Chapter 65: Wake UP Motherfucker

Lukas' time baby.

A thin shaft of daylight squeezed through the cracks in the ceiling of one of the "houses." If you could call them that. Patchwork huts, made from reclaimed scrap, rusted tin, worn cloth, and desperation. They didn't keep the cold out, but they tried their best.

Lukas and Eleanor had crashed in one of the quieter ones, near Seraphine's quarters. A battered shack that leaned sideways like it had given up halfway through existing.

Inside, the makeshift bed—if a pile of torn blankets and a cushion barely thicker than a wrench counted—was a battlefield.

Lukas lay diagonally across it, half-draped in a thin sheet, one sock missing, shirt bunched up around his ribs like it was trying to strangle him. Eleanor, meanwhile, had claimed the other half of the "bed" in near-combat position—back against the wall, one leg dangling off the edge, the other shoved directly into Lukas' ribcage.

She wasn't wearing her armor. Just a black tank top and worn fatigue pants. Hair loose. Jaw slack. Dreaming of war or silence or nothing at all.

Then—

Knock.

Once.

Knock-knock.

Twice.

Pause.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

Third time was the charm.

No answer.

The old metal door creaked open, slow and complaining, and Seraphine slipped inside like someone sneaking into sacred ground. Her pink hair was tied back in a messy braid, and she carried the smell of warm bread and hot grease on her clothes.

Her eyes fell on the disaster that was Lukas and Eleanor.

She blinked.

Then grinned.

Stepping lightly over a cracked pipe and some scattered scrap, she leaned over the bed.

"Hey…"

A whisper. Sweet. Cutesy. Full of fake innocence.

"Time to wake up…"

She poked Lukas on the shoulder.

Nothing.

She tried again.

Eleanor stirred—barely.

Seraphine pouted.

Then, she took a deep breath, stepped back, and—

"WAKE UUUUUUP!!"

Lukas screamed.

Eleanor shot to her feet in a flash, nearly flipping the bed. Her stance was pure combat—arms up, feet firm, ready to kill whatever just yelled at her. Hair wild, eyes locked.

Lukas, meanwhile, rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a dull THUD.

"WHAT IN THE FLYING FUCK?!" he yelled from the ground. "ARE WE GETTING RAPED?!"

Eleanor blinked twice, then saw Seraphine standing there, trying not to laugh.

"...Oh. It's you."

She relaxed, muscles uncoiling. Her voice dropped into something calmer. Almost sheepish.

"Apologies. Reflex."

Seraphine giggled behind her hand.

"Sorry. But I did knock. Like… a lot."

Lukas groaned from the floor, pulling the blanket over his face.

"Holy Janna, I hate you so fucking much."

Seraphine stuck her tongue out at him.

"Breakfast's ready. I came to get you both. We're eating together. You are guests, after all."

Eleanor stepped over Lukas and nodded politely.

"Thank you Miss Seraphine. For the food. And the hospitality."

"No problem. Just don't kill me next time I say good morning."

Lukas grumbled from the floor again.

"You don't say good morning, you scream it like a fucking banshee who stubbed her toe."

Seraphine winked.

"That's the spirit."

Eleanor moved toward her armor in the corner—laid out piece by piece with the reverence of someone who trusted it more than most people. The chest plate gleamed faintly. Little Sister armor. Custom fit, scratched, scarred, reliable.

As she strapped it on, Lukas finally rolled to his feet.

Hair a mess. Shirt halfway off. Grumbling like an old man thrown from his own bar.

He dusted off his pants and muttered under his breath:

"Next time I'm sleeping in the sewer. Probably quieter."

Seraphine heard that.

And smiled like she won.

---

The path to Ekko's place wasn't much of a path. More like a winding trail of metal planks, makeshift ladders, and graffiti-covered scaffolding that wound through the core of the Sons of Rapture's community.

Lukas walked with a slow swagger, arms folded behind his head, still shaking off the trauma of Seraphine's wake-up call. Eleanor followed with calm precision, armor secured and eyes constantly scanning. Not out of paranoia—just habit. She was built to assess, and Zaun was a lot to take in.

Seraphine bounced ahead, humming. Like she hadn't nearly murdered two people with a "good morning, motherfucker."

But as they walked, something shifted.

The chaos of Zaun—the screaming pipes, the flickering lights, the scent of rust and wet smoke—felt quieter here.

Kids were running between the stacks, laughing. An old woman stirred a pot of something vaguely edible over a barrel fire. Two mechanics traded jokes while tightening bolts on a broken hoverboard.

The Sons of Rapture weren't just rebels.

They were a family.

And in the distance, past a tangled web of scaffolding and cables, Lukas spotted it.

A massive mural, painted across the wall. Colorful. Alive.

It showed many familiar faces and some unfamiliar.

Vi. Vander. milo. Claggor. Powder.

