After a moment of shock, I ask, “You don’t suppose you could...you know, do something about that? I don’t feel very safe being in a place where ‘killing someone’ is an everyday pastime. Especially considering that I have no place to...respawn, I guess?”
Nemo shrugs and explains, “No can do, I’m afraid. Even if it may look like it, I am not running this place. I’m just manning the bar, welcoming the newcomers and listening to their troubles. But the good news is: Violence is actually forbidden outside of the twilight rooms.”
“It...is?”
“Please, we are running a civilized establishment here, not some shady tavern where you are lucky if you can leave on your own two feet.”
I look outside, where the brawl was still in full motion and ask, “So I take it, the bar itself is…”
“Um...defined as a twilight room of sorts. But you did notice that nobody bothered us as we made our way to this booth or tried to yank you out, yes? While it may be a bit of a FFA out there, they’re still mindful of who actually participates and who doesn’t. Conflict is only a thing between ‘willing parties’. You need to issue a challenge and the other needs to accept it.”
“So...no stabbing into my back or something?”
“...I...must admit that things like that have occurred every now and then. Especially with newcomers. But most stop that nonsense pretty quickly once they learn that they can’t actually kill anyone in here.”
“...except for me.”
“Potentially except for you. We don’t know for sure that you won’t just walk in through the door again after sustaining a lethal injury.”
“I’d...rather not find out though.”
“Want me to make an announcement to go easy on you?”
“And paint a giant crosshair on my back?! Are you nuts?!”
Nemo raises his hands in defense and says, “I’m sorry! I’m not used to this kind of thing, alright? So, what do you suggest we do instead?”
“For now? Keep it down. I’m just another resident...who happens to be interested in that case. I mean, that thing must be the talk of the entire place, right?”
“If they’re not too busy bashing each other’s skulls in, probably, yeah.”

Just then, the huge ass guy with the horns crashes into our booth and on the table, knocked out cold from the looks of it. Nemo shakes his head, gets up, picks the brutish guy up and throws him back out with little effort from what I can tell. As he sits back down, I cannot help but wonder just how strong he must be to handle that guy’s weight like that.

“Sorry, where were we?” he asks as if nothing ever happened and I make a mental note to not get on his wrong side if somehow possible.
“Err...I think you should talk to your boss about getting me a room?” I suggest, my sentence sounding far more like a question that I would’ve liked it to. There this place goes again, surprising me with something that shouldn’t be possible.
“Yeah, sure, I’d love to do that but…”
“But?”
“I don’t ‘talk to the boss’. The boss talks to me, not the other way around. And as long as the boss stays silent, I can’t really do jack...other than mixing drinks and break up fights.”
“...just out of curiosity, how do you break up fights?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Hold on,” Nemo says, gets up again, leaves the booth, shouts something I cannot hear over the insulation and lo and behold, the muffled noise dies down within 10 seconds flat with everyone picking up tipped over tables and chairs and returning to their seats.
“What in the world did you tell them?!” I ask, unable to hide my amazement.
“That everyone who keeps fighting has to go dry the next week.”
“And...they actually stopped fighting?!”
“Usually they do.”
“And...if they don’t?”
“They have to go dry for a week. I’m not a man of empty threats.”
“Yeah, okay, but what if they...I don’t know, switch a knife at you or something?”
Nemo gives me a knowing smile and replies, “Believe me...everyone only does that once max.”

Yup, I definitely don’t want to get on his bad side.

“Either way,” he suddenly continues, “I suggest you crash with John for the time being. Seeing how the two of you are just about joined at the hip anyway I don’t think he’ll mind. At least until this mess is sorted out.”
“And...what if he does mind?”
“Just tell him I sent you. He knows better than to cross me.”
“He tried to then?”
“Once, yes. A long time ago. It wasn’t pretty.”

“...so where’s his room?”
“D105.”

I thank Nemo and wander towards the elevator, still amazed at the sudden end of the fight. People are already drinking and laughing again. Just from looking at it, it sure doesn’t look like there was a full-out brawl going on less than 5 minutes ago.

