Last Call (Short Story)

A kobold, space marine and steampunk pirate walks into a bar... Bartholomew "Bart" Thatcher's tavern has survived five years of interdimensional war when buildings twice its size were reduced to rubble. The clock keeps perfect time, the drinks still bstilpatron's throats, and "last call" remains a negotiable concept. When three battle-worn soldiers from opposing factions arrive one night (a fire-breathing kobold, a space marine and a steampunk privateer), they bring news that make Bart reconsider closing for the night. Not that anything matter much when reality itself is tearing apart at the seams. As Bart serves drinks to former enemies, their shared stories reveal the cosmic joke of their five-year conflict. But when they step outside to a world where nothing worth fighting for remains, only one question lingers: Who won? Does it even matter? A slice-of-life tale set in a bar at the end of everything, where the drinks are strong, the company is strange, and the counter is always clean. Clean-adjacent. Not dirty.