Chapter 5 :The Aftermath

The principal led the charity event with a sense of authority, his ring of keys jingling in his hand as he approached the stadium gate. Behind him, a bustling crowd of students, teachers, and parents carried colorful banners, folding tables, and crates filled with snacks and decorations. The soft hum of excited chatter filled the air as they speculated about the day ahead.

He stopped at the gate, taking a moment to glance back at the cheerful crowd. "Alright, let's get started," he said with a brisk nod. The metal gate creaked loudly as he unlocked it, pushing it open with a confident stride.

Then came the smell.

It hit like a wave, sharp and metallic, undercut with something sickly sweet. Someone coughed. Another person muttered, "What is that?" The crowd shifted uneasily, the lighthearted energy of moments ago beginning to curdle.

The principal paused mid-step, his brow furrowing as his senses tried to reconcile the odor. "Maybe... an animal got in," he murmured, barely loud enough for those near him to hear. He shook his head, brushing it off, and strode forward. But then he saw it.

The field stretched out before him like a nightmare come to life. Blood slicked the grass, forming glistening pools that reflected the sunlight in grotesque patterns. Organs—pale, glistening coils and chunks of something unidentifiable—were scattered haphazardly across the turf. Pig intestines, twisted and knotted, draped from the goalposts like some macabre party streamer. Severed heads sat perched on the bleachers, their blank, glassy eyes staring back at him.

He blinked, frozen in place. "This... this can't be real," he muttered, his voice trembling as denial clawed its way to the surface. His mind raced for an explanation. A prank? Special effects? Something that wasn't what it looked like—because this couldn't be what it looked like. His jaw tightened, and he took another step forward, the squelch of his shoe against the soaked grass sending a chill through his body.

Behind him, the crowd pushed closer, their voices rising in confusion. "What's taking so long?" a teacher asked, craning her neck to see over the others.

A student holding a roll of streamers dropped it to the ground as they caught sight of the scene. "What the hell?" they whispered, their voice cracking.

The first scream tore through the air.

A mother near the front clasped her hand over her mouth, her face pale as she stumbled backward. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" she repeated, grabbing her child and shielding their face with trembling hands.

The principal's stomach churned, but he still clung to denial, his mind latching onto flimsy excuses. "This... this has to be fake," he said aloud, his voice too loud, too firm, as if convincing himself. "They're props. It's a setup. For... for the Halloween event!" He looked around, searching for some evidence of a prank, but his eyes landed instead on the severed head of a pig, blood dripping from the jagged stump of it's neck.

"No, no, no..." the principal muttered, his knees wobbling as the truth pressed down on him. He stumbled back a step, only to find himself surrounded by the crowd, who now stared in paralyzed horror.

The realization washed over them in waves.

A teacher clutched her chest, her clipboard clattering to the ground as her breath hitched. "This can't be happening," she whispered. A group of students stood frozen, their faces pale, while one broke away, retching into the grass. Parents frantically gathered their children, ushering them toward the parking lot as screams began to ripple through the crowd.

"Is that... a head?" someone shouted from the back, their voice tinged with disbelief.

"It's blood!" a teenage girl screamed, dropping a box of cupcakes she had been carrying. The plastic lid popped off, and the treats spilled onto the crimson-stained grass, mixing with the carnage.

Amid the chaos, a father's voice rose above the noise, strained and furious. "Who the hell would do something like this?!"

The principal finally turned back to the crowd, his face a mask of shock and fury. "Everyone—get back! Don't—don't come any closer!" His voice cracked as he raised his hands, attempting to restore order. But the panic was already spreading like wildfire.

A young boy tugged on his mother's sleeve, his voice small and shaking. "Mom... are those pigs?"

His mother's lip quivered as she looked down at him, unable to find the words.

In the distance, someone pulled out their phone, shakily dialing 911. Others began backing away, some running, their footsteps pounding against the pavement as the grotesque scene seared itself into their memories.

