The bar went silent. Dead. Not a single soul moved. Then.
"No f*cking way…"
Darius muttered.
"He actually did it,"
Paul added, stunned.
"He finally went completely bunkers"
Airid added, eyes still locked on the TV screen, where Invicta's face was frozen in a pixel-perfect peace sign, tongue out like a teenage gremlin.
Robert exhaled deeply, dragging a hand down his weathered face.
"F*ck. The cops better not burst in and take us for questioning because of his shenanigans ..."
Hearing this all five of them snapped their heads toward the bar's front entrance, but nothing happened.
"J*sus scrooge dont jinx It my heart cant take It one stroke Is enough for me"
Julian said only for the unthinkable to happen.
BANG!
The bars entrance door exploded open, the hinges clattering as a heavily armored SWAT unit stormed inside.
"POLICE! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE 'EM!"
"FLASHLIGHTS DOWN! WATCH THE BACK! MOVE MOVE MOVE!"
The bar was flooded with blinding lights, laser dots immediately painting their chests and faces in red.
"GET ON THE GROUND! NOW!"
"ON YOUR KNEES! HANDS UP!"
One operator vaulted the counter, sweeping the bartender into a corner with a rifle jab to the ribs. Another knocked over chairs, clearing the way.
The five men just sat there for a heartbeat, processing the flood of screaming, boots, and muzzle flashes pointed directly at their faces.
Julian raised both hands slowly.
"Motherf*cker you totally jinxed It."
Darius groaned as he sank to his knees, grumbling curses in half a dozen languages.
Paul calmly put his mug down and followed suit.Robert rolled his eyes.Airid was already muttering, "I swear if they break my phone again, I'm suing..."
One by one, they were zip tied and lined up like a bunch of misbehaving uncles caught crashing a family reunion.
The team leader stepped forward, voice booming.
"All of you are being brought in for questioning regarding the individual currently flagged as a Class One International Terrorist. Comply and no one gets hurt."
The second the SWAT team started marching them out of the bar, the five schmucks went from resigned silence to full blown bickering like it was a g*dsdamn family road trip gone nuclear.
"This is your fault, Julian!"
Darius barked, stumbling as two operators shoved him forward.
"MY fault?! Robert jinxed it! I was just admiring the photo!"
"I didn't jinx s*it,"
Robert growled.
"I observed. There's a difference, you f*cking walnut!"
"You spat beer in my face, asshole!"
Julian shouted.
"And I'd do it again!"
Paul just grumbled.
"Can we save the verbal orgy until they let us go? Or kill us? Either or."
"My phone's cracked! AGAIN!"
Airid wailed like his cat just died.
"I swear this is a war crime."
As they were marched through a back alley and into a nondescript black van, the operator didn't even flinch. Just slapped them with that classic.
"Heads down."
"What? What do y... ACK..."
THUMP.
Black bags went over each of their heads.
Followed by rough shoves and slams, as the squad tossed them into the back like sacks of foul mouthed potatoes.
"Ow, my spine!"
"Watch the hands, you perv!"
"I think someone landed on my nuts!"
"I'm gonna puke. On all of you."
"Don't you f*cking dare, Paul."
The van door slammed shut. Darkness. Metal. Heat. The hum of the engine and the occasional pothole that made someone curse every time it hit.
"F*ck you vamp,"
Robert muttered, muffled by the bag.
"I hope you get a muscle spasm while s*itting"
"I told you he was loosing It!"
Julian snarled.
"He already had a few screws loose from the moment we got to know him!"
Paul said flatly.
"Shut the f*ck up, all of you!"
Darius barked.
"Shut YOUR face!"
Airid snapped.
"I lost 16,000 credits in crypto because of your 'reliable guy'..."
"I will END you."
SCREEEEECH.
The van jerked to a stop.
"OUT. NOW."
The doors swung open.
They were yanked out one by one, stumbling under the black bags, still zip tied, still cursing the gods, fate, vamp, and most of all each other.
"Couldn't we have just been shot?"
Robert muttered bitterly as boots dragged him toward another unknown corridor.
"Nope,"
Julian replied.
"This is the 'special hell' reserved for people who know Dracula Von F*cking Death."
