A man in a sharp blue suit walks up to a lady sitting alone at the bar. “I’m sorry maam, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to dance,” he says with a sly grin, and shrugs his shoulders a bit. She spins the upper half of her body to him, cracks a smile, and replies, “Oh we have do, do we?” “Yes, I’m sorry, I wish I could do something about it, but it’s out of our hands.” “Oh really? What if I say no?” “Hey, I wish I could help you out, but I don’t make the rules.” Still smiling, he holds out his hand ready for her grasp. Still smiling, she says “Oh really? Who does?” Without hesitation, the sharply dressed man’s smile evaporates. “Narquar of course. He makes every rule.” “What?” she laughs, confused by his reply. “Narquar is the leader. He has a plan for all of us.” Her smile erases, and she hurriedly leaves. His hand still outstretched for the dance moves onto the counter, and grabs her nearly full glass of Budweiser left on the table.