Evelyn had hardly been gone for long, Clayton still wore that stupid smug grin that she had left him with, feeling quite pleased and proud of himself. 
It may have been because of this preoccupation that he didn’t hear the commotion going on outside.

The landing and unloading of a transport spacecraft. The marching of heavy boots surrounding the buildings perimeter. The arming, loading and locking of high tech weaponry. The small group of privately own soldiers huddling at the main doors.

It could have been his preoccupation with Evelyn, or it could have simply been their elite expert training, purposed tactical gear and years of field experience. 

Since Dorian, the tavern owner’s, disappearance, the ‘magic’ of the old building had seemingly been fading. Repairs were required more often and to their dismay, staff found themselves required to clean more frequently. 
Less kind hearted, adventure yearning, refuge seeking patrons magically happened upon the building, while those seeking it for less than savoury purposes, were actually managing to find it.
These were some of those people.

Clayton wasn’t the sort to put his faith in hope. He accepted and expected the worst at all times. That included losing the safety and security that the regular tavern dwellers had come to know. As such, he had began putting into place his own defensive measures.
One of such was a defective AI spider repair drone that had been weaponised. It was still a work in progress, since trade for parts, tools and knowledge had been difficult. But regardless of its progress, as four heavily armed and armoured men burst through the front door, shouting commands for everyone to fall to the floor, the green laser lights of their guns sweeping the room, Clay didn’t hesitate to hit the red button beneath the counter and release the robot.

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