Pick your poison, literally, figuratively, metaphorically, philosophically, mathematically, empathically, hospitality, fatality, extra-curricular activities-

“And after Bella assisted me by convincing her... erm... Investor friend, I spent the next two years creating my dance club empire, where anyone who feels lost and misguided can come to drink their worries away! Thus, the name Lost Lamb!” Pierre finished recounting his entire backstory.

I had to wipe a tear from my eye, moved beyond all reason, “Such a beautiful story...”

It was the kind of stuff that could have gotten books and movies based on it. Hell, I’d buy a Blu-ray if it ever comes out.

Bella gave a huff as she pouted, "I can't believe you completely skipped over the parts where I was working there part-time... I should have a more prominent role in your story than just 'the girl who introduced you to an investor.'"

Pierre gave a small chuckle, "Perhaps the next iteration of the story then?"

"Yeah right! Like you'd ever remember, you old fart!" Bella playfully jabbed, lightly slapping the guy in the shoulder.

While our playful banter was going on, I was suddenly struck with this sudden sense that I was being carefully observed. It was enough to pull me out of the conversation as it gave me the heeby-jeebies up my spine...

I already knew the windows were covered, so it's not like anyone outside was staring in on us anymore... And I don't think it's any of the guards either, or else I would have felt this feeling constantly since yesterday.

Carefully, I looked around the room behind me, trying to find the source of this strange feeling. Maybe it might just be my imagination, but something feels really wrong in my stomach because of this...

The piano player was still playing smooth jazz, so it wasn't him. Most of the employees were just minding their own business, cleaning the tables of spilled **** and empty glasses. The guards were still as dutiful as ever, and I already sensed that it wasn't them...

Wait... Actually...

There was one person in the room that I caught staring at me. As we made eye contact, she didn't bother looking away.

It was a girl in a playboy bunny girl outfit, casually standing around as if she was just there to look pretty. She had a smile as she stared at me from behind, giving me a friendly wave when she noticed that I caught her.

I nervously waved back just to look friendly, before facing forward again, feeling a cold sweat run down my head.

I don't really understand what I was so nervous or scared about. It was just a sexy waitress checking me out. If anything, I should feel sort of flattered at the attention...

But...

It felt weird. Like a cat waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse kind of weird.

I dunno, maybe I'm just high-strung for some reason. Or maybe I'm just not used to some cute girl having her attention on me, which was making me nervous.

Phew, calm down man. Remember, you already have Stacy. Just be cool.

He looked so carefree, laughing around with his close friends, making jokes and listening to the boss's stories.

It was like he didn't have a single care in the world. Like he didn't just nearly die from a truck crashing into him a few days ago.

Like he wasn't some type of dictator, controlling the lives of others.

Like he wasn't a selfish perverted psychopath.

Seeing him smile like this, it made her absolutely livid on the inside. Thankfully, she hid it well behind that well-practiced smile of hers, giving a friendly wave the moment she got caught staring.

He smiled and waved back, not suspecting a single thing about her.

Lord John has absolutely no idea that she was going to make him die a painful ****.

She held back her manic grin, knowing that she would look weird and gain attention if someone were to catch her smiling so strangely to herself.

Katherine had the perfect plan to take out Lord John, while making it look like a complete accident and absolutely untraceable back to her.

It was something that her group concocted for her, just in case an unlikely scenario like this were to happen, where she would be able to encounter John Doe face to face.

In her personal belongings, she had a flattering black and white headshot photo of Lord John posing confidently for the camera, as well as a special red pen along with it.

The photo and pen by themselves were completely harmless. To the naked eye, it would appear to just be a normal everyday pen and a special photograph of Lord John. Nothing suspicious at all.

However, when combined, that was when it would become a deadly weapon.

The masterminds behind this gadget made it so that the photograph would be printed with a special chemical compound that laid dormant on the photo prints. While it was inactive, touching the photo in this state would be harmless. Even writing on it with normal pens and paper wouldn't do anything special.

However, the red pen that she has in her care has a special ink that acts as a catalyst when it makes contact with the photograph. The ink seeps through the paper which allows the chemicals inside to react violently. This reaction would then produce an odorless gas containing an undetectable poison, that immediately latches on to the skin of the person touching it.

