Luke sat in the doctor’s office, his left arm cradled against his chest. The doctor went over his injuries, listing off the damage he had sustained.

 

“And are you sure you don’t want to get a cast? It’s going to be quite painful without it,” the doctor remarked, concern evident in his voice.

 

“Yeah, Doc, I’m sure. If it’s just fractures, I can handle it. Just like the last time after the motorcycle accident,” Luke replied confidently, a hint of bravado in his tone. “And you know what I always say...”

 

“Please, don’t,” the doctor interrupted, shaking his head.

 

“Drinking milk is an investment, and it’s time to cash in,” Luke finished his statement with a smirk.

 

The doctor sighed, realizing that he couldn’t dissuade Luke from his decision. “Alright, to sum it up, you have a bunch of shredded minor blood vessels, your internals seem as barely passable as always, micro-fractures along the bones of your left arm and the left side of your ribs. Your collarbone seems fine, but your shoulder and elbow joint appear stressed and inflamed. You have a lot of lacerations, minor ones along your arms, back, and chest, and major ones on your left arm and the back of your left hip. Watch out not to get them infected.”

 

Luke nodded, taking in the doctor’s instructions. “Yeah, Doc, I’ll be careful. But that hip thing, it’s a real pain in the ass, haha...”

 

The doctor sighed once again, clearly exhausted by Luke’s humor. “Leave.”

 

“Okie dokie, see ya. Thanks for the help,” Luke said, getting up from the examination table.

 

“See ya, and come in for a check-in. That swollen eye seems fine, and the brain scan shows nothing out of the norm besides some typical trauma. You may feel a bit concussed for a few days, so come in at the end of the week just to make sure,” the doctor advised.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try,” Luke replied, walking out of the office.

 

And so, with a cheerful gait, stumbling a bit and grunting like a steam engine with a leak, he walked out of the crowded hospital, thinking back on it, it all happened so fast. It’s always like that, one thinks he knows how he would react, what to do and what actions to avoid. What’s reasonable and what is simply stupid. Reality likes to fact check those expectations you put on yourself.

 

It always takes so long, the Polish hospital service could serve as a purgatory for the damned, 6 hours, that’s how long it took for a person brought in an ambulance to get all the basic and necessary check-ups and treatment. You could regrow lost limbs in the time you have to spend in the waiting room.

 

The sun was blinding to his one functioning eye, the Doc warned him he may have some problems with his eyesight with the swelling, retina damage, and concussion. The usual. Good thing Luke and the Doc go way back, a friend of a friend who he happened to visit quite often, they formed a bond of some kind. Certainly not the good kind, but also not the bad.

 

In the parking lot, basking in the midday sun, standing proudly was his favorite 120kg of steroids and charm, Cupid, waving to him, smiling ear to ear.

 

“Hi there, friend! Damn, did you get fucked up! Haha! Come here!” he yelled across the lot, greeting him with a strong bear hug that lifted Luke off the ground.

 

“Not as bad as your car, hahUAAGH... YOU’RE CRUSHING MY RIBS, YOU FUCK.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river. How ya feeling?”

 

“Like a snake’s shit extinguished with a screwdriver,” he answered, smiling.

 

“So, the usual?”

 

“The usual.”

 

They both burst out laughing, Cupid clutching his ribs from chuckling, Luke doing the same but from the pain in his. His friend noticed the wince and asked him concernedly:

 

“No, but really, are you sure you’re fine? Listen... I know you got into that trouble because we were downstairs... and it’s my car. I promise you the police and the guy are taken care of, sor-“

 

“Shut the fuck up, bro. What am I, made of sugar? You know me, I’ll walk it off. Let’s pack into the car and go. Thanks for waiting for me, by the way.”

 

“Hah, the least I could do.”

 

“So, about that guy, what happened to him? Did he cause you any trouble when I was unconscious?”

 

“Yeah, kinda. I’m still surprised. We piled on him, yet none of the punches or kicks worked. We got a few good ones in, but nothing stuck. He just backed away with that fucking smirk on his face.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed that too. Seems like quite an ass.”

