A bar on any planet. only cut warning would be for tng relaunch/pocket spoilers probably

[postorganic]

[ It isn't like Soong to be careless, but under the circumstances, he almost doesn't care anymore. All he's worked for in his life has amounted to this. Nothing.

All his plans, all his tedious transactions, all the work, the future potential for his own brilliance which he held in such high regard, all of it is as dead as his family. There's nowhere left to go, and nothing else to work toward. Seated at the bar, he stares into his drink and curses himself under his breath. If all of his equipment hadn't been burned to ashes, maybe he could at least make some adjustments and allow this concoction to abate his misery for a few blessed hours. Then again, if it weren't for the events on Yutani IIIa, he wouldn't need the alcohol at all.

But, even with this body and all his damned knowledge, he still can't change the past. That's why he hasn't even bothered to change his appearance for this little excursion. He's not exactly looking for a fight, but if facial scans on whatever insignificant planet this is bring trouble, let it come. If it brings an end to this incredibly vain flight of stupidity, so be it. It might even be doing the universe a favor.

And those thoughts, that grim way of thinking at this all-time low point in his life, are why he spits the following at anyone drawing too near his seat. ]

Ever heard of personal space?