The principal stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the severed heads lining the bleachers. Somewhere deep inside, he felt something shift—a crack in the facade of denial. But even as the weight of the truth bore down on him, he couldn't stop himself from muttering, over and over, "It's not real. It's not real."

Kane, Lucas, and the others lingered near the back of the chaos, their expressions painted with satisfaction. Kane stood confidently with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze flicking over the panicked crowd like a predator surveying his territory. Leaning in close to Lucas, he murmured, "Look at them, Lucas. Every scream, every tear—that's because of us. This is what power feels like."

Lucas's pulse raced as he took it all in—the shrill cries, the stumbling parents dragging their children away, and the faint smell of blood still hanging in the air. He felt a rush, a heady mix of adrenaline and belonging, like he was finally part of something greater than himself. His grin stretched wide, his excitement barely contained. "It's perfect. It's like…" he paused, his voice trembling slightly with exhilaration, "...a living horror movie. And we're the directors."

Behind them, Rick let out a low chuckle. "It's insane how easy it was," he said, nudging Leo. "I mean, did you see the pig intestines? I bet it's gonna be on the news for days."

Leo smirked but kept his tone casual. "Days? Try weeks. This is front-page material, man."

The rest of the group remained silent, their faces carefully neutral, though their eyes occasionally darted toward Kane for approval. They didn't speak, but their presence—hovering just behind Kane and Lucas—radiated quiet allegiance.

Then Mr. Thompson appeared, cutting through the chaos with his deliberate, purposeful stride. His face, usually unreadable, was set in a grim line as his sharp eyes locked onto the group. His military instincts flared at the sight of them: too calm, too detached from the carnage. As he neared, the faint laughter and low murmurs among the group died away.

"Enjoying the show?" Mr. Thompson's voice was low and steady, but there was an edge to it, like a blade waiting to be drawn.

Kane turned to face him, his expression shifting smoothly to feigned concern. "Mr. Thompson," he said with mock sincerity, spreading his arms wide, "you made it. Pretty crazy, huh? Who knew a charity event could turn into... this?"

Mr. Thompson didn't immediately respond. His eyes swept over the group, lingering on Kane's cocky posture, Rick and Leo's amusement, and finally landing on Lucas, whose blue eyes gleamed with something far more unsettling than the others.

"What's going on here?" Thompson demanded, his tone hard but measured.

Lucas stepped forward, his excitement impossible to hide. "It's horrible, isn't it?" he said, his voice overly earnest, almost childlike. "I mean, who could be so twisted to do something like this? It's just…" He paused, his lips curling into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "...inhuman."

Thompson stiffened, his unease growing. There was something off about Lucas—the too-polished words, the forced cheerfulness, like he was playing a role he didn't fully understand. It reminded him of faces he'd seen before, years ago, back in the '90s. Young men with empty stares and polite voices who spoke of their crimes with the same dissonant glee.

"Yeah, it's... something,"Mr. Thompson said cautiously, his gaze narrowing.

Kane broke the tension with a sharp laugh. "Come on, Mr. T. You're looking at us like we're suspects or something." His tone turned sharper, more aggressive. "You think we had something to do with this?"

Mr.Thompson's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer right away. Instead, he kept his focus on Lucas, who was still smiling, rocking back on his heels as though the whole situation was a game.

"It's funny," Thompson said finally, his voice low and deliberate. "You remind me of someone I used to know, Lucas."

Lucas's smile flickered for a moment, but he recovered quickly, tilting his head like a curious child. "Oh? Was he as charming as me?"

Thompson didn't smile. "Not quite. But he liked to play games too."

Kane stepped closer to Lucas, a subtle but protective gesture. "Well, that's real interesting, but we've got nothing to do with this. We're just as freaked out as everyone else."

Rick, sensing the tension, piped up from the side. "Yeah, man. We're just standing here like everyone else. Don't go pulling a Law & Order on us."

Leo chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Yeah, Thompson, chill. It's not like we planted pig guts all over the field."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, but he didn't bite. His focus remained on Lucas, whose eyes sparkled with unspoken amusement. For the first time in years, Mr.Thompson felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He'd seen killers before—knew what to look for—and something about Lucas's presence set off every alarm in his head.

