11:35 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor: Entertainment District — Tucker's POV
August's hand was warm.
The fact that one of the most powerful men aboard the plane was kneeling directly in front of him.
Warm, steady, and calm.
Tucker stared at it for half a second too long before finally grabbing it.
The moment their hands connected, August effortlessly pulled him back to his feet.
Tucker nearly stumbled again from how smooth the movement was.
"…Careful," August said lightly.
A faint grin rested across his face, perfectly composed beneath the golden lights of the gala.
"Wouldn't want tonight ending in an injury."
Tucker forced out an awkward laugh.
"…Yeah. Heh. That'd suck."
Inside, his heart was trying to punch through his ribs.
Up close, August felt even worse somehow.
Like the entire room unconsciously bent around him.
Guests nearby pretended not to stare, but Tucker caught them glancing constantly from the corners of their eyes. Servers straightened their posture whenever August looked remotely in their direction. Even the music somehow felt quieter around him despite blasting throughout the district.
August brushed nonexistent dust from the sleeve of his purple suit before finally looking directly at Tucker again.
His eyes lingered.
Not long. But long enough.
"…You work here?" August asked casually.
Tucker's stomach dropped instantly.
But outwardly, he forced another dumb smile.
"…Uh, yeah."
A pause.
"…Bartender."
August glanced briefly toward the bar Tucker had abandoned.
Then back at him.
"…I see."
That grin never disappeared.
Tucker suddenly became hyper aware of everything wrong with his disguise.
The vest fit weird around the shoulders, his hat sat too low, his cane didn't match the uniform at all.
And worst of all, He still smelled like sweat and storage dust.
"…You seem nervous," August observed.
Tucker blinked rapidly.
"Oh—uh—nah."
He laughed again.
Too fast this time.
"…Just a lotta people here."
"Mm."
August tilted his head slightly, studying him.
Not aggressively. Almost curiously.
Like Tucker was a puzzle he hadn't decided whether to solve yet.
"Well," August said smoothly, "that's understandable."
He gestured loosely toward the entertainment district around them.
"The Ascension Gala can overwhelm people rather quickly."
Tucker swallowed.
"…Yeah," he muttered.
"You could say that."
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
The music thundered around them while dancers moved beneath flashing amber lights nearby. Laughter erupted from crowded tables, glasses clinked endlessly, and performers spun through the district like nothing dangerous existed aboard the plane at all.
But standing in front of August, Tucker felt completely isolated from it.
Then August's eyes drifted downward slightly.
Toward Tucker's cane.
"…Interesting accessory," he remarked.
Tucker's grip tightened instinctively.
"Oh. Uh."
His mind scrambled.
"…Fashion."
August smiled faintly.
"Of course."
Another pause.
Then, "Tell me," August said casually, "have you been enjoying the gala?"
The question sounded harmless.
But something underneath it made Tucker's chest tighten.
Like he was being tested without understanding the rules.
Tucker forced himself to shrug.
"…It's cool."
"Just cool?"
August placed one hand lightly over his chest in mock offense.
"That's devastating."
Tucker blinked.
Then, against his own survival instincts—
"…I mean," he said slowly, "it's kinda hard to enjoy it when everybody here acts like they're hiding something."
The second the words left his mouth, Tucker internally died.
"…Why would I say that?!"
Around them, a few nearby conversations seemed to quiet slightly.
August stared at him. He still smiled, he still stayed calm.
But now that smile felt thinner somehow.
"…Is that what you think?" August asked quietly.
Tucker opened his mouth.
Nothing came out immediately.
His brain screamed at him to backtrack.
"…I just mean rich people are weird," he said quickly.
"…No offense."
Silence.
Then, August laughed.
But genuinely enough that a few nearby guests relaxed almost immediately after hearing it.
"You're entertaining," August admitted.
His eyes remained locked onto Tucker's.
"And honest."
Something about the way he said honest made Tucker's spine stiffen.
Then August stepped slightly closer.
Not enough to alarm anyone watching.
But enough for his voice to lower beneath the music.
"Be careful with that."
Tucker's breath caught.
"Honesty," August clarified softly.
"It tends to become expensive in places like this."
The words hit Tucker like ice water.
For the briefest moment, he remembered the French man's voice.
"Everyone aboard this plane may already be for sale."
Tucker's pulse spiked violently.
"Did he know? No. No way. …Right?" He thought to himself.
