Utterly Mad

Loach sends the junk on the table flying all over the floor, bongs, needles, and discarded patches scatter and crash onto the carpet. The janitor sighs as he walks over to the new mess to sweep it up.

Both of you turn to face the irritated group. You see a augmented African man that stands at about six feet, his right arm has been replaced with chrome cybernetics that gleam in the light, his eyes have been modified with some form of UI as you see small strings of yellow text scan across the inside of his eye. Behind him are three lowly grunts in junk armor made from tires and left over UN gear from a policing action many, many decades ago.

The owner of the establishment is unarmed, while his grunts are equipped with 3D-Printed AKs.

"Oh nice. Another set of retards that immediately run for cover once they see a few men standing around with AKs. You dumbasses know that we're allowed to have these right?", he applies his palm to his face in an irritated manner. "Listen if you came here expecting a fight I'm sorry to leave you disappointed, between the usual shit I have to scrap off the floors here-" The janitor interrupts him, "I think you mean the shit I have to scrape off the floors." His boss stops and stares at the lowly employee for a full second. He continues.

"Along with these kids thinking they're freedom fighters because they have a gun and a rag tied around their wrists. We're pretty stretched thin as it is. Just ask what you need to ask, fix my table, and then get the fuck out of my club." You notice that his grunts are moving towards his sides, their guns still aimed at the ground.