"I'll be keeping an eye on you," Mr.Thompson said finally, his tone heavy with meaning.

Lucas's smirk widened, his excitement barely contained. "Oh, I wouldn't have it any other way."

The day ended with the principal announcing the school's closure for at least a day. The decision came after heated discussions with faculty, police, and shaken parents. The gruesome spectacle had left a scar on everyone, and cleaning up the horrific scene was a priority.

Lucas and the others were quickly brought in for questioning. The principal and two officers sat across from the group in a stark, windowless room. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows over the cracked linoleum floor. The air reeked of disinfectant, but beneath it lingered the metallic bite of fear.

Kane leaned back in his chair, tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm on the table with his fingers. His gaze flickered lazily over the principal, as if this were all an inconvenience. Lucas sat beside him, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. He studied the principal with an unnerving calm, his blue eyes betraying a twisted curiosity.

Principal Adams cleared his throat, his voice tight with frustration. "You know why you're here," he said, leaning forward. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table. "What happened this morning was beyond horrific, and someone here knows something."

Kane cocked his head, feigning confusion. "Principal Adams," he said smoothly, "we were just as shocked as everyone else. Why would we have anything to do with something so… disturbing?" His tone carried the faintest trace of mockery.

A police officer stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest. His badge gleamed under the sterile light. "Witnesses saw you near the scene, laughing. Acting suspicious. Care to explain?"

Rick, slouched next to Kane, gave a lazy shrug. "We laugh at a lot of things. Doesn't mean we're guilty." He smirked, chewing on a piece of gum as though this were a casual chat.

Adams's jaw tightened. His voice dropped, heavy with restrained anger. "This isn't a joke. Someone turned our stadium into a goddamn slaughterhouse, and you think this is funny?"

Lucas finally leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. "Principal Adams, we understand you're upset. But accusing us without any proof? That's a bit unfair, don't you think?"

The principal's glare could have cut steel. "Unfair? You want to talk about fairness after what happened?" His voice rose, echoing sharply in the confined space. "Whoever did this will face serious consequences. If you know something—anything—you need to speak up."

Kane's smirk widened as he met Adams's eyes, his voice turning cold. "With all due respect, maybe you should focus on the evidence instead of throwing around baseless accusations. Otherwise, you might just waste everyone's time."

The officers exchanged uneasy glances. The lack of hard evidence left them floundering, and the group's united defiance only deepened their frustration.

A seasoned detective, his face weathered and unreadable, stepped forward. His gaze was sharp, scrutinizing Kane. "Then let's start with an easy question. Where were you all last night?"

Kane's smile didn't falter. "At my place. All of us. Video games, pizza—you can ask anyone in the neighborhood."

The detective's attention shifted to Lucas. "And you? Can you back up that story?"

Lucas's gaze didn't waver. "Absolutely," he said, his tone steady. "We didn't go anywhere."

The detective paused, his eyes narrowing. "Witnesses say you seemed amused this morning. Laughing. Joking. Why would anyone find something like that funny?"

Before Lucas could respond, Jade cut in, her green eyes flashing. "Are we being accused of having the wrong reaction? People process shock differently. Maybe we laugh to cope. That doesn't make us guilty."

The principle slammed a hand on the table, the sound reverberating through the room. "Enough with the excuses!" His face flushed with anger, veins bulging at his temple. "I've seen a lot of things in my career, but nothing like this. Someone in this group knows more than they're letting on!"

Kane's smirk finally disappeared. His tone turned ice-cold, his words cutting like glass. "And what makes you so sure it's us? Because we don't act the way you expect? Maybe you should question your own biases before pointing fingers."

The principal hesitated, his confidence faltering under Kane's unwavering stare. The detective stepped in, his voice measured but firm. "If any of you are hiding something, now's the time to come clean. This is a serious crime, and shielding the guilty will only make it worse for you."

