This be an introduction.

The man took a shot of vodka, grimacing as it burned down his throat. Tonight would be a night of no regrets. He slammed the shot glass down on the hard wood table. Was he drinking to forget? Or drinking to remember? Who knows? He surely didn't.
He poured another glass, and downed it. This time, it hardly phased him. He reached across the table and picked up his knife. He touched the tip with his finger and it bled. The stained crimson dripped into the vodka bottle, and within seconds, the vodka had gone completely red. He watched as several others in the bar gave him menacing looks. He simply gave a threatening glare back.
He got up and paid for the alcohol, knife in hand. He gripped it tightly, and walked out the door with a swagger. His blade hungered for flesh.
There would be blood tonight.