 

It was always a treat driving with Cupid, besides the fact that for him, road laws were more of funny suggestions and speed limits were a challenge. But oh boy, his cars were vessels worthy of kings. Luke knew nothing about cars, didn’t even have a driving license for them, as bikes were his main interest. But one knows quality when they see it. The tightly bound orange leather wrapping around the spacious seats, the obsidian black interior, and the white LED lining the floor. One would expect a nice smell to come with that package, but Cupid’s habit of using the backseat as a love motel and the front of the car as an all-you-can-eat snorting buffet clashed with those expectations. Cupid’s cars usually cost more than Luke earns in a year or two, and he changes them like gloves.

 

It used to be a sore spot for Luke. He comes from a poor family, and the only big money he ever had was when he received his inheritance after his mother’s passing. That’s the only thing that allowed him to go to university and somehow survive, even while working five days a week. When he was younger and moved out of his father’s house, he used to feel anger and shame when his peers would invite him to parties he couldn’t afford or talk about what they considered normal things but were unreachable luxuries in his eyes. Now? He let go of that rage. It was useless and boiling him from the inside. For his friends, he was happy that they get to enjoy what he can’t, at least not yet. For his enemies, he knows that those luxuries in the hands of ungrateful spoiled morons will be wasted and gone with the wind in due time. Karma is a bitch; she likes to play favorites but loves to change them in the least expected moments.

 

They traveled through the city quickly. The traffic wasn’t that bad, just the usual. Cupid was listening to his favorite music, and Lucas was staring absentmindedly out the window, trying not to react to all the small aches and hurts all over his body. You get used to the pain, but it still annoys you.

 

The concussion played tricks on his vision, distorting everything before him. Colors seemed off, contours appeared fuzzy or pixelated. Buildings appeared discolored or misshapen in certain areas. Shadows danced at the periphery of his sight, reminiscent of the visual hallucinations one experiences after days without sleep. It felt as though something lurked just out of view, darting away whenever he tried to catch it. The swelling around his eye only exacerbated the disorienting effect.

 

When Luke woke up, the chest pain was even more horrible than when he had his ribs broken with an expandable baton. Everything just seems so incorrect. The pain felt weird, as if it was stuffing his insides tightly and shredding them. It felt like somebody put an additional layer of coating between and inside his ribs, crushing his lungs, and tightened a noose around his heart. His heartbeat wasn’t erratic, but it resonated more deeply within him, with a profound intensity that defied explanation.

 

Before he even noticed, they were already parked in front of his building. With a quick shake, he refocused and turned to Cupid.

 

“Hey, thanks, man. Really. You’re like a brother to me. What would I do without you?”

 

“Cry and suffer.”

 

“Hah, right. Listen, my arm is fine, but for next Saturday? I think it would be better for me to stay on security instead of the bar. Would you mind if I took the DK Club?”

 

“Yeah, sure, no problem. Just let me talk it over with the boys. If you need any support or help, just call me or write me, and we’ll come right away.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you know the ticket club, it’s usually just a lot of noise and not that much work to be actually done.”

 

“Yeah. That. And those alternative bitches. I might visit you.”

 

“I’ll be waiting. Just bring some good treats for me and you.”

 

“You know it, buddy. OK, see ya. Write me if you need any help.”

 

“Yeah, maybe with a quick tug. When I get horny.”

 

“Haha, for that, you pay extra. See ya.”

 

And so Cupid left, leaving Luke on the sidewalk, smiling despite the pain. What weird friends he had become. They came from two different local ties, and yet they found so much common ground. Cupid being the big, scary gangster that has a surprising sweet and soft side to him. But only those who are really close see that side. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still a dangerous, really dangerous side of him that no one would like to experience, but as long as you stay on his good side, you only see the good part of him.

 

Grunting and moaning like an old weathered ship, Luke twisted the key and entered his house.

 

*UGH*

 

*That was quite an eventful weekend. Now it’s time to sleep. Sleep a lot. Sleep off the pain. Sleep of the drugs And all of that. Other bullshit.*

 

Dropping into the bed like a stone into water, he almost immediately lost consciousness. His last thoughts were of the pictures he took on his phone of his swelling, where the distinct shapes left from the rings of his attacker’s fists were still visible.