Kane glanced at the group, then back at the detective. His smile returned, faint and mocking. "We've told you everything we know. If you don't have evidence, I think we're done here."

As the questioning continued, the detective couldn't ignore Lucas's demeanor. Unlike the others, whose defiance and indifference were as sharp as the cold air biting at their skin, Lucas seemed almost out of place. His boyish face, wide-eyed and seemingly innocent, was at odds with the hardened, cruel expressions of his companions. Yet there was something about him—something lurking beneath the surface.

The room they sat in was freezing, the air sharp enough to sting, making Lucas's pale skin appear even more striking under the sterile, blinding fluorescent lights. The detective watched him closely, his breaths visible in the cold as he leaned forward. Lucas sat stiffly in the chair, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his shoulders hunched as though bracing against the chill.

The principal sighed, the sound heavy and tired. "This isn't over," he muttered, his words forming faint clouds in the frosty air. "We'll be keeping a close eye on all of you."

When the interrogation concluded and the police officers prepared to escort the group out, the detective made his move. Just as they were herded toward the exit, he placed a firm but calm hand on Lucas's shoulder. The touch was surprisingly warm against the cold, stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay behind," the detective said, his voice measured.

The others glanced back, curiosity flickering in their eyes. Kane, his sharp grin illuminated by the harsh light, met Lucas's gaze and gave a subtle nod. It wasn't reassurance—it was a command. Handle it.

The detective led Lucas into a smaller room, colder than the last. The lights buzzed overhead, casting hard shadows against the walls. The air conditioning roared faintly, its hum competing with the scrape of the detective's chair as he sat down. Lucas hesitated before taking a seat opposite him, his movements slow, calculated, as if considering how best to present himself.

The detective leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his piercing gaze settling on Lucas. "You don't seem like the others," he began, his tone softer now but no less probing. "You're not like them. Not like Kane."

Lucas tilted his head, letting his lips part slightly in a show of confusion. "I don't know what you mean, Detective." His voice was steady, but he could feel the weight of the man's stare, like ice pressing down on him.

The detective didn't look away. "Kids like Kane—kids who think they're untouchable—they don't just break the rules. They break people. I've seen it before. The charm, the power, the way they pull others in and make you think you need them. But people like Kane don't make friends. They make followers. And followers? They end up taking the fall."

Lucas's heart thudded at the words, but his face remained impassive. Inside, though, something stirred—a dark thrill. He wanted to be like Kane, wanted to hold that power over people. But deep down, something even darker whispered to him. You don't need to be like him. You could be better. Stronger. Smarter.

"I'm just trying to fit in," Lucas said, keeping his voice small, almost apologetic. "It's been tough, you know, since everything changed."

The detective leaned back slightly, his breath misting in the cold air. "I get it. Everyone wants to belong. But belonging to someone like Kane? That's a dangerous road, Lucas. If you ever feel like you're in over your head, you come to me. I can help you."

Lucas forced a nervous smile, nodding. "Thanks, Detective. But I swear, I don't know anything. I wouldn't hurt anyone."

The detective studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "You say that now. But people like Kane have a way of changing you. And when you've got no one else, they become everything. Just be careful, Lucas. You might think you're playing their game, but one wrong move, and they'll make sure you take the fall for all of it."

As Lucas left the room, his chest felt tight—not with fear, but with exhilaration. The detective's warning wasn't a threat; it was a challenge. He wasn't going to take the fall. If anything, he'd be the one pulling the strings.

Outside, Kane was leaning casually against the wall, his sharp features lit harshly by the lights above. His grin was as cold as the air around them.

"What'd he want?" Kane asked, his voice low and sharp, a flicker of menace beneath the casual tone.

Lucas shrugged, feigning indifference. "Just asked some questions. Told me to be careful about who I hang out with."

Kane's grin widened, but his eyes darkened, the playful facade slipping just enough to reveal something dangerous. "That so? Good advice, don't you think?" He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Lucas. "Wouldn't want you running your mouth and making it harder for the rest of us."

