In the middle of crossroads

The dim, pulsing lights of the club flickered through the haze of cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes. The bass-heavy music vibrated through the floors, blending with murmurs and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. Bodies moved in sync on the dance floor, an anonymous sea of sweat and rhythm. But in a shadowy corner near the bar, a conversation was about to unfold—one that would ripple far beyond that night.

Pascal slouched over his drink, his posture sloppy, and his shirt untucked, betraying the disarray of his thoughts. His glass was nearly empty, and his eyes struggled to focus as he muttered under his breath.

"Life's a mess… ya know? No one tells you how fast it all falls apart…"

The bartender ignored him, used to the ramblings of men who had drunk away their pride. Pascal swirled his glass, staring into it as if answers could be found in the dregs of his drink.

Across the bar stood Sasha, a woman whose sharp eyes saw more than most. She could sense Pascal's despair like a shark senses blood in the water. She had seen this before: a man searching for someone to listen, or worse, someone to save him from himself. Tonight was slow, so she decided to approach him.

She slid onto the stool next to Pascal, her heels clicking softly against the sticky floor.

"You seem like you're in a bad place," she said in a low, smooth voice.

Pascal blinked at her, his eyes glazed. "Yeah, you could say that." He waved his glass vaguely. "What about you? You here to listen to losers like me? Make us feel better for a few hours?"

Sasha smirked, unbothered by the bluntness in his tone. "Something like that. I listen, but it's just part of the job."

Pascal snorted. "Everything's a job, huh? Even getting someone to care about you costs something." His bitterness was palpable. He was a man drowning, unwilling to admit he needed help.

Sasha leaned in, speaking softly but with an edge. "Love's always been a transaction. You just didn't notice when you were sober."

Pascal's eyes flicked toward hers, a moment of clarity cutting through the fog of alcohol. Something about her words felt more personal than mere philosophy. "You really believe that?" he asked. "That it's all just… deals?"

"Doesn't matter what I believe. It's how the world works," Sasha replied, her voice detached but her eyes sharp. "People trade something for something else. Love, money, power—doesn't matter. Everyone's selling something."

Pascal sighed, slumping deeper into his stool. "Then what's the point? If it's all just a transaction, why bother?"

Sasha's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken behind her eyes. "The point?" she echoed. "The point is to survive. People like us? We're just trying to make it through the day."

Pascal's head drooped, his fingers tracing the edge of his empty glass. "What do you mean, 'people like us'? You don't even know me."

Sasha hesitated, glancing at the crowd as if contemplating whether to reveal more. "I know enough. You think you're the first person to come here looking for answers in the bottom of a glass?" She crossed her arms, her voice quieter. "But I've been where you are. I know what it's like to feel like everything's slipping away."

Pascal studied her face for a moment. There was something about her that felt… familiar. Not her appearance, but her pain. "What's your story?" he asked.

Sasha's eyes darkened, and she glanced away. "You wouldn't want to hear it."

Pascal straightened up, his curiosity piqued. "Try me. What's your deal?"

Sasha sighed, her guard slipping just a little. "I had a life once. A decent one. But people don't always get what they deserve. I learned that the hard way."

Pascal frowned. "What happened?"

Sasha stared at the floor, her voice distant. "I trusted someone. Thought they cared about me, that we were in it together. But it turned out, I was just part of the deal they were making. When things went south, I was left with nothing."

Pascal's breath caught. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or something deeper, but her story hit too close to home. "I get that," he said quietly. "I had someone too. She left when things got tough, and now… nothing makes sense anymore."

Sasha looked at him, her hardened expression softening ever so slightly. "Then why are you still here? In this place? Drowning yourself in a bottle isn't going to fix what's broken."

Pascal rubbed his face, the weight of his life pressing down on him. "I don't know how to fix it. I've made too many mistakes. Burned too many bridges. There's no going back."

Sasha leaned forward, her voice almost a whisper. "Maybe there's no going back, but there's a way forward."

Pascal raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "And what's that?"

Sasha smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I have connections. People who can give you another shot. A way to start over. But it comes at a price."

Pascal stared at her, suddenly sober. "What kind of price?"

Sasha's eyes glinted with something dangerous. "It's not money, if that's what you're worried about. It's loyalty. You do a few jobs, no questions asked, and in return, they wipe your slate clean. You get a fresh start. But once you're in, there's no backing out."

Pascal felt a chill run down his spine. The temptation was palpable. A chance to start over, to escape the mess he had made of his life. But he could feel the weight of the unspoken consequences hanging in the air.

"You've done this before?" Pascal asked cautiously.

Sasha's smirk returned, but this time it was tinged with something darker. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Pascal's mind raced. He could feel the world closing in around him. The weight of his past mistakes, the endless nights of regret—this was his way out. But something about Sasha's offer didn't sit right. It felt too easy. Too dangerous.

"I need time to think," Pascal said, his voice strained.

Sasha stood up, her smirk fading into a neutral expression. "Time's not something you have. If you want in, you need to decide. Soon."

She turned to leave, her figure disappearing into the crowd. Pascal was left alone, staring at his empty glass and the swirling thoughts in his mind.

Was this his only way out? Could he trust Sasha, or was this just another transaction—one where he'd end up paying the ultimate price?

As the music pounded in the background, Pascal felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him. His life was at a crossroads, and no matter which path he chose, there would be no turning back.

Then, through the haze of the club, Pascal heard a familiar voice. One that sent chills down his spine.

"Pascal."

He turned slowly, his blood running cold. The figure standing before him wasn't a friend. It was someone from his past—someone he thought he had escaped long ago.

"I've been looking for you," the man said with a predatory grin. "You owe me."