All it takes is one accidental whiff of it, whether he was scratching his face or eating something with his contaminated fingers, for the poison to enter and spread inside the body. The poison sticks on so well, not even soap with water could clean it off.

Once it was inside the respiratory system though, it's too late. The poison would start spreading throughout the body without alerting the victim, giving off no symptoms- at first. However, it only takes within two days for the poison to reach the brain and cause the brain's blood vessel walls to deteriorate. It's only a matter of time before the victim suddenly feels severe headaches, loss of vision, loss of balance, before ultimately leading to a quick and painful **** by brain aneurysm.

The only way to prevent the poison from spreading once it was inside the body would be to take an antidote that would counteract and kill off the poison before it could do any significant damage. Removing the poison from contaminated hands and fingers would require the person to soak their hands with heavy amounts of antisepsis in order to avoid repeated affliction from the poison.

The plan was simple. Wait for a prime opportunity that would allow Katherine to interrupt Lord John and ask him for his autograph. Hand him the photograph and red pen that would be used to poison him. Let him write his name or whatever before taking it back and burn it before it could become evidence. Then, once that was over, she would have only two days to decontaminate the poisonous substance from her hands and swallow the antidote to prevent her from dying a painful 'accident' just like her victim.

Once that was over, she could rest nice and happy as the news would soon break out about how their beloved Lord John Doe died from an unexpected brain aneurysm that nobody could have discovered or prevented in time.

Then... things would finally go back to normal. Back to a time before this bastard ever started meddling with other people's lives.

Personally, it wouldn't be the **** she would have chosen for him if she could get away with any other. In her opinion, he deserved far worse.

But at the end of the day, a life with John Doe dead would be better than a life without. It made no difference how he died, as long as he stayed dead for good this time and never came back.

Right now... All she had to do was wait for the perfect opportunity.

"So John, my friend."

Pierre brought me back to reality as I snapped out of my stupor, before facing him and asking, "Huh, yeah?"

"Were you able to remember anything at all after listening to my tale?" Pierre asked expectantly, "It does not even have to be about me specifically. Anything at all?"

At his behest, I went ahead and tried to see if any new memories popped up while I was listening to Pierre explain his background.

Still nothing.

I shook my head apologetically, "Sorry Pierre... I can't seem to remember anything yet."

With a reassuring smile, he told me, "It is absolutely no problem! The day is still young, and we have many more conversations to have, which means many more opportunities!" Suddenly, he pulled out a cocktail shaker and started spinning it around like an airplane propeller, before sliding it across his arms, past his shoulders, and catching it with his other hand, all in one fluid motion. "But for now, we have talked long enough! Please, order a drink! It shall be 'on the house,' as they say! Whatever you wish, I shall make it while performing a spectacle that even Dionysus, the Greek god of grape-harvesting and wine-making, would tremble in awe and jealousy at my skill!"

To further add into his claim, he threw the cocktail shaker dozens of feet into the air as he spun around to grab three cocktail glasses and laying them down one by one for each of us, right before catching the shaker without even looking.

Holy shit, I wasn't expecting that.

I think I've heard about this... This was a style called flair bartending, right? Where the bartender would mix drinks while also performing sick flips and juggling moves at the same time?

This had to be the first time I ever been to one of these places.

Bella started clapping excitingly, "Ooh, this has always been my favorite part!" She turned to me with a cheerful grin, "This was practically the reason why I started working part-time as a bartender back in my college years, you know? I always wanted to learn how to do some of these tricks myself!"

Pierre leaned in towards me and held a hand up to cover his mouth, only to whisper loudly enough that even Bella and Stacy could hear, "Between you and me, she sadly never learned how to properly balance even a glass in her hand, much less juggle!"

"Oh shut up, you!" Bella laughed heartedly.

Pierre stood back and straighten himself up, asking us, "What would you like to drink, Monsieur and Mademoiselles?"

Stacy tapped her finger twice on the counter, already prepared to order, "Pousse-Café, please. Nuclear Rainbow style."