Lucas met Kane's gaze, holding his ground despite the tension crackling between them. "I don't run my mouth," he said evenly.

Kane smirked, the threat in his voice giving way to mockery. "That's what I like about you. You know your place." He clapped Lucas on the shoulder, harder than necessary, his fingers gripping just a little too tightly. "Let's keep it that way."

As they walked away from the building, Kane's demeanor shifted back to his usual arrogance. "We're heading to Misfit's place tonight. You're coming."

"Misfit?" Lucas asked, glancing at him.

"Yeah," Kane replied, his voice still sharp but with an edge of amusement. "He's got connections. The kind that'll make you forget about all this detective bullshit."

Lucas nodded, a small smirk playing at his lips. He could feel the darkness whispering again, louder this time. You're not just part of this. You're above it.

As Kane draped an arm around his shoulders, Lucas felt the weight of the threat in the gesture, but he didn't pull away. He wasn't afraid of Kane. Not anymore.

They walked into the night, the chill biting harder than ever, but Lucas barely noticed. His mind was racing, the detective's words lingering in his head. He wasn't going to fall into line like the others. He wasn't going to follow Kane's lead. If Kane thought he held all the power, he was wrong.

Lucas wasn't just going to fit in. He was going to take over.

---

Misfit's house was completely different to that of the Morton mansion. Where the mansion had order, Misfit's place had chaos, a living embodiment of decay. The walls were pocked with peeling paint, and the air smelled faintly of something sour, like forgotten food. The floor was littered with empty bottles and fast food wrappers, the furniture mismatched and haphazardly placed as if the space had been thrown together in a moment of carelessness. Lucas could feel his skin crawl as he walked past broken lamps and walls tagged with graffiti—his sense of order rejected every inch of it. This wasn't a house; it was a junkyard, a place where control had long been abandoned.

Kane didn't seem to mind. He led the way, unfazed by the disarray. "Lucas, this is Misfit," he said, gesturing to a lanky guy with an air of reckless charm. Misfit stood near a cracked window, a smirk on his face, his hair a mess of uncombed tangles. His eyes, sparkled with a dangerous energy that reminded Lucas of a wild animal—unpredictable and free.

Misfit offered a handshake, but the force of his grip was off-putting. It was firm, almost too firm for a casual greeting. "Welcome to the funhouse, man," he said, his voice slick with amusement. "I heard a lot about you."

Lucas took his hand, but his gaze never wavered from Misfit's eyes, assessing, cold. "Nice to meet you." He was neutral, barely masking the discomfort the place caused him. The disarray, the mess—he hated it, hated how it made him feel so... exposed. Too much unpredictability, no structure. It set his nerves on edge.

Misfit's grin widened, his eyes glinting with an unnerving interest. "You've got a dark edge to you," he said with a laugh that bordered on intrusive. "I like it."

Lucas's expression didn't shift. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Do you now?" he asked, voice flat.

Kane, who had been standing a few paces back, shifted his weight. The tightness in his stance was noticeable. He didn't like the way Misfit lingered around Lucas, and the look on his face darkened. "Misfit," Kane said, his tone neutral, "Lucas doesn't need a personal fan club. He's here with us."

Misfit's grin faltered for a fraction of a second before he masked it with a laugh. "Alright, alright. No harm meant," he muttered, backing off a step, but not without a lingering glance at Lucas.

The tension was sharp, almost palpable, but Lucas didn't care enough to intervene. He was more focused on the flickering light in the hallway and the unpleasant sting of the stale air around him. The thrill of being here, in this chaotic space, felt foreign. He wasn't here for camaraderie or to build friendships—he was here for the adrenaline, for the distraction. That was it.

The group slowly settled into the worn-out living room, sprawling on mismatched furniture, while the buzz of conversation and laughter filled the air. The smell of alcohol mixed with something far worse—a sickly-sweet rot that made Lucas's stomach turn. It was clear now: this place was a symbol of everything he despised but there was no shame in playing like everything was okay.

