I traversed across town, covering a few miles on foot to reach ECLIPSE's building. I chose not to take my car to avoid being followed. ECLIPSE isn't located in the main bustling tourist trap section of the city, which means there are fewer eyes on them. Most of the city dismisses them as some pagan loon fest, mistakenly thinking they are harmless. They couldn't be more wrong. Spiritual warfare is the highest level of warfare. As I walked down the final stretch of sidewalk, the building loomed into view, growing larger with each step I took. The architecture was imposing, with a huge stone porch that seemed out of place for a location where few people were ever seen. The building had an eerie, foreboding presence that sent a shiver down my spine. It's hard for me to even step close to this place right now. I approached the entrance, the glass door reflecting my determined expression. I knocked on the door, my fist strong in the stillness around me, and then pushed it open and stepped inside.

The lobby was eerily quiet, devoid of any occupants, with just empty chairs lining the walls. In front of me was a desk with a receptionist sitting behind it. She immediately drew my attention with her strikingly unique appearance. Her eyes.. something was off about them. Her short black hair framed her face, adding to her allure. To be honest, she was beautiful. It was a shame that she had made these choices. She stared at me blankly, as if I had committed a crime by merely entering the building. "Uh... hello." I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She snapped out of her trance and began typing on her keyboard, avoiding any further eye contact. "Hello, you're... new." she finally responded, her voice devoid of warmth. "Yeah, I am. I was interested in this place." I replied, rubbing the back of my head nervously. She reached under her desk and clicked a button. "Someone will be out shortly for an interview. Just to see if you're the right type. Please sit for now." she explained. There was a momentary flicker of stress or worry in her eyes as she bit her finger, but it quickly morphed into a disturbingly lustful gaze. Crazy... I ignored that for now, and I took a seat and waited.

I still stood on edge, half expecting a group of them to burst out and attack me at any moment. My paranoia was increasing. Maybe I need to get something to treat that. The silence of the lobby was oppressive, each second stretching longer than the last. Just as I began to feel the pressure in my ears, a few minutes quickly passed, and a well-dressed man with thin shoulders entered from the backrooms. He held a drawing board with a pen clutched close to his chest, as if it were a precious item. His attire was immaculate, a stark contrast to the eerie emptiness of the room. He looked around, searching for me, and then made eye contact.

"Ah, come follow me, sir, for your interview." he said, his voice smooth and practiced. I nodded and got up, making my way towards him. He opened the door for me, a kind gesture that felt oddly out of place in such an unsettling environment. I stepped into the backrooms, noting the gray walls devoid of any decoration or meaning. There weren't even any paintings, just strange symbols that seemed to pulse with an unsettling energy. The air felt heavier here, as if laden with unspoken secrets.

Continuing down the corridor, the man broke the silence. "Do you hear it?" he asked, his tone almost conspiratorial. I listened intently, my senses on high alert. At first, there was nothing but the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Then I caught the sound—a low, rhythmic moaning coming from one of the side rooms. It was not the moaning of anguish, but of pleasure. The noise was faint but unmistakable. Hedonistic bastards... my disgust deepened.

I answered, "Yes, I do hear it." while maintaining a straight face. The man swiped his arm in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. He began to outline the pros of joining, his voice taking on an almost seductive tone. "You'll obtain pleasure you haven't even imagined if you rise to the higher ranks." he promised. He plucked at his beard thoughtfully. "Although, you have to partake in some tough activities to get the privilege." I noticed a subtle shift in his body language. His left foot inched towards me, a telltale sign of his next move. Without warning, he quickly curled left, switching the board to his other hand, and threw a heavy haymaker right at my face. I ducked under, dodging the blow by a mile. The rush of air from his swing brushed past my hair.

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Instinctively, I raised my fist skyward for an uppercut, aiming to end this confrontation swiftly. But the man blocked it with the board, which wavered under the impact but held firm thanks to his powerful forearm muscles. He's got power. I was about to step back, having lost my cover, but the man placed his hand on my shoulder, stopping me. "Sorry for that," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "we do a test like that on new recruits. Again, some of our activities are tough. You got a perfect score though!" He checked something on the paper attached to his board, his eyes scanning it quickly. "A passing score would be dodging or blocking, but you counter-attacked and almost got me. I'm one of the strongest guys here, you know." He laughed. then slid over to the door to my left. He opened it with a flourish, gesturing for me to enter. "Come on in..." he said, his tone inviting yet laced with an undercurrent of challenge.

I entered the room, noting the red walls and brown floors. At least they changed the color scheme. These people aren't for interior decoration. The man pulled out a chair for me, going through all the stops to appease me. I nodded, showing my appreciation. As I sat down, I discreetly clicked the recorder in my pocket to gather some preliminary evidence. "So, uh... what questions do you have for me?" I asked, leaning forward and intertwining my fingers. I aimed to project an aura of calmness and confidence. He pulled out the paper, his eyes scanning the questions. "Well, there's one main question. For now, I'll ask you about your info." He looked up at me. "What's your name?" I answered, recalling the name I had given at the school. "My name is Jake. Uh, Jake Handerhall, full name." I had created a fake social media account online and imprinted that persona into this world for a few months. They will believe that.

He wrote it down, not showing any signs of suspicion. "Where are you living right now?" "I'm at my parent's house. I'm only nineteen. I'm going to move out shortly." I replied, keeping my voice steady and casual. He continued jotting down the information, asking some really basic questions. I answered each one with efficiency and casualness, not wanting to give off the impression I was lying.

The room became tense as he announced, "Alright. Time to move on to the most important question." His voice was steady, but the gravity of his words hung heavily in the air. The light from the overhead chandelier cast sharp shadows across his face, and his eyes, once kind, now burned with intensity as they bore into mine. "Why are you here?" My heart pounded in my chest, each beat resonating like a drum. My palms grew clammy, and a cold sweat broke out along my brow. The room seemed to close in around me, the walls pressing ever closer. My thoughts swirled in a chaotic storm, memories of her—her laughter, her kindness, her brutal end—flashing through my mind.

I cannot stay silent for long. The urge to scream, to lash out, to pour out my anguish and rage surged within me like a tidal wave. My mind screamed, It's you.. you! I want to kill you! I want to destroy this whole damn cult, organization, whatever! I want to destroy this crime against humanity, and specifically torture those who killed her! But I cannot say that. I swallowed hard, forcing the torrent of emotion down, trying to maintain a façade of calm. In a voice that trembled only slightly, I made a request, "Can I borrow your pen, please?" He paused, suspicion flickering in his eyes, his demeanor shifting to one of distrust. For a moment, I thought he might refuse, but after what felt like an eternity, he relented. His hand moved slowly, deliberately, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a different pen.

I brought out my forearm, rolling up my sleeve to reveal the taut muscles beneath. The bulging strength was made abundantly clear, veins prominent under the skin. His eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the display. I clicked the pen. Without hesitation, I pierced it into my skin. Pain flared as I dragged the pen across my forearm, crimson blood welling up in its wake. The sting was intense, each movement sending shockwaves of agony through my body, but I welcomed it. The pain was a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil, a way to channel the storm of emotions raging inside me. I bit down on my lip to stifle a groan, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

The blood flowed freely, I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. "If I were to die right now, it wouldn't matter," I said, my voice steady despite the pain. "the only thing that could ever matter is if I make a difference... within this organization." The act of hurting myself caused the blinding rage within me to subside. He did not expect this, but his surprise quickly morphed into a smirk. His lips curled upwards, a sinister glint in his eye. "You'll fit right in, Jake."