Before me, an abandoned warehouse stands in silent desolation, veiled in obscurity. A shrug dismisses the shroud of uncertainty as I open the door, a rusty portal to the mysteries concealed within. The first inhale is met with a symphony of decay, the putrid dance of rotten flesh assaulting senses delicate and resolute.
I scrunch my nose, a futile defense against the olfactory onslaught, and tenderly caress my throat to stave off the impending revolt within. The mind-bending fragrance lingers, a malevolent force that permeates the very fabric of my being, challenging the endurance of lungs and sanity alike.
Driven by a visceral need to escape the noxious embrace, I delve into the shadows, my senses on high alert. The quest for living beings becomes an odyssey in the dimness, a pursuit shrouded in uncertainty. Amidst the maze of thoughts, a nagging doubt surfaces—have I arrived at the right place, or is this an intricate prank, a retribution for my own mischievous deeds?
As I cross-reference the address in the group chat and consult the oracle of Google Maps, a conviction solidifies—I stand at the appointed location. Yet, if this is a jest, a devious retaliation, the stench of irony in an abandoned haven, I vow to unleash my own brand of retribution upon Lukas and his cohorts. No prank, no matter how cunning, can withstand the determination of a soul repulsed by the twin specters of foul odors and forsaken structures.
"Lukas! Where do you hide? Show yourself! I'll unleash wrath if you linger in the shadows!"
My fervent call echoes in the emptiness, met only by the mocking silence of the forsaken space. A simmering frustration bubbles within, a tempest of discontent at the absence of a response. In the symphony of my discontent, the weight of unanswered calls amplifies the rising tide of anger. Where does this errant soul hide, this neglectful wanderer who births regret in the heart that bore him? The anger, a visceral flame, grows hotter in the crucible of unanswered pleas, an inferno fueled by the void of response.
"Lukas, the squanderer of breath, reveal your presence to my call! I shall weave demise without expending my energy, strangling the echoes of your existence. Eyes, once windows to your soul, shall meet the orcas' feast, a macabre offering in the ocean's embrace!"The echoes of my words are the only response I receive.
"Ahh,you are testing my limit! Your being, a pyre lit by the flame of a thousand fireworks, each explosion a testament to your demise. Amidst this inferno, I shall sign my name upon the ashes, an artist's flourish upon the canvas of your annihilation."
Yet, in the midst of my tempestuous prose, your retort emerges, a swift rebuke casting shadows upon my wrath. "A nasty mouth and nastier personality, woman." Echoes the unyielding truth, a mirror reflecting the venom within, an uninvited revelation in the midst of my own storm.
Ah, that voice—a cadence of huskiness and rasp, an alluring familiarity that binds me with chains of the mightiest metal, deep within the inferno's embrace. A siren's call, it drags me through the underworld, flames licking at the essence of my being, burning from the inside out.
In the resonance of his words, a peculiar sensation unfurls—an uninvited guest, a tickling presence in my throat, an insistence to be set free. It beckons, demanding release in this very moment, a turbulent whisper yearning to dance with the air.
"Ah, there you stand, your voice a catalyst. Within me, it sparks a metamorphosis—a molten salt, a searing fusion with water's embrace. You are the steam that burgeons, expanding the dormant waters into an explosion of chaos. Your essence, a relentless burn, scalds me to the core."
"You really are dramatic you know?You can just say you are sick of me without all those nonsenses."
I offer a halfhearted chuckle as I pivot, confronted by the source of that detested voice. His visage, a grotesque counterpart to the repulsive cadence, emerges before me. A mere soundwave could spark internal combustion, yet gazing upon his countenance feels akin to catalyzing global warming.
"Well, I find it impossible not to outshine you. The blame lies not with me, but in your dreary existence, my dear shitface."
In the room, his eyes roll in an irritated dance, a reaction that sparks satisfaction within me. "Anyways, we're all waiting for your perpetually late self. Explanation, or is your head so high you can't find your way back to land?" he quips with a mundane tone, pointing to a room. I gasp, feigning deep emotion, placing a hand on my heart in mock gratitude.
"Aww, Lukas, touched by your concern. Don't fret, I've returned from my lofty heights to grace you mere mortals. I'm up there, shielding you all from above. How benevolent of me," I tease, a mocking smile accompanying the words. "Shut up!" he retorts, dragging me into the room, revealing the presence of two others—a boy and a girl. The girl waves at me with a smile so kind it borders on sincerity, a sweetness that threatens to blind me. The very essence of kindness, a sentiment that prompts an involuntary desire to recoil.