 

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Throughout the following few days, things settled. The routine came back quickly. Early mornings would go to university. Afternoons would be spent at his usual job bartending in a mix of different clubs and pubs, which during the weekdays weren’t really that popular, so it was mostly just standing around, pouring a beer, and trying to bear the pain. Most of it was bearable, but the left side of his body and his face and chest had swollen so much that it seemed like his skin was so tight that when he clenched his ass cheeks, his eyelids would open.

 

Not a fun experience.

 

With how boring his university was and how automatic his job seemed to him, he had a lot of time to think. And think he did. However, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something was bugging him about that guy. It all began with him, but since then, he started to notice more. He started seeing more. Feeling more? His left eye was still swollen, almost shut. But whenever he could see through it, the world around him seemed just slightly incorrect. It was like moving a picture while rendering it out. He would see silhouettes walking around through empty spaces in the streets. And when he knew there was no one there, he would see strange shapes and colors flying through the sky. Whenever he tried to drown them out with loud music or focus on his own mind, it would seem like there was something missing yet filling him up from the inside. It was full of contradictions and things that shouldn’t be.

 

He could swear that besides the twisted mirages he was experiencing outside, just as crazy things were happening inside. He knew that after some serious trauma, the body likes to play the drama queen and send some weird signals to the brain, but this was different. That feeling of coating never left. It felt like it was being compressed and mixed, and part of it was certainly foreign and wrong. It was one of those indescribable things, like how would you describe light to taste. But it was there, as real as the shaker full of cosmopolitan in his hands. The change he noticed was that what was initially an almost indistinguishable feeling of emptiness was growing. It was eating through that foreign coating and replacing it, pulling it inwards. Luke initially thought it was some sort of internal bleeding. His skin was still full of splashes of purple, but besides that, nothing seemed amiss.

 

Whenever he tried to focus on his chest and the beating of his heart, the world would get just a bit quieter, just a tad dimmer. It felt as if he wasn’t noticed by everything that surrounded him. The more he focused, the more blank his thoughts became. With every passing second, his field of vision reduced to just centimeters around him, freezing him in place. That darkness in his chest started to ripple and contort, trying to expand and pull in... something. How was that darkness so quiet yet so deafening in his ears? He could feel the hammering of his heart in his ears, like war drums beating behind his eyes. It was as if a shockwave was thrashing him from the inside, slowly and unceasingly seeping through him, into him.

 

“Um, hello? Sorry? Are you okay? I want to order...”

 

With a sway of his head, he regained his self-awareness. Breathing rapidly and erratically, all the blood rushing to his head and his lungs screaming with fiery breaths, tunnel vision clouding his perception. He tumbled forward, barely catching himself on the bar top.

 

“Oh, sorry, got lost in my mind for a bit. What can I do for you?”

 

“Are you sure you’re fine? You seemed like the life drained out of you.”

 

“Oh yeah, don’t mind me, just thinking about midterms exam, you know how those things go...”

 

And so he continued his usual talk, chatting and getting friendly with his clients, trying not to dwell on what he felt. Everything could be reasonably explained. Maybe it was the head trauma, or perhaps years of partying catching up, or even just a random panic attack. It felt similar, like he himself was just out of place. Years ago, when he had to live with his father, the treatment he received at home contributed greatly to his social anxiety and fear of others, so such attacks would be normal. But as life goes, if you’re a man named Lukas, the only thing you can do is curse your luck and get over it. Either you conquer it or it conquers you. And without any support in life, the second option just isn’t viable. Weakness is a privilege given to those who have others to pick up their slack.

 

“I’ll find time to cry about my life when I’m on my deathbed. I’ve got to control that shit.”

 

And so his week continued, barely sleeping, constantly juggling between university, work, the gym, and brief meetings with his friends. It felt strange to feel lonely when he was never alone, yet that feeling grew stronger inside him with each passing day.

 

And finally, Friday arrived.

 

The doctor’s appointment had to be rescheduled. He needed to catch a bit of sleep before work and get some extra energy from his plug for the upcoming weekend. Maybe he should get some extra for Cupid too. Knowing him, it’s never 100% certain if he will show up, but it is 100% certain his nose will behave like a vacuum cleaner if he does.