"A colorful selection as always, Docteure. Quite literally, I might add." Pierre remarked with a bow, before turning to Bella.

Bella happily tapped her fingers twice as well, before ordering, "The Kir Impérial, if you would."

"Strawberry or raspberry?" Pierre asked.

"Strawberry."

"Ah yes, we must tame that infamous sweet-tooth of yours, Débutante!" Pierre chuckled, before finally turning to face me in the middle. "And what have you decided, my friend?"

...

Uh...

Okay then, kind of being put on the spot here. I thought they were gonna order something generic, like... beer or wine, or something. Figures that these two would know the names of the more fancier drinks. Then here I am, some suburban Florida bumpkin who probably couldn't even tell the difference between bourbon and whiskey.

Ah well, it wasn't like I was planning to drink **** when we got here.

Following similar etiquette from the other two, I tapped the counter twice before ordering, "Orange juice without pulp, please."

There was a brief moment of silence in the air as everyone turned to stare at me.

...

Much to my confusion, Pierre suddenly keeled over and started clapping his knees as he laughed like a madman, almost as if I just told him the funniest joke in history. Bella also seemed to find it funny as she covered her mouth giggling, whatever 'it' was. Stacy was the only one that didn't laugh, furrowing her eyebrows in confoundment as she looked over at me with concern.

I looked between the three of them, wondering if I said something wrong. Was I suppose to say orange juice in French, maybe? Like Je voudrais acheter du jus d'orange or something?

Wait a minute... was that the actual way to ask for orange juice in French?

Yes, yes it actually is... How the hell did I know that?

Pierre finally spoke up, taking me out of my thoughts, as he laughed heavily, "AHAHAHAH! Oh- Oh, Monsieur John! You still have that wonderful sense of humor!" Turning to the others, he pointed at me with a humorous grin, "'Orange juice without pulp,' he says! Can you believe this wonderful bastard?!"

Bella lightly shoved me in the shoulder as she laughed, "C'mon John, quit kidding around! Out of all the drinks here, you'd just order plain orange juice?"

I awkwardly chuckled back, "Eheheh... Erm... I wasn't kidding though... I just want orange juice... Seriously."

The laughter quickly died down as I said that.

Everyone was suddenly staring at me like I was some kind of two-headed ostrich in a zoo exhibit. I couldn't help but feel intimidated by it.

Coughing his throat clear, Pierre settled down and calmly spoke to me, "Ahem, John. There is no need to hold yourself back on anyone's account. I am quite skilled in preparing drinks, and I am more than happy to put it towards my expense!"

"And I don't doubt that you could probably make cocktails that would literally cause Greek gods to cry in jealousy," I reassured, "But I don't really want anything alcoholic..."

"Oh! I get it now!" Bella snapped her fingers in realization, "You're concerned about getting drunk so early in the middle of the day, right? Look, you don't need to worry about that. See, there's this pill called the Anti-Hangover that-"

I waved my hands to interrupt her, "Nonono, I already know about the Anti-Hangover pills from Stacy back in the limo. That's not what I'm-" I paused for a moment in thought, before saying, "Okay, maybe I should rephrase this..."

I took a deep breath and sighed.

"I don't ever drink ****. Period."

...

The tension in the air was so thick, you could throw a knife at it and it would bounce off.

Everyone stared at me again in complete shock, as if I just uttered something completely blasphemous in the face of God himself.

Half of me expected Pierre to shank me in the neck for daring to disrespect his establishment with such vile words of not drinking.

After a moment of silence has passed, Bella was the first to speak up as she stuttered, "W-What do you mean you don't drink?"

"Exactly what I said. I just... I don't drink ****. Never had, probably never will." I shrugged, not sure what else to say about it. "I mean, you and Stacy have known me for at least four years now, right? I thought you knew?"

Bella looked completely speechless. It was like she couldn't even recognize what she was seeing.

Stacy had a concerned frown, opening her mouth to speak up but was unable to really know what to say in this situation.

Me? I felt... pretty confused right now.

Like, they both had to know that I didn't drink, right? I pretty much actively avoided the stuff.

