A Bar Fight

A Drink and a Fight

Brendon stepped into Paradise Bar, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. It was still early in the evening, so the place wasn't crowded yet—just a few scattered patrons drinking in silence or engaged in hushed conversations. The scent of aged wood, alcohol, and faint traces of cigarette smoke filled the air.

Brendon walked up to the bar counter and took a seat on one of the stools. The bartender, a young woman, turned to him with a polite but neutral expression. She was an interesting sight—her body had the graceful structure of a deer, but Brendon's keen eyes caught the subtle texture of chameleon-like scales under her fur. It was a detail that most people would probably miss, but not Brendon.

"What'll it be?" she asked in a calm voice.

"Whiskey. Neat," Brendon replied, resting his arms on the counter.

As the bartender poured his drink, Brendon was about to ask her something when a drunken man slumped into the seat beside him. The man was a human, his breath reeking of alcohol as he swayed slightly in place. He raised a hand, signaling the bartender.

"Another beer," he slurred.

The bartender hesitated. "Ah... Sir, sorry, but you shouldn't drink anymore. You're already quite drunk. If you keep going, it'll affect you."

The drunkard's expression twisted with irritation. "Hey! You bi*ch," he spat, his voice growing louder. "Do you think it's easy being a manual worker, huh? My wife left me... my son left me... the only thing I have is this beer. It understands me, never judges me. And you… you're trying to take it away?" His bloodshot eyes darkened with rage. "You c*nt... I'm gonna kill you—"

Before he could lunge at the bartender, Brendon's paw-like hand clamped down on the man's wrist, stopping his arm midair.

The drunkard blinked in surprise. "Wha... what do you think you're doing, lousy wolf?"

Brendon's grip tightened, bending the man's arm behind his back. Then, without hesitation, he slammed his face into the counter. The impact was loud, making the glasses rattle.

"If I were you," Brendon said in a low, firm tone, "I'd be more respectful."

The drunkard groaned, his nose bleeding slightly, but instead of backing down, he snarled and pushed Brendon back with surprising strength.

Brendon took a step back, adjusting his stance as the bar fight began.

The drunkard grabbed bottles and chairs, throwing them at Brendon in a clumsy but aggressive assault. Brendon dodged effortlessly, letting a beer bottle smash behind him as he analyzed his opponent's movements. The man was strong but sloppy, his drunken state making him unpredictable.

Waiting for an opening, Brendon finally saw his chance. As the man swung wildly, Brendon stepped in and disarmed him with a quick twist of the wrist, making him stumble backward.

Realizing he was outmatched, the drunkard spat at the ground. "Damn bastard..." he muttered, before stumbling out of the bar, cursing under his breath.

---

A Manager's Wrath

Before Brendon could relax, a furious voice echoed from the back of the bar.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

A short, heavyset man stormed toward them—clearly the manager. His furrowed brows and flaring nostrils made it clear that he wasn't happy.

"You idiots just wrecked my bar!" he barked, glaring at both Brendon and the bartender. "You know how much this damage is gonna cost me?! You just had to piss off a customer, huh?"

Brendon sighed, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out his Sheriff's badge, flashing it in front of the manager's face.

The manager's anger instantly melted into fear. "O-Oh… You're, uh… an officer?"

"Sheriff," Brendon corrected. "Now, I have a few questions for you."

The manager swallowed hard, his tone turning nervous. "Y-Yeah, sure. Anything you need, sir."

"I'm investigating the disappearances happening in this town. Do you know anything about it?"

The manager shook his head quickly. "No, no! I don't know anything. I swear. We just run the bar, that's all."

Brendon studied him for a moment before sighing. "Fine." He pulled out some cash—the competition money he had won earlier—and placed it on the counter.

"Take this. It should cover the damages," Brendon said. "I think."

The manager quickly snatched up the money, nodding. "Yeah, yeah, this'll do."

As Brendon turned to leave, a voice called out behind him.

"Hey, Mr. Wolf."

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. The bartender—the deer-chameleon hybrid—was looking at him with a thoughtful expression.

"Let me tag along," she said.

Brendon raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, miss. I didn't catch that. Why would you want to tag along?"

She folded her arms. "Two reasons. One—I wanna thank you for your help back there. Two—I overheard you talking to the manager. I might be able to help."

Brendon's eyes sharpened with interest. "So, you do know something?"

The bartender nodded. "Yeah. But if you want the full story, you'll have to come to my house. It's better to talk there. Plus…" She hesitated before adding, "You look like you're broke. If you stay with me and my mom, you won't have to sleep on the streets tonight."

Brendon frowned. He hated taking favors, especially from strangers, but… she had a point. His funds were dangerously low after covering the damages.

"…Alright," he finally said.

The bartender smiled. "Great. Name's Zoe, by the way."

Brendon sighed. "Brendon."

---

A Home with Secrets

Zoe's home was modest but warm. It was located in a quiet neighborhood, a small but well-kept house that seemed to radiate comfort. Inside, the scent of home-cooked food filled the air.

An older anthro deer woman stood in the kitchen, turning toward them as they entered. She had soft eyes but carried herself with a quiet strength.

"Mom," Zoe called, "we have a guest."

The woman's gaze shifted to Brendon, assessing him carefully before giving a polite nod. "Welcome. I'm Marina."

Brendon gave a short nod. "Thanks for having me."

Dinner was served, and as they ate, Zoe told her mother about the bar fight. Marina chuckled, shaking her head.

"You always find yourself in trouble," Marina teased her daughter. "But at least you made a friend this time."

Brendon almost corrected her that they weren't friends, but he let it slide.

Then, Zoe got serious.

"Mom… Brendon might be able to help us find Carlos."

Brendon glanced up from his meal. "Carlos?"

Zoe nodded. "My younger brother. He disappeared two years ago. He was only 18 at the time."

Brendon set his fork down. "I see."

Zoe met his gaze. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Now that I've quit my job, I have all day to explain."

Brendon sighed. "Alright."

After dinner, Zoe showed him to the guest room.

Brendon sat on the bed, pulling out his phone.

A message from Robert had arrived.

> Robert:

"Here's what we found so far on Amelia's case…"

Robert had attached all the key findings—the lack of clues, Amelia's controlling father, and how Victor was put in charge of analyzing her belongings.

Then another message popped up.

> Robert:

"Brendon, I think that George dude has something to do with Amelia's disappearance. I got a gut feeling about it."

Brendon sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Of course it had to be him."

Looks like tomorrow was going to be a busy day.