"You know what, my friend?" August said smoothly.
Before Tucker could react, August turned him gently toward a nearby bar, one hand settling firmly against his shoulder.
Too firmly.
It wasn't aggressive enough to draw attention.
But it wasn't optional either.
"All drinks are free tonight after all," August continued with an easy chuckle. "How about the two of us enjoy something to quench our thirst?"
His grin widened slightly.
"Don't worry. No alcohol."
A few nearby guests laughed softly alongside him, eager, nervous little chuckles from people who clearly wanted to stay on August's good side.
Tucker tried to laugh too.
It came out weak.
"…Haha… yeah…"
But August was already guiding him forward through the entertainment district crowd, his hand shifting from Tucker's shoulder to the center of his upper back.
Every step Tucker took felt wrong.
His heartbeat pounded louder with each passing second, so hard it almost drowned out the music roaring throughout the gala. The distance to the bar wasn't far at all, but somehow it felt endless.
Too fast and too slow at the same time.
Before long, they arrived.
August casually pulled out a stool for him.
Tucker sat.
Or rather—
Collapsed into the seat trying not to visibly panic.
August took the seat beside him.
Tucker avoided eye contact completely.
The second August sat down, the bartenders behind the counter immediately stiffened.
No words needed to be exchanged.
Within seconds, three sparkling golden drinks were carefully placed in front of them.
The same drinks. The bubbling golden liquid shimmered beneath the amber lights of the entertainment district, beautiful at first glance.
Sickening once you knew what it really was.
The bartenders looked tense as they set them down. One nearly spilled a glass before quickly steadying his hands.
August dismissed them with a lazy wave and a soft laugh.
"Relax," he said lightly. "I'm not executing anyone."
The bartenders laughed nervously before quickly disappearing to the other end of the bar.
Tucker stared at the drinks in silence.
August slid one slightly closer toward him.
"Here," he said warmly. "Think of it as a personal gift from me."
His eyes glimmered faintly beneath the gold lights.
"One of our special drinks."
Tucker's stomach twisted.
"…Amazing stuff," August continued casually. "You should try it."
The friendliness in his voice was still there.
But now Tucker could hear it clearly. The insincerity beneath it.
"Oh—uh…" Tucker forced a smile. "I'm actually not thirsty."
He gave a small awkward laugh.
"And honestly there's like… three of them. I couldn't drink all that anyway."
August smiled wider.
"No, no," he said smoothly.
"I insist."
He tapped the counter lightly beside the glasses.
"Take your time. I have all evening."
Tucker's fake smile slowly began to crack.
"…I—"
His throat felt dry.
"…I really can't."
Around them, nearby guests occasionally glanced over before immediately pretending they weren't looking.
Nobody intervened. Nobody said anything.
August rested one elbow against the counter.
Still smiling. Still perfectly composed.
"Yes you can," he said softly.
"Come now, my friend."
His eyes flicked toward the drink.
"Drink."
Tucker looked down at the glass.
The golden liquid bubbled faintly inside it.
His hands slowly tightened against his knees.
"I…"
August leaned slightly closer.
"It'll make your night unforgettable."
The words sent a chill down Tucker's spine.
"Go on," August whispered.
"Drink."
Tucker looked at him.
Then back at the glass.
His breathing became uneven.
The entertainment district around them blurred into noise and light.
Then—
"Drink."
August's voice changed.
Still calm.
Still controlled.
But heavier.
Sharper.
The single word slammed into Tucker's head like pressure collapsing inward.
The music around them continued.
Guests laughed, glasses clinked, performers danced.
But for Tucker—
Everything else disappeared.
Only August's voice remained.
"DRINK."
This time it hit like a command.
Tucker flinched violently.
Before he even realized what he was doing, his trembling hand reached for the glass.
His fingers wrapped around it shakily.
"…Good," August said softly.
Tucker raised the drink slowly toward his mouth.
Every instinct in his body screamed at him not to.
But his arm kept moving anyway.
Then, he drank.
11:53 PM — ??? — Shirley's POV
Cold.
That was the first thing Shirley felt.
Not the kind of cold from winter air or rain, this was deeper. A metallic, lifeless cold that wrapped itself around his body the moment consciousness returned.
His eyes slowly opened.
Darkness greeted him.
For a few disoriented seconds, his vision barely worked at all. Only faint strips of pale light cut through the blackness around him, thin and distant like cracks in a sealed room.