"Okay everyone, let us calm down." Pierre suddenly spoke up before dramatically clapping his hands, "I am sure this is all just a case of misunderstanding each other. I will go ahead and prepare the drinks for all of you now." He picked up his cocktail shaker again before spinning it around on his finger like a basketball. Then he stylishly flicked it to his other hand before pointing at me, "For you, my friend, I will be preparing a special concoction just for you! It is a drink that, hopefully, you will recognize once you see it!"

"Wait, what-" I tried to ask, only to be interrupted as Pierre got started with his show.

Pierre began with a big dramatic bang, using one hand to grab five different bottles of **** before throwing it into the air like a millionaire treating hundred dollar bills as pennies. One by one they started to fall, only for Pierre to grab them out of the air and began juggling them like a master circus clown. His eyes were barely on them though, as they were entirely focused on staring at the glass cup in front of Stacy. With quick precision, he took the glass cup into his hand and started holding it steady even as he used his other hand to single-handedly juggle the other five bottles in the air.

In an act of complete godlike accuracy, he steadily popped open the cap of each bottle before throwing them back into the air, somehow without spilling any of the liquid out. He seemed to be able to somehow control when the liquid would spill out the bottles though, as they only ever seemed to pour out when they were exactly right above glass cup he was holding steady. One by one, the liquid from each bottle would get poured in the cup in an organized fashion, filling the cup in an array of colors. From the bottom up, the color of the liquid was blue, white, green, yellow, and finally orange, in a fantastic form of a rainbow. Somehow the liquid from the different **** bottles didn't get mixed together, as the glass cup held layers upon layers of the drink together in perfect fashion.

Steadily, he put the cup back down in front of Stacy, before putting the bottles back down on the counter one by one without making a mess or spilling another drop. Finished, he said, "Voilà! The Pousse-Café, Nuclear Rainbow!"

After that, he set the bottles back on the shelf in the back as he went to work on Bella's drink. For her, he prepared out some kind of pink bottle and a bottle that I actually managed to recognize as champagne. For the pink bottle, he spun it on its side like some sort of Beyblade toy and balanced it on top of his wrist. Slowly, he tilted his arm up to allow the pink bottle to travel up his arm before he caught it in his neck. Popping the cap open, he poured out a tiny amount of it into Bella's bottle, and then closed it off as he spun it around his neck somehow and let it spin down his other arm and catching it in his other hand. For the champagne, he was actually much less theatric about this, calmly opening the cork off and tilting the glass slightly to the side as he poured the champagne in. There was a slight fizz from the champagne that nearly overflowed the glass, but it never went over the line to spill.

To top it off, he bent down to grab an actual strawberry from his inventory that has already been cut and a straw, dropped both of them right in the cup. Using the straw to stir the drink, he then proceeded to slide the glass over to Bella, "A Kir Impérial for you!"

Then he turned to face me, giving me a confident grin, "And last, but not least, for you my friend, I will be preparing your favorite drink!"

Favorite drink? What?

Before I had the chance to ask, he had already gotten started as he took my glass cup from me.

Instead of doing anything fancy, he actually seemed to take a calm casual approach into making my drink. From his shelf, he took out two separate bottles that I immediately recognized was rum and coca-cola. Down behind his counter, Pierre used tongs to grab a large block of ice and placed it right in the middle of my glass. Popping off the caps of both the rum and coca-cola bottles, he steadily poured one-thirds of rum into the glass, then poured two-thirds coke. Grabbing a slice of lime, he squeezed the citrus fruit into the drink and carefully placed the lime on the edge of the cup as decoration.

"Ah, the Cuba Libre, a classic drink that has been the first sip of many, from casual drinkers to connoisseurs." He looked at the glass with fondness, before placing it back in front of me. "The drink is also better known as just the Rum and Cola Cocktail. Most tend to call it that, not knowing the history behind the drink."

Stacy and Bella silently stared at me, watching my reaction to the drink presented in front of me.

I nervously pulled the glass towards me with caution, observing it on all sides.

I mean... Yeah, it looks tasty, I guess... But...