 

At 21:30, he stood in front of those Stairs. The ones he loved so much, the ones that started so many stories in his life. You see, dear reader, Luke’s shift as a bouncer today was at the first club he ever visited as a student. It was a big wine cellar in a 200-year-old building, tucked away in a small yard guarded by four-story tall walls covered with poison ivy. Those Stairs were quite legendary in the underground scene, not only because the 30 steps were quite a challenge for all the druggies and alcoholics to conquer in the mornings, but also because they were the entry to the best and rattiest club in the city, hosting all kinds of music all week long. From metal to rap and rave parties, even theater plays. Ah, Downstairs Klub, his home away from home.

 

He had been working here for 2 years now, mostly bartending, but security paid better, involved less work, and could be more fun. Or much more annoying, depending on the evening. This evening, surprisingly, seemed like it was going to be calm, at least by this place’s standards. The plan was for a rave, probably with 400-500 people attending. The music he greatly enjoyed, the rapid-hypnotizing rhythms, the high BPMs, just what he needed to pump himself up or drown out the world around him in a storm of kicks and bass.

 

The clients at these underground parties were his preferred ones. Most of them were his age, and about 90% of them were drug users, but mostly the positive kind. The kind that knew the unspoken rules. Some happy pills, some speed, maybe some acid victims. Violence almost never happened. It’s hard to get into a fight when touching your own arm is entertaining enough to occupy hours of your time and keep you smiling. Moreover, the girls at these parties were just his type, and it was always easy to strike up a conversation when you had a key to the backstage, your own stash, and a tight shirt with “Security” stretched across your chest.

 

The only issues that could occur were people sleeping or doing drugs in visible places. The sleepers would get a wake-up slap, and the idiots publicly exposing themselves would have their stuff confiscated while Lukas got a free treat.

 

Throughout the evening, Luke was running circles between the stage, the bar, the toilets, and the entrance where his designated spot was. As a bouncer, he had to be visible and visibly threatening. As long as people remembered that there was someone ready to kick their teeth in, they mostly kept their mouths shut and their hands to themselves.

 

*It happened again, four times throughout the night. It’s been happening more often with each passing day. I should talk to Doc about it. Or Lettuce, or Bubble. Lettuce is a fucking moron, but talking to him calms me down. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. Bubble should have a better understanding of what’s happening. She’ll finish her psychology degree next year. I love her like a sister, but she’s too sweet and nice to honestly tell me what’s fucked up in my head.*

 

With heavy steps, Luke walked up the stairs, deliberately stomping his feet on the poorly painted black wood to ensure he wouldn’t trip and fall. He had witnessed others stumble and found it amusing, but he certainly didn’t want to experience it himself—gliding down the stairs in a reverse penguin style and rattling his knees and elbows like a box of Legos. Occasionally, Luke would think about the blind DJ who sometimes played at the club, how he would casually eat hotdogs without the social pressure of being watched, and the client in a wheelchair who always had someone to help airlift him downstairs. Chuckling to himself, he crossed the stone yard, stepping over people drinking on the floor, and settled on the stairs leading to the restaurant that shared the space with the club.

 

*Just soldier through it. It’s already 5:30. Just 30 more minutes and we’ll be closing this place. Maybe 50 people left, swaying in front of the DJ. Easy peasy.*

 

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crinkled pack of cigarettes. Leaning back on the steps and the door, he let the icy morning air give him goosebumps, while the rising sun stung his eyes. His stuffed nose began to drip. With a flick of his lighter, he ignited his 100s cigs, took a deep, few seconds long inhale and breathed out a cloud of disgusting smoke.

 

His thoughts swirled in his head like the smoke in front of him, pierced by that weird feeling in his chest like the light pierces the smoke. Things seemed to have balanced. The ache in his chest from the smoke made him focus again on that consuming feeling, It slowed down, settled. It felt like cold oil filing up his lungs, sticky and piercing, heavy, but not hindering his breath. That weird, foreign feeling vanished almost entirely, it’s almost only recognizable in the place he received the punches from that blond fuck. It had been replaced by a pleasant warmth, akin to the first sip of a strong alcoholic drink or the effect of powerful pain medication. Or mixing them both.

