S1, 01 Character Intro - Clint Angels (August 18, 2018)

The walls of Xio's Saloon were bland. There weren't many windows, either. However, inside the gray-walled, neon sign-advertised bar, it was as lively as any other similar establishment on Qoter. A lively crowd stood around the largest gambling table, near the bar. There, three men played a battle of wits: on the left and right, two alien gangsters with money to spend, and in the center, a fancy, gunslinging smuggler named Clint Angels.

Around the three stood bystanders, who placed bets amongst themselves as to who would win. The biggest bet, however, was placed by the three gamblers: blasters, jewels, and straight credits. They silently looked at their cards, taking hits and shuffling their hands. Clint needed money; he had people he needed to pay back and just plain greed. To be a good smuggler, he had to have a safe amount of greed.

"Are you two going to keep trying to help your situation, or can we lay our cards down and see who gets the prize?" asked Clint.

The left gangster hissed, but the right gangster smirked. "I'll agree with you." he placed his cards down on the table, smiling. "Try to match that."

A loud noise came from the bystanders. Some of anger, some of shock. The game had heated up.

The left gangster laid down his cards. A terrible hand, easily last place. The right gangster snickered. "Go ahead, Clint, lay down your hand."

Clint slowly laid down his cards. The crowd shuffled in closer to get a better look. After a few seconds of looking, it was almost unanimous. Clint had the best hand, making him the winner.

All the bystanders made cheers, jeers, and hollers. Clint's fans patted him on the back, nearly yelling in his ear. The sound was almost deafening in Clint's ears, yet he still smirked. He had made a fortune.

Yet there were still hecklers. His opponents shouted "Cheater!" or "Scumbag!" but words couldn't hurt Clint. He was a rich man. Richer than he was already, which he showed off in his "classy" wardrobe.

Standing away from the crowd, a man drank a glass of whiskey as he spectated the game. He snugged his cloak to his left side. He smiled. That was Clint Angels all right. He lifted his wrist to his mouth and spoke into his communicator to his squad member on the other side.

"It's Clint. He just won a game of poker. We've got him." he whispered.

"Great job, Sparks," said the woman on the other side, "we'll get in there as soon as possible."

Sparks set his glass down on the bar table. He set his left hand on his pistol, which was currently holstered. But not for long.

The front door of the Saloon opened, and four Imperium operatives burst in, all carrying blasters. Sparks drew his pistol.

The bar turned from a loud frenzy to a panic. Many of the bystanders were criminals and didn't want to be arrested. However, the Imperium agents weren't after anyone else: they were after Clint Angels.

The lead agent, wearing black body armor, spoke up. "Where's Clint Angels? He's under arrest!" However, his cry was too late.

Clint had bolted out the door, taking his winnings with him. He had shoved other people aside, knocking over a man beside him, leaving him unconscious. The crowd turned their heads to where Clint had bolted. He had sped off to the landing pad, where his Z-13 Galaxy Hunter was parked. If he got away, the agents would've failed their mission and their chase of Clint would continue.

Sparks jumped on the table. "Anyone who catches Angels gets to keep his winnings!"

Crowd members grabbed any weapon they could and chased after Clint. The agents stood back in shock and anger.

"Sorry, Sergeant Cliff," Sparks sighed.

"Nice going, kid. Everybody move out! After Angels!" Sergeant Cliff ordered.

Clint ran towards his Z-13 Galaxy Hunter in the midst of the night. Blaster bolts fired around him, but he had no time to look back. He pushed a button on the keys of his fighter, opening the cockpit. He fired his pistol behind him, hoping he would hit someone.

Clint panted and turned around, firing his blaster. He shot at a greedy mob only wanting him for his winnings. His mind was cluttered, and thought of nothing but to shoot for his life. The calm, cool Clint Angels had seemingly disappeared: he was scared, and all his strength was just focused on standing up and firing his pistol.

Clint's life flashed before him as a single tear fell from his eye. He was only 27. He was a young guy and would have no time to redeem himself! He couldn't redeem himself from the dirty deeds a smuggler commits. A smuggler had no sense of honor, and neither did Clint Angels.

His legs shook. A blaster bolt whizzed across his ear and slightly grazed it. Still enough to hurt, however. Hurt bad.

Clint fell down on his knees as he shrieked in pain. Where had calm, cool Cliff Angels gone?

That Clint Angels returned when he had another rush of adrenaline, and fought from his knees.

Suddenly, some bat-like alien jumped him from the dark. His pistol was knocked from his hand as the alien clawed at Clint's face. Clint fought back with all the might he had left, but very few gas was left in the tank. Soon, there would be no calm, cool Clint Angels. Or the scared, hopeless Clint Angels.

"Stop! Clint Angels, you're under arrest!" shouted Sergeant Cliff.

Clint felt a stinging pain in his side. As he determined whether it was a stun or a regular blaster bolt, everything went black.

Hope you all enjoyed my character intro!