Christ, how do I tell him that I seriously didn't drink anything that contains ****?

"Please, I insist you at least take a sip, my friend!" Pierre gestured towards the drink, smiling expectantly, "I am positive that even a simple taste will be enough to remind you of all the other times you have drunk this particular concoction."

I... drunk this stuff before? But... that... that's...

"That's impossible..." I muttered. In the end, I shook my head and looked up at Pierre, "I'm sorry man, but I'm serious. I'm not a drinker. I don't know what you guys think, but there's no possible way I could have ever drunk any **** before in my entire life. It's not something I would ever even consider doing."

Pierre seemed stunned at my response, opening his mouth to say something only to end up making noncommittal noises.

Bella looked away, finding the floor to be more interesting at this moment.

Stacy put a hand on my shoulder, before gently telling me, "John, in the past four years since we've met, I've always known you as someone who was knowledgeable about ****. I've seen you handle drinks that were stronger than most people could handle. That's the honest truth."

But why though?! How the hell could that even be?!

"I... I just..." I couldn't help but stammer, feeling my stomach turn at this revelation. "There's no way that's possible! I mean... Maybe I've been secretly faking it this whole time or something?!"

Right, that sounds pretty realistic! Maybe in an attempt to look cool in front of Bella or Stacy or even Pierre, I did extensive research on alcoholic drinks beforehand and only pretended to be some sort of expert on drinking? Maybe that's why everyone seems to think I was some sort of drinker.

"Why is the idea of you drinking **** so unbelievable? There has to be a specific reason, isn't there?" Stacy asked calmly.

"I..." I breathed in and out, trying to calm my nerves, "B-... Back when I was in middle school, I made a promise to myself that I'd never drink **** for my entire life. Not for fun, not to get drunk, not for any reason whatsoever."

"Okay, so it's because you swore to yourself that you'd never do it back when you were a kid." Stacy nodded in understanding, before offering, "But John, you're an adult now. Maybe in the last seven years, you've just forgotten about that promise you made as you got older. Or perhaps curiosity made you try out drinking at least once before you found out that you had a taste for it-"

"It wasn't just some dumb kiddie promise that I made up in the spur of the moment!" I interrupted her, "This was something that I've always kept in the back of my head for as long as I could remember! I promised myself that, no matter what happens to me in the future, no matter how bleak, boring, or painful it might become, I would never ever resort to **** as a solution!"

Stacy pulled back from me, a hint of fear in her eyes.

I looked back down at the glass in front of me, this damn thing, as I tried to collect and rationalize my thoughts.

Back when I was in middle school, I had a friend who used to have a decent uncle. This uncle was a veteran, a man who had served his country proudly and came back home, found a job, and started his own family. My friend and I always used to hang out together and visited his uncle's house all the time since he had so many cool stuff at his house, things that would interest boys like us at that age. We'd play board games with him and his daughter, we'd eat snacks prepared by his wife- it was a completely normal family.

At some point, the guy had an accident in his workplace that ended up causing him to lose his entire right arm. It ended up being revealed that he was shitfaced at the time and messed around with some kind of machinery without any responsible supervision. He had to get his right arm amputated at the hospital, and ever since then, his life went into a downward spiral.

Because it was his fault for being under the influence at the time, the business that he worked for claimed no responsibility for the loss of his arm, which meant they didn't recompensate him at all. Due to this negligence, he ended up fired and was left completely jobless.

This caused him to go into a severe depression, both from losing his dominant arm and losing his main source of valuable income to provide for his family. As a way to cope, he took advantage of the kindness of his friends by allowing them to buy him drinks constantly at the bar he frequently goes to, even though getting drunk was what started this whole situation in the first place. Every day and every night, he would disregard his responsibilities as a father and a family man to go out and get constantly drunk over and over again, leaving his wife and kid to fend for themselves.

This caused his family to start resenting him for being so irresponsible, the wife, the daughter, eventually even his own friends. This didn't help his depression, as now no matter what he did, everyone he knew and loved would constantly judge him for his actions. This only made him rely more on ****, as it became his only source of comfort.

Eventually, when he ran out of **** to drink, it just... came to an abrupt end.