Misfit, still uncomfortably close, passed a drink to Lucas, forcing the glass into his hand. Lucas could feel Misfit's knee brush against his, and he resisted the urge to pull away. "So, Lucas," Misfit leaned in slightly, his breath sour with alcohol. "What brought you into this... chaos?"

Lucas took a slow sip from his glass, the burning sensation of alcohol crawling down his throat. "I was looking for something more... alive," he said, voice low, controlled. He was no longer pretending to be disinterested. He was interested—curious, even. But not in the way they thought.

Misfit's eyes lit up, sensing an opening. "Well, you came to the right place, man. We're all about pushing limits. The thrill, the danger… that's what makes life worth living."

Lucas didn't respond right away. He glanced at Kane across the room, his dark eyes narrowing. He could feel Kane's gaze on him, sharp and possessive, like a hawk watching its prey. It unsettled him, and yet... a part of him welcomed it.

"Right," Lucas muttered, turning back to Misfit. "Guess I'll see if I can keep up."

Misfit grinned, clearly pleased by the exchange, but Kane's presence in the room was undeniable. The air between them felt thick, charged. There was something volatile simmering just beneath the surface.

Kane was no longer standing idly by, but his movements were subtle. As Misfit shifted his weight toward Lucas, trying once again to get close, Kane moved in, his hand landing possessively on Lucas's shoulder. His grip was firm but not painful. It was just enough to remind Misfit—remind everyone—that Lucas was already claimed.

"Lucas is with us now," Kane said, his voice a smooth threat, though the words were soft, measured. "And we look out for our own."

Misfit immediately took a step back, eyes flickering to Kane before returning to Lucas with a sheepish grin. "Of course, man. No offense."

Lucas didn't say anything. He let the words hang in the air, the tension between the three of them simmering just beneath the surface. Inside, though, there was no stirring of pride or satisfaction at Kane's possessiveness—only disgust. The way Kane touched him, the way he made it clear Lucas was "his," churned his stomach. Kane wasn't his type. He was too blunt, too coarse, too predictable. And yet, the danger Kane exuded—the chaos he brought with him—was intoxicating in its own way. Lucas didn't care for the man, but he didn't mind feeding into Kane's delusions if it meant capturing just a flicker of the high they'd shared yesterday. The thrill of the hunt, the blood on his hands—that was what Lucas craved, not Kane's cloying attention.

He excused himself to the bathroom, the sharp stench of the house pressing down on him as he walked through the narrow hallway. The filth and clutter seemed alive, creeping in around him, suffocating him. He leaned over the sink, the cracked porcelain gritty beneath his hands, and stared into the mirror. His reflection was cool and detached, but his eyes betrayed him—sharpened and eager. He didn't care about loyalty or belonging, and certainly not about Kane's possessiveness. All he wanted was the next rush, the next moment that would make him feel.

Back in the living room, Kane waited for his moment. Misfit was still trying to regain his composure, the tension between them barely concealed. Kane stepped into the hallway, his voice a low murmur just for Misfit.

"Listen closely, Misfit," Kane said, his tone cold but controlled. "You step out of line again, and there won't be any games. You'll regret it."

Misfit swallowed, a tremor in his voice. "I'm just trying to get to know the guy. No harm meant."

Kane's hand slid into his jacket pocket, the blade of a small knife gleaming in the low light. He let the silence drag on for a moment, his gaze unwavering. "Next time, think twice."

With a sharp exhale, Kane turned on his heel, his posture unshaken. When Lucas returned, he was ready, his earlier tension replaced with a tight smile. He clapped Lucas on the back, his voice warm with an edge of satisfaction.

"You belong here, Lucas," Kane said, voice filled with a sense of finality. "With us."

Lucas didn't answer immediately. He glanced over at Misfit, who was nursing a drink, avoiding his gaze.

The night dragged on, the group's laughter masking the quiet tension that simmered beneath. As Lucas observed the room, his mind ran through the motions of the night. Everyone here had a purpose, but Lucas wasn't interested in theirs. He only wanted to make sure his was met.