"Take it you're the sheriff?" said Augustine. He didn't turn around, just continued to sip his drink. 

'Cept for him, the sheriff and the sheriff's two goons, bar was empty. Barkeep had fled out the back at some point. 

"Oz said there was two of ya," said the sheriff, a big man in ill fitted body armor. A meaty hand rested on the grip of a holstered Galican Repeater. 

His pair of lackies, rebreather masks obscuring their faces, circled to either side of Augustine.

"Only me here. Oz was the barman? Little excitable, you ask me," said Augustine, turning around on the stool to face the sheriff, "Not sure what I done to warrant a visit from you fine gentlemen, though. Does the law take a dim view of day drinkin'?"

"Law takes a dim view of outsiders, pokin' their noses where they ain't invited."

"I see," said Augustine, finishing the rest of his drink. Four empty glasses lined the bar behind him, "Well good news then on that score- I have been invited to poke around where ever I like. Name's Augustine- retainer to House Kesselbrood, which I believe holds title to this here rock. They asked me to sniff out some rumors been goin' round about Dark Age artifacts bein' dug up, sold on the black market, that kinda thing."

What happened next happened real fast. The sheriff drew his gun along with his cronies. Augustine drew as well, faster despite all the booze, and shot down the man to the sheriff's right. Something chrome-colored flashed as it dropped from the bar's metal rafters. 

Ulysses smacked the gun out of the sheriff's hand and knocked the fat man on his back while breaking the arm of his remaining thug, who fired a few shots into the floor until the sim prostrated him as well.

Augustine stood up, mostly steady- but only mostly- and sauntered over to the sheriff, who was busy cradling a broken nose.

"My mistake- didn't think you all'd be fool enough to let the idiot barman in on the racket."

The was a loud [i]crack[/i] and a whiff of ozone. A las-bolt struck Ulysses in the chest and the sim stumbled backward. Augustine whipped around and fired.

Oz, the barkeep, dropped the rifle as the top part of his head painted the bottles lined neatly behind him. He sank to his knees as he died, disappearing behind the bar.

The sheriff and his remaining man each had scrambled for their guns in the momentary confusion. Neither was fast enough. Augustine shot them as they struggled to their feet.

"Shit," he hissed, striding over to where Ulysses now knelt, fluids dripping from the hole in its chest.

"How dull it is to pause, to make an end," said Ulysses, its optics sputtering.

"Sorry pal," said Augustine, kneeling next to the sim, "We had some times."

"Little remains," said Ulysses, "SYSTEM FAILURE CRITICAL."

"Till we meet again," said Augustine, reaching behind the sim's head. He pulled out the memory core and, with a blue electric flash, Ulysses crumpled.

The radio unit on the sheriff's corpse squawked, "Boss, we got a situation down here at the jail- "