“Do we even know what the f**k this is?” Archon growled, looking at the glass in his hand with something between disgust and fascination. It was half-filled with a cloudy amber mixture that clung to the sides.
“Whiskey.” Eoin snorted. “Apparently.”
He pointed to the rack behind the bar. The optics were mismatched, with alcohol from all over the system jumbled next to each other following no rhyme or reason. Well, none his onboard could make sense of anyway. He was sure it made sense to Liam, the cyborg who ran the bar, but not to anyone else.
At the end, though, one bottle wasn’t like the others. With “whiskey” written in marker on the side, it was filled with the same cloudy amber fluid, and he was fairly sure each time it dripped into the tray underneath, something sizzled. He tried n