Friends. Lost ones. Kids who didn't make it. Kids who still might.

And—

"Well would you look at that," Lukas muttered, stopping mid-step.

Eleanor looked over his shoulder.

"I'm in it."

He squinted. Yep. That was his face. Mid-smirk.

"Damn. I look good."

Eleanor gave a tiny nod. "Very symmetrical."

"I know, right?"

Seraphine rolled her eyes so hard she almost tripped.

---

Ekko's place was a small converted chamber tucked beneath a collapsed train bridge. One half was all wires and gear, the other a humble bed and scattered books. A low table sat at the center, already set with bowls of steaming food.

Ekko was seated on the edge of the bed, still bandaged but upright. Tired, but better.

He looked up when they entered.

"Took you long enough," he said, smirking.

"Seraphine tried to kill us," Lukas deadpanned.

"Rude," she huffed. "I made breakfast."

She plopped down beside Ekko and offered him a spoonful of whatever she brought. Soup? Stew? Chemical weapon?

He leaned away. "I can eat on my own."

"I'm helping," she said, smiling sweetly.

"I have hands," he replied, deadpan.

"Don't Care."

She shoved the spoon toward his face again. He sighed and accepted it. She beamed like she'd just won a war. Eleanor, seated across from them, watched the exchange like a scholar observing a rare mating ritual.

Lukas, meanwhile, stared at them.

Then blinked.

"So, you guys fucking or what?"

The spoon dropped. Ekko choked. Seraphine turned crimson in under a second.

"W-we're not—!"

"We're just friends!" Ekko added, too fast.

"Oh, get the hell outta here," Lukas groaned, leaning back. "You've got a girl caring for you, feeding you like a sick bird, and you're not even cuddling?"

"It's not like that," Ekko grumbled, face buried in his bowl.

"Exactly!" Seraphine snapped. "We're—just—close! That's it!"

"Close, huh?" Lukas squinted at them mischievously.

Silence.

"Well, you know what they say..."

They both tensed.

"Once you go Ekko..."

Seraphine looked like she wanted to evaporate.

"You never go Bekko—"

"Boss."

Eleanor's voice was calm, surgical.

"What?"

"Stop interrogating people about their sex lives."

"I'm not interrogating," Lukas said, offended. "I'm just giving my blessings."

Eleanor raised a brow. "Should I remind you about the rumors circulating Rapture, about your legendary 'Goon Chamber' hidden beneath the Adonis Luxury Resort?"

Lukas nearly spat his food. "The fuck?!"

Seraphine blinked. "Goon chamber?"

Ekko turned redder than a flare round. "Do not ask him."

"Hey!" Lukas pointed. "That was my private study!"

"You ordered twenty gallons of baby oil to be sent there," Eleanor said flatly.

"I like to keep myself shiny when I study!"

Seraphine buried her face in her hands.

Ekko groaned. "Can we eat in silence now?"

"Fine," Lukas muttered, stealing another bite from Seraphine's bowl. "But I'm just saying… if you two do end up dating, I expect a 'thank you' in the wedding toast."

Seraphine kicked him under the table.

Lukas winced.

Eleanor smiled faintly and kept eating.

---

The bowls were empty now. Left like scraps of peace no one could afford to keep.

Whatever warmth breakfast offered was gone, replaced by something heavier—an old tension that followed Lukas like a shadow that knew his name.

Ekko leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"So…" he said. "What's next?"

Lukas didn't answer right away.

He exhaled slowly. Eyes on the floor. Then lifted them.

"Now... I go back to the factory."

Ekko blinked. "Back to Fontaine?"

Lukas nodded. "Yeah. Just me and Eleanor."

Ekko frowned. "Be serious, man. That place'll be swarming with Silco's people. You walk in there, you don't walk out."

Lukas stepped closer. Laid a hand on his shoulder. Light. Steady.

"Foolish little brother."

He smiled, just barely.

"You think so little of me?"

Ekko sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "That's not the point—"

"I need to get Vander."

Seraphine tensed beside them, breath catching. Across the table, Eleanor didn't flinch, but her fingers twitched—just once.

Ekko stared at the floor. Lukas could see the gears turning.

The memory of that name still hit like a sledgehammer.

"And after that?" Ekko asked.

Lukas straightened. "I go looking for Vi. And Claggor."

Ekko looked up, jaw tight. "They're gone, Lukas."

Lukas raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Ekko opened his mouth—then stopped.

Because he wasn't.

Lukas stepped back. The fire behind his eyes was steady now, glowing from somewhere deeper.

"We bring Vander back here. Safe. Breathing."

A pause.

"And then?" Ekko asked, voice quieter now. Careful.

Lukas didn't hesitate.

He smiled.

But it was sharp. Hollow. All edge, no comfort.

"Then?"

A beat.

"Revenge."