Escapades of Pascal

the floors, blending with murmurs and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. Bodies moved in sync on the dance floor, an anonymous sea

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,

en 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 sli

losers like me? Make us feel better for a few hours?" Sasha smirked, unbothered by the bluntness in his tone. "Something like that. I l

lways 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 f

mething else. Love, money, power-doesn't matter. Everyone's selling something." Pascal sighed, slumping deeper into his stool. "Then what's the

rs 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

ed 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. Sas

the hard way." Pascal frowned. "What happened?" Sasha stared at the floor, her voice distant. "I trusted someone. Thought they cared about me,

quietly. "I had someone too. She left when things got tough, and now... nothing makes sense anymore." Sasha looked at him, her hardened expre

istakes. Burned too many bridges. There's no going back." Sasha leaned forward, her voice almost a whisper. "Maybe the

s at a price." Pascal stared at her, suddenly sober. "What kind of price?" Sasha's eyes glinted with something dangerous. "It's not mone

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

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

is 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 backgro

urned slowly, his blood running cold. The figure standing before him wasn't a friend. It was someone from his past-som