Around the rest of the room, in the booths, couples and small groups pay attention to each others conversation. Alone at a table near the bar, a young black woman, dressed in surplus overalls, a student, pays attention to the colour of the beer she's drinking. She has a cheap light bridge under the skin of her left temple, for cramming at college. At a long table near the door seven trainee programmers, from an office across the road, are telling jokes and having a peanut fight. A misthrown peanut sails up and rattles around in one of the chromed overhead light fittings.
Somebody blinks twice.
The pigs charge in. A human detective follows behind. As she moves to the bar, the pigs charge around, knocking stools from under the seated, knocking down those who try to get up, clever snouts locating and pulling out weapons, leaving the patrons of the bar terrorised and disarmed. The peanut from the light fitting lands on a pig. A low penetration ceramic round vaporises the offending piece of ceiling furniture.