“This place is shit,” Collin uttered under his breath. The pub was run down. On the exterior, it was more updated to match the neo-futuristic architecture that made up the city. Inside, most everything was wooden, revealing just how old the pub was. The smell of alcohol, much of which was dried on the wooden floor, stung Collin’s nose, despite that he loved a good beer. Many patrons paused what they were doing, looking up at Collin. The mutant knew well he was in trouble if his cover was blown, meaning no dark matter powers could be used. Luckily, Collin planned only to use his strength, agility, and healing factors, should thing go awry. A Xerofian stood up. A patch covered his left eye, and a scar ran across the bridge of his dark green nose. He wore a simple getup: a white tank-top with a dark brown stain on the stomach, ripped, black denim pants, and worn-out, dark brown work boots. The name “Worj” was tattooed on his left arm. The Xerofian walked up to Collin