody else would—and this is how you treat me?!"
Launch didn't move.
"You haven't fired that thing in years!" the barmaid went on, now red with rage. "You're not scary anymore! You're just a broken thief with a broken life."
She stepped back and kicked the barstool Launch had been sitting on.
The stool tipped. Launch, still drunk and soaked in wine, tumbled to the floor with a loud thud.
Then—
Crash!
Bottles that had been stacked above the bar started falling from the shelves. The vibrations from the kick must have knocked them loose. One by one, they hit the ground and shattered.
Red wine splashed across the floor. Glass scattered everywhere.
Some bottles hit right in front of Launch, spraying her with wine and sharp pieces of glass. Her clothes were soaked. Her hair was dripping. The smell of alcohol stuck to her skin like a curse.
For a long second, she didn't move.
Then her hand tightened around the gun.
Clench.
The cold splash of wine had woken her up. Her body tensed. Her blue eyes were now clear and sharp.
She looked at the barmaid. Really looked at her.
And for just a moment, the barmaid froze again.
That glare… it reminded her of the past. The Launch from years ago. The most dangerous criminal in West City. The one who never missed a shot.
But nothing happened.
Launch let out a long breath and lowered the gun. Slowly, she put it back in her coat pocket.
She didn't say anything. She just stood up, legs shaking slightly, and began to walk toward the door.
People in the bar were watching now. Everyone had seen what just happened. And now, they started whispering.
"She didn't fire."
"She's not the same Launch anymore."
"She used to be scary. Now she's just a drunk."
Launch heard every word. Each sentence felt like a small punch to the gut.
But she didn't look back. She couldn't. Her clothes were wet, her hair was a mess, and her pride had taken enough damage for one night.
She just wanted to leave.
She pushed past the barmaid and took a step forward—
Then slipped.
Bang!
She hit the ground again, face-first this time. Her hands slammed into the floor. The whole room went quiet.
And then—laughter.
It started as a few chuckles, then grew into full-out laughter from every corner of the bar. People couldn't stop themselves. The sight was too ridiculous. The once-feared outlaw, now falling flat on her face.
Launch didn't move. Her face burned. She wanted to cry, scream, or just disappear.
Then—
Step. Step.
She heard footsteps coming closer.
Someone was walking toward her.
She stayed on the floor, not wanting to see who it was. She assumed it was just someone else who wanted to laugh at her like everyone else.
But then something caught her attention.
The shoes.
Her eyes focused. Those boots looked familiar. Really familiar.
"I've seen those before..." she whispered to herself.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
And then she saw him.
Her eyes widened. Her heart stopped.
Her drunkenness vanished instantly.
"T-Tien?!" she cried, her voice full of shock. "Is that really you?!"
She pushed herself up from the floor and stood, wobbling slightly. She quickly tried to fix her hair, tying it back with a red ribbon, trying to look even a little less like a mess.
Tien stood still, his arms crossed. He looked surprised too.
"Launch?" he said. "I sensed a familiar energy. I came to see what it was... So it was your Ki."
He said it like he had expected something, but not her.
Launch scratched her cheek, unsure what to say. Part of her wanted to yell at him—for leaving, for disappearing, for not saying anything for two whole years.
But not now.
Not like this.
"C-can we talk outside?" she asked quietly.
Tien frowned. "Why not here?"
Launch looked away, her face red. "Please."
He paused, then nodded.
"Alright."
Launch walked toward the door, moving fast this time. She didn't want to give the people inside any more chances to laugh at her.
Tien followed behind, silent.
But before stepping out, he glanced at a small customer sitting at the bar.
The short figure wore a cloak and didn't look up, but raised a hand and gave Tien a thumbs-up.
Tien smirked.
"Good job, Chiaotzu," he said under his breath.
Then he followed Launch outside.
The bar settled down. People went back to their drinks and gossip.
Meanwhile, Chiaotzu sat quietly, still sipping from his glass. He made a face right after.
"Alcohol tastes awful," he muttered. "Why do people even drink this?"
He looked around, then smiled mischievously.
With a flick of his finger, another set of bottles rolled off the shelves and smashed onto the ground.
The barmaid let out a groan of pure frustration.
"Why?!"
Chiaotzu just sipped again, pleased.
Then, with one more wave of his hand, the barmaid tripped and fell right into the spilled wine and glass.
The bar roared with laughter again.
Chiaotzu got up and walked quietly toward the exit.
"This is actually kinda fun," he said with a smirk. "Is this what Tien meant when he told me to mess with Launch?"
He thought for a moment.
"No. I think he just wanted her to feel embarrassed... so he could save her at the right time."
"That's dirty, Tien. Real dirty. Using our old master Shen's tricks again, huh?"
But he didn't sound angry.
He sounded proud.
Chiaotzu walked out of the bar, his cloak fluttering behind him.
He didn't know why Tien suddenly wanted to see Launch again. Or why now, after two long years.
But he didn't ask questions.
Because they were friends.
And dirty—or not—they always had each other's back.
Advanced chapters ahead on patréon
www.patréon.com/ImagineMaker