The Loadout Room

"Not everything you see is what's real. And what's real doesn't always show itself."

The engine rumbled low as the city slid past, neon blurring into wet concrete.

Lucas drove. Jack sat in the passenger seat, watching the streets in silence.

Varos had been dropped off, right where Lucas had taken him from. No words, no goodbyes.

Jack finally broke the quiet.

"Why're we heading back to Casa again? Didn't you bring everything?"

Lucas's reply came flat, almost bored.

"Unlike you, I don't keep all my essentials strapped to my back."

Jack smirked, his grin widening as the humor caught up.

"Even after all this time, you still like to go in over-prepared."

Lucas said nothing but gave a small nod.

"Yeah."

Jack pulled out his pocket mirror, flipped it open, checked his reflection briefly, then snapped it shut.

"Well, guess you've earned it. You've outlived most of the city."

They reached Casa Nocturna.

Boots hit the stone floor in rhythm. The sound echoed, counted, measured. Lucas and Jack walking side by side, each step landing with purpose.

As soon as Lucas went away, Jack noticed.

He paused, scanned the space. Lucas wasn't heading to his room. He was veering somewhere else.

Jack's grin crept back.

"He makes a mystery out of every damn thing."

And he followed.

Lucas didn't say anything when Jack appeared beside him again. Normally, Lucas would've gone in alone—but it was Jack, and fighting about it would be a waste of time.

Time they didn't have.

Lucas led them down, two floors below the ground level.

Past doors marked Staff Only.

Past doors that didn't open for most people.

Jack thought about asking Where are we going? but he wasn't stupid.

Not everything you see is what's real. And what's real doesn't always show itself.

Lucas pulled out a key, worn, cold, strange.

He slid it into the keyhole and twisted.

The key vanished.

The door clicked open.

Lucas signaled with a flick of his hand. "Get in."

Jack stepped in without hesitation.

His breath caught.

Weapons lined the walls—rifles, shotguns, pistols, blades—each one resting in its own perfect place. Not piled. Not dusty. Displayed like a collection.

Not a collector's collection. A hunter's.

Knives of different types of elements that shimmered with faint inscriptions.

Grenades carved with sigils Jack recognized. Some of them he marked himself.

Sniper rifles with runes burned along their barrels.

Blades wrapped in cloth, like they didn't sleep.

It wasn't a police stash. It wasn't even military.

It was personal.

Jack's voice cut the silence.

"Is this some kind of cop's armory?"

Lucas didn't answer.

Jack's smirk returned, but this time it held something close to awe.

"Scratch that. It's like a cop's armory, but deadlier. And cursed. With some magic that shouldn't exist."

He spun slowly, taking it all in.

"Man… you really don't pack light, huh?"

Lucas moved past him, calm, controlled, as if this room didn't impress him anymore.

For him, these weren't trophies.

They were tools.

Things to carry forward.

Things to burn if they didn't serve.

Lucas moved to the far end of the armory and pulled a small black bag from the wall.

Clean. Compact. Worn, but it fit him like it always belonged.

He set it on the table.

Item by item, he began arranging his loadout, precise, deliberate.

Each piece landed in perfect alignment.

Jack, meanwhile, was still moving around the room, eyes sweeping across every wall, every corner.

The weapons. The tools. The way each section was perfectly organized.

Even the dust in the corners felt like it stayed where Lucas wanted it.

Jack let out a low hum, half-impressed, half-mocking.

"Hell, you've got serious OCD, you know that, right?"

Lucas paused mid-movement.

His head turned, slowly, eyes cold, sharp—Shut up.

Jack raised both hands like he got the message.

Lucas went back to packing.

One last click, the bag sealed tight.

Jack glanced at him, genuinely surprised.

"Wait, wait, you're done? I didn't even see everything clearly. What'd you grab?"

Lucas slung the bag over his shoulder.

"Too bad. You looked away. You lose."

A small smirk flickered at the edge of his mouth.

Jack grinned back, shaking his head.

"The great Lucas Cain smiles. Rare sight."

They stepped out of the armory, boots echoing on the old floors as they made their way to the lobby.

Lucas stopped near the stairs.

"Go to your room. Get some rest. Long day."

Jack raised a brow. "Yeah? I thought we move in forty-eight."

Lucas's voice stayed steady.

"We're seeing Victor tomorrow.

We'll hit Vanessa's in the morning."

Jack's smirk cracked just a little.

The shift didn't go unnoticed. Lucas was moving the clock faster.

But Jack just turned and walked off, pocketing his mirror again.

As he disappeared up the stairs, he muttered to himself,

"Things are getting interesting."

Lucas watched him go for a beat, then turned toward his room.

The bag sat heavy on his shoulder. The weight didn't bother him.

Not anymore.

End of Chapter 21.