"Stop smiling. You look like you're overflowing with virtue, and it's not good," I demand, observing the momentary pause in her smile. Yet, it quickly returns, resilient as ever. Is she the harbinger of perpetual joy, or perhaps the goddess of eternal smiles?
Before I can unravel the mystery, Lukas steers me towards a closet, an abrupt shift from the strange encounter. The closet appears as if summoned from the abyss, its aesthetics rivalling Lukas' own unfortunate visage.
"There, there, don't go jumping on my new assistant. Isn't she so perfect and pretty, unlike a certain woman I know," he remarks with a taunt. In response, I retaliate by sinking my teeth into his arm with all the venom of my frustration. A yelp escapes him, and the smiling girl rushes to his aid. Her undeterred smile remains intact, a disconcerting anomaly as she tends to Lukas's wound. I can't help but stare in bewilderment at the peculiar girl, pondering the strength and sharpness of my own teeth in the process.
What irks me most is her perpetual smile, undeterred by my act of rebellion, and Lukas, seemingly immune to the ordeal. Humans, perplexing in their resilience to disturbance. In my irritation, I redirect my attention to the silent man, a figure of relative normality among this peculiar group. His appearance is standard, yet his vibrant blue eyes seize my attention, captivating in their electric allure. The sharpness of his jawline, a weapon in itself, adds to the intrigue.
Clearing my throat, I break the silence. "So, who are you?" I inquire, drawn into the magnetic pull of those mesmerizing eyes. He responds, a tad slow, "Me?" A sarcastic retort hovers at the tip of my tongue, but his subsequent grin disarms any snide remark. His voice, a soothing melody, adds another layer to his allure. "Sorry, um... I'm another new assistant for both of you. My name is Ezreal. Just Ezreal."
Raising an eyebrow, I quip, "Okay, Just Ezreal. Nice to meet you, I guess?" His grin persists, further fueling my irritation. Perfect—the girl maintains her ceaseless smile, while this guy incessantly grins. What kind of absurd symphony have I stumbled into?
Lukas's voice pierces through the peculiar ambiance, snapping me out of my irritation. He steers the conversation back to the business at hand—Project Heavenly Chance. As he distributes the documents, I delve into the details, acknowledging the success of our orchestrated plan.
"They remain clueless, so we must provide them with information. A briefing is essential," Lukas declares, his face maintaining a stern composure. I nod in agreement, recognizing the necessity of guiding them through the aftermath.
The smiling girl, whose name still eludes me, chimes in, "Where are they now? All of them?" I echo her inquiry, seeking clarity on the current whereabouts of our subjects. Lukas confirms, "Our agents have gathered them in the Sacred Building, each group allocated to its own hall. We need to brief them before their ignorance transforms into unrest."
"Imagine the packed hall, like sardines in a can. Sweats, horrible smells—a nightmare, I say," I interject with a smirk, earning a dirty look from Lukas. Unfazed, he continues, "They are still under control for now, but we must prepare for the possibility of resistance. Briefing them is crucial to avoid unnecessary violence."
"Shame. So, who's going to do the briefing?" I inquire, immediately feeling the weight of three pairs of eyes locking onto me. Lukas stares pointedly, and I sigh, dismissing their expectations with a wave of my hand. "Fine, fine. You all can't resist relying on the greatness that is me, right? I'll do it, even though it's a pain," I concede, observing a rare, small smile creep onto Lukas's face—an occurrence so peculiar I nearly choke. "The end of the world? Lukas smiling? At me? Are you about to keel over and die?" I tease, prompting an eye roll and a throat-clearing from Lukas.
"Okay, she will be the one to do the briefing. But we'll be by her side in case anything happens. Are you all up for this?" Lukas states, delivering a rather uninspiring speech. The two others, their eyes gleaming with adoration and motivation, respond in sync, "We will!" I suppress a snort at their fervor, prompting Lukas's nod of satisfaction. He turns to me, and I meet his gaze with a theatrical roll of my eyes. "Ugh, such a drag. Fine, I will. We are I-Lander, after all. I-Lander fears nothing." Lukas nods in agreement, and I resign myself to the impending ordeal.
"Yeah, we are I-Lander. And no I-Lander knows what fear is. We never back down. All for I-Land, of course. All in the name of I-Land," I declare, fixing Lukas with a contemplative gaze before raising a soda can that seemingly materialized out of thin air.
"In the name of I-Land."