After knocking against the room door and waiting for about a minute or two, John opens up and asks with a strong slur, “You? What’re you doong here? Goto yer own room!”
“Yeah, funny story that...Nemo told me I needed to crash with you.”
John looks at me and I have to wonder just how much he must’ve drunk since we parted to be this wasted, but then turns around waving me to follow. His room looks like an honest to goodness detective agency, complete with desk, file cabinet, sleeping couch quickly occupied by John and a worrisome amount of empty bottles scattered all across the floor. I’m pretty sure there’s a lengthy and probably sad story behind his clear alcohol abuse, but right now I’m too tired to bother asking him. I walk over to the cabinet, pull on the cord and a stowaway bed falls out...wait, how did I know that there was a bed in here? I’ve never been in here before, have I? While I lay on the bed, looking up at the lazily turning ventilator, pondering the many questions that keep piling up, exhaustion catches up to me and takes me away to a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, a not so gentle ‘touch’ to my shoulder wakes me up and there stands John, fresh as the morning dew and asks, “What the fudge are you doing on my bed dude?”
In a hurry I explain my situation and then ask, “How the heck are you awake?!”
John looks at the scattered bottles and sighs, “I’ve...been in a bit of a bad place last night. But then the first light came...and I got restored to ‘proper’. Can’t even have a proper hangover in this place. Can’t remember letting you in though.”
“Yeah, I...can imagine that. You were pretty out of it.”
“Anyway, get yourself cleaned up. There’s work to do. Bathroom is over there.”

John points me at a door which seems to haven’t seen much use. Why does he even have a bathroom when he just gets ‘restored’ in the morning?

I enter the bathroom and startle at the guy in the mirror. I look downright terrible. Thick bags under my eyes, a stubby beard rampaging over my face...and I wasn’t even the one drinking!

While cleaning myself up the best I can with the utensils thankfully present in the bathroom, John suddenly knocks against the door and hands me a fresh suit. Good thing too, because I slept in the clothes I came in and the don’t exactly reek of flowers and sunshine to say the least. Where he got it from or where he puts my clothes, I don’t know and I don’t really care.

After cleanup is finished, we sit at John’s table and go over what we’ve learned again.
“So, to summarize, you assume that you’ll end up just as dead as Ms. Sue if someone got the funny idea of offing you cause he doesn’t like your nose, right?”
“It’s just a theory, but yes. Not too keen on finding out.”
“You’d better not be. I’ve seen you in the morning. And while I don’t know about the others, if they’re like me and wake up all fresh and cleaned up everyday...you certainly don’t.”
“...no need to remind me,” I reply, my stomach suddenly reminding me that I didn’t really eat anything in the recent past.
“...hungry?”
“Sure looks like it. Where’s a man to get some chow around here?” I ask and look into John’s face. Don’t tell me the denizens of this place don’t need to eat either. But then again...they did say that ‘everyone who finished their story’ ends up here. And is not ‘the end of everyone’s story’ called ‘death’? If this really is some sort of wacky afterlife, it would make sense for the residents to not feel hunger...or thirst or pain. Though…
“Say, if someone hits you...do you feel pain?” I ask.
“Sure do. I once had one too many down in the bar room and lost it somewhere along the way. I don’t exactly recall what happened afterwards, but when I woke up the next morning, my entire body was aching.”

‘It follows that he’s doing his binge drinking in his room instead,’ I think, looking at the bottles again.
“Stop looking at the bottles already! I know I’ve got a problem, alright?!” John complains.
I shake my head and ask, “Regardless...I’ll head down to the bar and ask Nemo about something to eat. I just hope he has more than liquid sustenance to offer.”
“You do that. I’ll find you after you had breakfast. Ah yes, on that note...you’d best not let anyone see you eating something. People might start talking, if you know what I mean.”

Having to be self-conscious about eating...this place just keeps getting better.