Harlo Gamtcha walked through the bat winged doors of the Dented Spittoon saloon, letting them flutter behind him until they came to a stop. He looked from side-to-side, scanning the faces of the patrons, memorizing every detail, every cleft chin, scar, patched eye and synthetic limb. He starred many of them down as they did the same, letting his eyes glow a bright red as a warning to anybody that starred at him for too long.

Harlo could imagine them laughing on the inside, and even spotted a few starting to smile at the sight of his leathery vest with the daisy embroidered on the chest pocket and his ten gallon hat trimmed with pink fuzz. But their snickers and grins disappeared when their gazes fell upon the particle de-stabalizer dangling from his left hip and their hearts jumped at the site of his right hand hovering just over the handle, his rusty metallic fingers ready to draw the weapon from its holster at a moments notice.

“We don’t serve your kind here.” The bartender said as he mopped down the counter top with a discolored dish rag. “Leave.” He yelled, his bar handle mustache dancing in the breeze that was blowing in through the bat winged doors.

“Whisky,” the android muttered, its glowing red pupils focusing on the bartender.

“I said out, you malfunctioning tin bucket!” The bartender grabbed a shotgun as he threw down his dish rag and spun out from behind the bar and pointed it at the android.

“And leave the bottle.” The android said plainly, as if he hadn’t heard the bartender.

The bartender pumped the shotgun.

As if noticing him for the first time, the android raised his right arm, and grabbed the shotgun from out of the hands of the bartender. As the bartender stood there stunned, the android untied his black bow-tie from around his neck, grabbing each end with his oddly long metal fingers, and pulled him close.

“You call this service?” The android whispered into the bartenders ear and then let go of his bow-tie. “Drinks are on the house,” he turned and shouted to the other patrons of the bar.

“Now, listen here Mr.-” the bartender started to say before the android turned around and slapped him without saying a word.

“I don’t take that kind of abuse from anybody, not even my wife, you hear.” The bartender continued, doing his best to choke back his tears. “I don’t care if that wiring in your head has gone haywire. You come in here and disrespect me, the bar, my bow-tie, that just won’t stand. Now, take what ye want and get the hell out.”

“I won’t a drink.” The android answered back, causing several of the other patrons to laugh, since he had no mouth to drink it with.

I always wanted to do a story about some android or robot living on a backwards planet, that has gone haywire and has some how gotten a hold of a dangerous weapon. Since nobody can kill this android – or maybe they just don’t want to try for fear of their own lives – the android takes over the town and starts making crazy demands. Maybe I’ll continue this one later down the line, but for now it is what it is – creative, funny, maybe a little over the top, but…whatever.