 

(NEVER DO THAT DEAR READER)

 

He could feel those feelings clashing in his heart, it was still feeling constricted but also stronger, more powerful. Spreading that warmth throughout his body into his limbs. This, he could get used to. Focusing on that, he could feel his body heat up, like it’s being awakened from a nap. Getting ready, his skin tightening, his skin getting goosebumps, getting all twitchy like his nervous system was sending electric shocks throughout the body, rearing to make some noise.

 

And again, just when things got fun, reality started pressing on him, the walls got bleak, the noise clashed against silence. His vision rippled, he was seeing nothing, not black, not the absence of light, he still could see his surroundings but the only thing he could focus on was the absence of... what?

 

“...something...nothing.”

 

He felt a tug, like a bubble gum stuck to his face and ribs just got pulled and stretched. Something was near him, it was grabbing that foreign feeling on him. It... made it more dense? Didn’t strengthen it per se, just made it more of itself. And... made a connection, he felt it, he felt the charge going through it. Trying to make itself stronger.

 

“I’m really going crazy but fuck it, mamma didn’t raise no bitch.”

 

He focused on the points connecting him. The face was off limits. Whenever he focused on any of the energies inside him and tried to focus on his head, shit got wonky and painful really fast. So, ribs it was. First, he tried the easier part, the warm energy spreading through him. Guiding it around his body was something he thought was a placebo effect but made him ache less and was quite pleasant. Sadly, it splashed against the pull point like a wave against the beach. Not that effective, just dispersing around the dense foreign energy.

 

The hard way it is.

 

He couldn’t guide the oily darkness inside, he could only release his hold on it. Luckily, a lot of it was already concentrated there. He focused on his ribs and just let go, visualizing a clay jug pouring a cascade of water over a fire blazing with embers. Only this time, the water was black and sticky, and the embers were annoying him for some reason.

 

Something rapidly snapped, the dense point dispersed almost completely, with only a small amount remaining as an afterthought. He could feel the cord of foreign energy snapping, and somehow he knew where it was coming from. Right in front of him, in the tunnel leading to the yard’s exit.

 

There was no one there, just some bottles lying around and pigeon shit covering the walls. The huge wooden doors were almost closed, barely letting the light come through.

 

Luke felt something was amiss. He knew he was going mental, but whatever. He decided to focus with his left eye, the wonky one. Closing his right eye, he breathed deeply and tried to see through the reduced swelling. His heart rapidly beating, the cold air filling his lungs, and the edges of reality surrounding him growing blurry, as if covered by a colorless cloth.

 

Then, he saw it.

 

Something.

 

Two hazy, deep blue orbs floating over two meters above the ground. Eyes? They seemed familiar, and annoyed the hell out of him.

 

“Ah, god damn it!”

 

His hand snapped like a whip to the side, hitting the stone wall next to him. He started jumping around, whipping his hand like a fan. He had forgotten about his cigarette. He had wasted so much time that the paper filter caught between his fingers managed to burn him. Bravo.

 

Ripped away from his focus, the morning hit him like a truck. The colors seemed more vibrant, the music louder from below. The sun felt ever more blinding.

 

“Ah, no more daydreaming for me, time to close up.”

 

And close up he did, he finished his beer, checked the sofas, the toilets, shooed the DJ away from the backstage and said his goodbyes to his friends behind the bar.

 

Leaving the tunnel, the morning mist enveloped him like a cloak, made visible by the sun timidly ascending above the rooftops. He walked through alleyways, lost in his own thoughts, wishing only to sit down, finish his baggie and his beers, and watch something before sleeping.

 

He didn’t notice when and why, but he stopped.

 

Something was near him.

 

Suddenly, the air slammed into him, pushing him against the cracked gray wall of an old tenement. His thoughts were in disarray, as if his head was filled with rocks. Looking up, he noticed a shape forming about three meters away from him. It was a large shape, yet still indistinct, with the morning light piercing through it.

 

That was not good.

 

At the top of the shape, he saw those familiar blue orbs. Now he was certain they were eyes, the eyes of a predator that had found its prey. In the next moment, a row of teeth emerged, each tooth at least the size of his thumb, pearly white and glistening. They took a shape of a grin fit only for the biggest of assholes.

 

The creature spoke.

 

“Hello again, filth.”

 

“Ah, fuck.”