Vanguard Six

Chapter 1 - The Conflict

The ancient TV above the bar flickered, its harsh blue light cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke. On the screen, stern-faced anchors spoke of escalating tensions between Bayyara and Tahirah. Their words were carefully chosen, the true nature of the conflict obscured behind a veil of diplomatic language and vague allusions.

Captain Jackson Hayes sat at the bar, his sharp eagle's beak reflecting the blue glow of the TV. His dark brown feathers, usually sleek, were ruffled and unkempt. A faint scar below his right eye caught the light as he tilted his head, talons wrapped around a glass of amber liquid. The feathers on his broad shoulders bristled slightly as he listened to the news, his golden eyes narrowing.

The old goat behind the bar, his fur patchy and gray, polished a glass with a rag that had seen better days. His hooved hands trembled slightly as he set the glass down, eyes fixed on the screen. "Things are getting worse out there, aren't they?" he bleated, his voice cracking.

Jackson's beak parted in what might have been a smile, revealing a flash of sharp teeth. "The world's always changing," he said, his voice a low rasp that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken experiences. He took a sip of his drink, savoring the burn. "But don't worry. It'll all work out in the end."

The bartender's eyes widened slightly at Jackson's casual tone. "You sound... confident," he said, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Jackson shrugged, his wings rustling beneath his worn leather jacket. "Someone's got to be," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His talons clinked against the glass as he set it down, pushing it towards the bartender for a refill.

"They'll get what's coming to them, y'know," he said, almost to himself. His voice was a rasp, full of spite. "One day, Bayyara will be tried for all they've done to Tahirah. Karma's got a way of catching up."

The door to the bar creaked open, letting in a gust of hot, dusty air. A slender figure stepped in, her movements graceful despite the oppressive heat. Alice Pendleton's large, golden owl eyes scanned the dim interior before landing on Jackson. Her feathers, a mix of mottled brown and white, seemed to shimmer as she approached.

"There you are," she said, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and fondness. "Thought I might find you here."

Jackson turned, his beak curving into a lazy grin. "Alice," he drawled, spreading his wings slightly in a mock bow. "Come to join me for a drink?"

Alice's eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of amusement in them. "You know we don't have time for that. We're needed elsewhere."

The bartender watched their interaction with curiosity, his hooves nervously polishing another glass. "You two... you're not from around here, are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jackson's grin widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "What gave it away?" he asked, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of something unidentifiable. "Our charming personalities?"

Alice shot him a warning look before turning to the bartender. "We're just passing through," she said softly. "Nothing to worry about."

The bartender nodded quickly, his eyes darting between them and the TV. On the screen, footage of diplomats shaking hands played, their smiles tight and forced.

Jackson stood, his wings stretching out for a moment before folding neatly against his back. He tossed a few crumpled bills on the bar, more than enough to cover his tab. "Keep the change," he said, his voice carrying a hint of magnanimity that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill from a fellow Falcian."