Middle of the crowd
New as he was to Bellum, Lucas had hardly even heard about the events surrounding the full moon, let alone the other sorts of 'pranks' the building liked to pull on its residents. So when, in the middle of sorting out some figures on a ledger, he was suddenly swept up in a blinding light, the feeling of something otherworldly smothering him, a sensation he couldn't pinpoint or describe, Lucas thought that he was simply dying.
It became quite clear when the world settled about him in a throng of people and hot, muggy air, that he hadn't died. No, he had simply gone to hell.
The sound of the crowd yelling around him is hard to understand, and he can recognize that they are speaking French, but beyond that, he is more than clueless. But a voice in the back of his head, previously unheard, begs to differ. Just because you're ignorant in the language doesn't mean I don't understand them. Lucas could only stare blankly ahead of him at that, not understanding where this voice was coming from, and for a moment, he wondered if he was simply going insane. But the moment he moves and nearly trips over a body laying forgotten on the ground, he's quite aware that this isn't insanity.
"What in the world is going on here?" he asked to the crowd, and no one, of course, volunteered to give him an answer. The anger in the crowd was almost palpable, and so, scanning for familiar faces, Lucas let himself be swept along with them, careful to keep his feet beneath him.