As Alexander walks into the bar, he can't help but notice people glance over at him. Or, rather, the scar spider-webbing down his arm and across his cheek. As usual, he shrugs it off and takes a seat at the bar. "What'll it be?" the bartender asks him after an awkward silence in which he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Alex's scar.
"Just some water, please," he replies.
The bartender nods and turns around, getting Alex's drink. Glancing up at the television, he sees the news report about the bodies. Although he only recently graduated from the academy, he's already been to a few of those calls. The only reason he's at the bar is because it's his day off and he doesn't have anything better to do. He still shudders at the memory of those poor people, torn apart by the roaming psychopath. One of these days, he'll get his, he thinks, taking a sip from his water. Even now, after what he's seen in his short time as a cop, he refuses to start drinking. There are better alternatives to get his mind off of it. He looks at the man down on the other end. Hope he doesn't plan on driving, he thinks, watching the man slump over the counter.
Turning his attention back toward the television, he starts thinking about his teenage years, all the fights, which seem so far away now. The scar over his left eye seems to throb as he remembers the fight that lead to him changing his life. And then what he saw after almost dying. Smiling, he says a silent thank you, both to the man and whoever sent him that vision, as he finishes his water and asks for another.