The Stag

The rhythmic whir of the industrial fan above is the only sound breaking the pre-dawn silence of The Stag. Sunlight, still shy behind the city's skyscrapers, casts long, distorted shadows through the reinforced glass doors of the bar. You stand behind the gleaming steel counter, running a clean cloth over its surface, the faint scent of last night's revelry clinging to the air.

The city outside is just beginning to stir, but within these walls, a different kind of life is lived. Footsteps echo from the floors above – Sal, ever the early riser, probably making his way to the kitchen. A low rumble, almost imperceptible, vibrates through the floorboards; Rod, likely shifted in your penthouse, finding comfort in your presence.

You pause, the cloth still in hand, a familiar sense of peace settling over you. This place, these people… they are yours. And you will do anything to keep them safe.