Shirley groaned softly and shifted.
The movement sent pain through his shoulders.
"…Ugh…"
His head throbbed violently.
He was sitting against a wall, legs stretched out in front of him. The surface behind him felt rough and freezing against his back.
Slowly, his vision adjusted.
Metal bars stood directly in front of him.
His brows furrowed immediately.
"…What?"
Beyond the bars, dim lights revealed more rows of cells stretching deeper into the darkness. Rusted steel. Concrete flooring. Long shadows swallowing everything between.
And near the center of the room, A table.
Weapons rested across it carelessly.
Blades, guns, chains.
And sitting among them, Shirley's cleavers.
The moment he recognized them, his entire body tensed.
Without thinking, he lunged forward.
The violent sound of chains snapped through the darkness as his body was suddenly yanked backward.
Shirley froze.
His eyes widened as metal restraints dug sharply into his wrists.
"…Huh?!"
He looked down instantly.
Chains wrapped tightly around his torso and arms, thick steel restraints locking his wrists together. More chains were bolted into the wall behind him.
Then he felt it around his neck.
A thick leather collar strapped tightly around his throat with another chain connecting it to the wall.
Shirley immediately jerked forward again in panic.
The collar tightened hard enough to choke him mid-motion.
"Ghk—!"
He stopped instantly, breathing heavily.
"…What the hell is this?!"
His voice echoed through the darkness.
"Where am I?!"
For a moment, only silence answered him.
Then, "It's no use."
The voice came from nearby. A woman's voice. Smooth, refined. Slightly irritated.
"Don't you think I already tried that?"
Shirley's head snapped toward the sound.
"…Huh?!"
He squinted into the darkness beside him.
"Who are you?!"
No answer. Then, annoyed, "Right next to you, dumbass."
Shirley blinked.
"…Hey! I'm a genius! Don't call me that!"
A quiet laugh came from the darkness.
Now that his eyes had adjusted more, he could barely make out her silhouette in the neighboring cell. Long legs crossed over one another, posture slouched against the wall despite the chains restraining her.
Even sitting there imprisoned, she somehow looked elegant.
"A genius?" she scoffed.
"A genius ends up chained to a wall wearing a dog collar?"
Shirley frowned immediately.
"Well I didn't exactly plan this!"
"Clearly."
She tugged lightly at the chain around her neck before grimacing.
"If you're such a genius, hurry up and get us out."
There was frustration in her voice now.
And underneath it, fear.
Shirley looked around again, trying to process everything.
"…Who even are you?"
The woman sighed dramatically.
"That's seriously your first question?"
"Yes!"
Another pause.
"…Influencer," she muttered bitterly. "Streamer. Model. Whatever."
Shirley blinked.
"…What?"
"I was recording a vlog for my followers," she continued irritably. "Trying every drink at the gala because people love watching others poison themselves for entertainment."
She rattled the chain angrily.
"Then I woke up HERE with this thing around my neck."
Her voice cracked slightly near the end despite her trying to sound composed.
"…Somebody better explain what the hell is going on…"
Shirley's expression slowly tightened.
The gala…
Diamond, Michonne, D2 getting cut down, the guards. Then, Everything going black.
"…Wait…" Shirley muttered quietly to himself.
His breathing slowed slightly as the realization settled in.
"…Did they drug us?"
Before he could think further, "Hello?!"
Another voice echoed from deeper within the darkness.
Then another.
"Someone help us!"
"Who did this?!"
"WHERE'S AUGUST?!"
"LET ME OUT OF HERE!"
More voices began erupting one after another from every direction.
Men. Women. Young. Old. Panicked. Angry. Terrified.
Shirley's eyes widened slowly.
It wasn't just him.
He moved toward the bars as far as the collar allowed and looked outward.
Then his stomach dropped.
Cells. Rows and rows of them.
Stretching endlessly down both sides of the massive dark chamber.
Dozens.
No—
Hundreds.
Every few cells contained another restrained figure chained to the walls just like him.
Some screamed. Some cried. Some sat silently in shock.
The dim overhead lights barely illuminated the horrifying scale of it all.
Shirley felt his chest tighten.
"…No way…"
The woman beside him had gone quiet now too.
Even she sounded shaken.
Shirley gripped the chains wrapped around him tightly.
"…Where the hell are we?"