He killed himself.

It was tragic for his family. It took a long while for them to move on from his passing. Eventually, they just came to accept that it was the inevitable outcome. You could even argue that the man died the day he lost his arm, before becoming a husk of his former self.

The friend I had in middle school, he moved away from Florida. I haven't seen him since then. The drama of the uncle dying was too much to bear on his family, so they just left.

Being a guy that has had a close relationship with someone like that, the core of it all really stuck with me ever since then. Knowing full well how dangerous **** can be to a man who thinks he lost everything, I swore to myself that I would never put myself in the same position. No matter what, I would never drink **** to place myself in a situation that would risk me or someone I love getting harmed. I would never resort to drinking if I ever became depressed, overstressed, or even just bored. It was a promise that I would remind myself every time I see someone drink or buy anything alcoholic.

It's not a promise that could be easily forgotten, not with how it affected my personal life and relationship with a friend. It's not a promise that I would carelessly break just out of curiosity to see how a beer tastes like or whatever.

So when I was being told that within the last seven years of my forgotten life, I somehow became a drinker during that time?

It freaks me out. It freaks me the fuck out way beyond comprehension. Because there was only one conclusion.

Something happened to me. In the last seven years, something really bad must have happened to have made me break my own promise and get me to start drinking. Because the only reason I could imagine as to why I would ever even consider doing it, would be if I had absolutely nothing left to lose anymore.

Holding this glass of **** in my hand, there was this sense of dread in the pit of my stomach as I could only imagine what could have happened to me to have turned me into a person I never would have imagined becoming.

If I became a drinker in the last seven years, what else about me might have changed? Drinking could only have been a starting point for me.

Exactly how different is John Doe after 2019?

Who am I in the future?

Who am... I?

Who... am...?

"John... I don't want to die..."

Who...?

"John!"

I snapped back into reality, finding Stacy shaking my shoulder to grab my attention. She had a scared expression as she carefully observed me.

"Yeah, what?" I responded back, realizing that I was breathing heavily for some reason.

Why did I feel like I just ran a marathon?

"John... Your hand kept shaking uncontrollably while you were holding the glass. I tried to call out to you a few times, but you didn't hear me until just now." Stacy carefully explained to me, looking at me as if I might break down at any moment.

I furrowed my eyes in confusion, only to look down to see the rum and cola have been spilled all over the counter. It was a complete mess, and half the cup was already empty.

Still breathing heavily, I said, "That's weird... Why didn't I notice until you mentioned it to me?"

"That's what I want to figure out..." She mumbled back.

Seeing me come back to my senses, Stacy sat back down in her seat even as she continued to watch over me in concern.

Witnessing my episode firsthand, Pierre gently reassured me, "My friend, John. You do not have to drink anything that you do not want to drink. No one here is pressuring you to do anything you do not wish to do." Carefully taking my glass away from my reach, I saw him dump the rest of the liquor down a drain and putting the glass cup away. "See? All gone. If you are not a drinker, then you are not a drinker. Simple as that." Pierre nervously looked around for a moment in search of something, before gesturing to me, "Wait here just for a moment, my friend. I will be back to bring you a nice cold glass of orange juice, just like you asked for."

With that, he hastily left his counter, going into the back room.

It was only just now that I realized I had a huge headache for some reason. I winced, carefully rubbing my head. Yikes, where did this come from?

Bella suddenly stood up from her seat, excusing herself with a quick yet throttled, "I'm sorry, I need to go powder my nose."

She hurriedly left the scene, much to Stacy's dismay.

"Bella!" She tried to call out, but Bella was already gone. In concern for her friend, Stacy turned to me and said, "John, stay here, okay? I'll be right back, I need to check on Bella."

She didn't wait for me to respond, already hot on the trail to follow after Bella.

Just for a brief moment, Stacy paused in her step to give a head gesture towards me at Agent Parkins, to which she nodded seriously in response. Stacy, too, has now left the scene.

In the end, I was left all alone as I tried to gather my thoughts.

With my head in my hands, I could only ask one simple thing out loud to myself.

"What the flying fuck just happened?"