A Wretched Hive of Paperwork and Diplomacy

Krag's shields began to hiss, nearly burned out by the barrage of rounds that had been lain into him. Just as he began to regain his lost footing, the familiar buzz of an automatic door grabbed the Krogan's attention. He spun around just as the door slid aside, reaching into the belt of his armor and drawing the long knife he'd been able to get through security.

A bouncer, one of the many armored Krogan from outside, charged right in. His eyes nearly popped from his skull when he realized who Krag was. He tried to move his shotgun into position to fire, but it was far too late. Grabbing the butt of the weapon, Krag forced the weapon to the side and sun his knife in with a left hook. The glinting edge of the blade skated across the bouncers throat, carving through his tough hide without resistance. Blood fountained across the floor and the right-side of Krag's body, spurting across the walls as the Warlord spun him around and forcefully raised the shotgun in the bouncer's hand.

The patrons of the bar screamed, leaping from the seats and running straight for the door. Two more bouncers, who had just managed to emerge from the sea of scrambling civilians, stopped in shock when they saw their dying friend in the arms of Krag. That split second pause was all the Warlord needed. A thunderous boom shook the room and one of the bouncers flew backward, his chest exploding into a flurry of armor shards and orange blood. Knowing that his shields didn't stand a chance at such close range, the other bouncer quickly dove over the bar in the middle of the room.

Things were going exactly as Krag had wanted them to.