And deep down, they all knew. They were in for a long, long interrogation. And it was only just beginning.
...
One year later.
Darkness. Silence. Weightless suspension. I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't sleeping. I was trapped inside my own mind, drifting like a severed soul in limbo.
This was my mental space, a hollow reflection of everything I used to be, fractured and looping on repeat.I could feel my new body being rebuilt, muscle by muscle, bone by forged bone, out there in the real world…
But in here? It was just me. A man who'd seen too much, lost too much, and been promised too f*cking much by a flip flop wearing g*ddess with a thing for chaos.
And right now? I was having a full blown existential crisis. In the hazy void of my mind, I looked up and saw… them.
Versions of me, projected like sick jokes from some cosmic sitcom.
There, rolling around on the floor, was child me, six years old, wild eyed, dressed in tattered pajamas and roaring battle cries as he smashed toy soldiers into plastic tanks.
"FOR THE GLORY OF THE EMPIRE!"
He yelled, riding a toy T-rex into a platoon of melted green army men.
To the side, half sitting, half flailing in beanbags and unwashed clothes, was teenage me, gangly, greasy, with one earbud in and a middle finger up at nothing in particular.
"School is a prison and my only salvation is alien tiddy!"
He shouted, hugging a badly folded anime body pillow.
"Let me live, Mom!"
And then the military me fresh straight out of basic. Shaved head. Stone faced. Still and silent. Muscles ripped and bulging.
He stood in the corner like a specter of regret, arms folded, posture too perfect like he was afraid if he moved, he'd remember something he shouldn't.
I stared at them. They stared at me. Then, of course, it started.
"You're the reason we're broken!"
Kid Me yelled, pointing at Teen Me."Bullshit! I had dreams until you enlisted and killed them!""We all killed ourselves the moment we became an army grunt!"
Military Me growled."Shut the f*ck up, buzzcut!""No, you shut the f*ck up, hormone goblin!""Eat crayons, war junkie!"
And just like that, they were on each other. Toy soldiers flew. Headphones cracked. Dog tags whipped through the air as all three versions of me beat the living sh*t out of each other in a cartoonish flurry of chaos.
One threw a plastic grenade. Another bit someone's leg. Military Me started choking Teen Me with a belt while Child Me stabbed them both with a plastic spoon yelling "FOR THE REPUBLIC!"
And me? The real me?
I just stood there, naked in a void of memory and madness, watching it all unfold like a tragic comedy with no punchline.
Arms crossed. Expression blank. Watching all this unfold like it was a psychological sitcom written by a sadistic director.
"So this is my f*cking brain…"
I muttered, blinking slowly. As I did a puff of sulfurous smoke appeared on my left shoulder.
And with it came Mini Demon Drac, red skinned, smug as hell, wearing leather pants and a sleeveless hoodie, holding a tiny martini glass filled with molten lava.
He took one look at the chaos and whistled low.
"Damn, bro. You got some serious problems."
He sipped his glass. It hissed.
"Like... we're talking whole therapy department level s*it. I mean, damn. Spoon stabbings? Belt stranglings? Puberty me's about to s*it himself, and all this while butt naked?"
I gave him a side eye glare, but before I could answer! A soft halo glow. A cloud of glittering feathers. And then, pop! Mini Angel Drac materialized on my right shoulder.
Clad in shining white robes, golden sash, and overly large wings, his halo tilted slightly like it was installed with bad software.
"Hey, back off, brimstone for brains!"
Angel Drac snapped.
"He's had a hard life, okay? Let him have a moment!"
"A moment? Dude's been in here for a year stewing in self loathing and wet dreams about xeno waifus. That's not a moment that's rotisserie grade mental decay!"
"How dare you! His mind is a sacred temple!"
"His temple is a roach motel filled with rage, unresolved trauma, and repressed thirst. The kid in the diaper is literally chewing on PTSD!"
Angel Drac gasped, pulling out a tiny golden scepter.
"Take that back, you lopsided horned hemorrhoid!"
"Make me, feather boy!"
Demon Drac threw his martini in Angel Drac's face. The halo flew off. The wings turned into fans.