The atmosphere was buzzing with life. All the personnel were drinking, dancing, or chatting. Austin was at a table and had just started drinking himself. He looked happy. Everyone knew about the leviathan in the distance. They also knew their chances of escape were slim. Notwithstanding, they took this time to make merry and forge stronger bonds with themselves.
In Nyxshade's own words, this place was hell, yet the sight before Lucas was anything but. Men and women having a good time in hell. It sounded like some conspiracy news headline. This wasn't their hell though—they weren't even real. This place was a means of psychological torment. Austin's worst moments: this was a catalogue.
Lucas didn't like it here. He viewed this place like a prison, but it was much worse. It was the domain of a demon… no, the devil. He wanted out, but Austin couldn't disagree more. He was like an animal drawn to bait, letting his desires take hold of his actions.
Lucas needed to reason, but this environment wouldn't do. Austin was a hindrance he needed to set straight. That was the point of this whole 'get-together'. The smell of liquor filled the air, stinging his nose.
"Ugh," he gagged.
"How could someone willingly ingest this?" Lucas asked himself eyeing the glass in his hand. The women around him bantered meaninglessly while he pretended to follow along. This act was necessary to convince the enigma that was Austin Drakes. A woman with a ponytail approached Lucas and took his hand.
"You're stiff… l-lemme loosen you up," she slurred, her tone rising and falling at random. "Dance with me. Can't let that face of yoursss go to waste!"
Forcing his hand to her waist, she swung around with him aimlessly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Austin stifle a laugh. This embarrassing moment would only aid his goal. With every passing minute, Austin lost more awareness of his surroundings. The drinks were getting to him faster than Lucas expected.
"Daance …Barry!" she slurred, dragging out her words.
From her demeanor, her misnaming didn't surprise him. "Sorry about that," she said, suddenly composing herself. "You remind me of a good friend of mine. We always had drinks together and… never mind."
What was this? Could it be she wasn't really drunk? As she turned, Lucas grabbed her wrist. "Tell me more." She searched his eyes for a brief moment before falling to the ground. Following suit, he crossed his legs.
"He was in Tracy's platoon and looked a lot like you. His eyes were blue though, and a lot more… accommodating. The stress of military life never seemed to show on him which really pissed me off… hah." She paused. Lucas stared at the dark forest in the distance. This woman obviously wasn't drunk. Why was she pretending though? The longer he stayed, the thinner the line between reality and illusion became.
With every passing moment he became less and less certain that these people were constructs. They were the creations of Nyxshade; their tormentor. Their movement, speech, thought process, it was no different than a regular person. Outside this space there were people who worshipped gods.
It was even believed this world was created by these gods. If he was the creation of a higher existence, and was real, wouldn't that imply these people were real also? He turned back to the woman, now looking at the sky. She shared her story with him. Everyone here had their story.
Something about their lives, their experiences. These were the people Austin remembered and loved. Would he be wrong for killing them? It wasn't certain if doing that would even make a difference, but one was always better than zero. He had made up his mind on the matter and nothing would change it.
"Hey, what's your story?" the woman asked. Lucas's face shifted at the question; he didn't want to answer. She jetted up and saluted. "Please forgive my impudence, sir! I let my curiosity get the better of me." Then she began walking away. What was his story?
He was a man who forgot his childhood. The youngest police officer to become a jiu-jitsu seventh degree black belt. The man that cleared the most cases in LAPD. He even had a street named after him. To others, he was a man who had everything. Some officers disliked him because of this. It was human nature after all.
When it becomes impossible to surpass another, one of two seeds is sown. The first, being acceptance and the second, being envy. He was set up countless times and got many fired an almost equal number of times. The name, Lucas Ross meant something back then.
In a sense, it brought hope; he had a success rate of 99% after all. Citizens had this trust in him. After the case with Vanessa, they believed there was nothing he couldn't do. That wasn't true of course. Many missing persons cases were 'cleared' and some closed due to lack of sufficient evidence.
He knew something greater was behind this; something nobody else dared confront. It could be a syndicate or the government themselves. He lost his partner to them and after many supernatural events, he ended up in hell.
There were things he didn't want to experience again and others he outright forgot. Why wasn't that devil using any of it against him though? Lucas unknowingly clenched his fist at the thought. Using his dead partner for its entertainment. "Die!" the word escaped his lips.
The very thought of it flared his nerves. A personal hell crafted for his suffering. Slowly, he was beginning to understand Austin's plight. Looking up, the night stars illuminated the sky. Each one twinkled beautifully, some forming distinct patterns. One resembled a distorted rectangle and triangle, with many branching stars. It surrounded a cross-shaped constellation, like a guardian, leading its ward to the next day.
Each of those stars had a story. A tale forged over millions of years. Lucas stared at the sky in a daze, unsure of his next move. The certainty he once felt simmered away. He looked around the camp and saw men and women, having a good time in hell.
These people had stories. Were they real or not? It wasn't for him to decide. What he could do, though, was listen to those stories.