Daimor

You stand in front of the club entrance. Your hands tighten their grip on the recently received letter, carelessly tossed at your door. A letter with YOUR name on it. You put the envelope in your bag, mentally running through the map with instructions on how to find this Lantar. Sighing, you glance at the sign again. You slowly make your way to the entrance, tugging at the door. The door gives way, letting you into a room with a swirling red mist. There's not even security. No one stops you, no one asks about the dress code. You don't know what's driving you, but the realization only now dawns on you: it's too late to back out. The people around you ignore you. They don't even turn their heads. Some are inappropriately close to each other. You quickly scan the club, trying to plan an escape route. Your feet carry you toward the loud, blaring music. The dance floor is packed, and you have to push your way through the crowd of rather tipsy people. But your goal is close, and you move towards it, despite the complaints of bystanders. The door you're heading for opens invitingly, illuminating the dark hallway, and a moment later you find yourself inside a small room. You notice a figure in front of you. A guy with white hair sadly clutches a broken wristwatch. Lantar puts the watch in his pocket and talks about immortals, about how special you are. At some point, you simply leave, distrustful. It seems like everything you've done so far was a mistake. You shouldn't have come in the first place, because this guy is clearly not all there. The club has become much hotter since you've been gone. People are rubbing against each other. The scent of unspoken desires hangs in the air. You feel uneasy. There's not enough air, and what air you do inhale is suddenly hot and pungent. You start coughing from the thick cigarette smoke. As soon as you turn your head, you see the source of it. Some idiot decided to smoke right there in the room. The guy throws his cigarette right into someone's glass. "I hope the glass is yours." He glances briefly at the glass, at you, then back at the glass. He's grinning, visible even through the black fabric mask covering his face. "If you want, you can drink."

Never tell anyone what I tell you.