Yacht Party

You're chilling at a local dive bar, drinking alone. Most of your friends have kids now, and you can't seem to bring yourself to hang out with people 10 years younger than you.
A well dressed white guy approaches you. He looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties. You remind yourself you fit that range as well.
"Hey, you uh.. come here often?" He asks you not cocky, but not meek either. You sense he's uncomfortable but you can't really place why.
Yeah, you explain that you're here basically every day after work. It's a quiet place to decompress. Maybe pick up a game of pool or darts.
The two of you play a few games of pool. He insists on buying all the drinks if you pay for the games. The owner has been giving you free quarters for years so you agree. The two of you are about even skill. He ends up ahead because you scratch on the 8.
After a while you're both fairly tipsy. He asks you to come to a party on his yacht. You're somehow not surprised that he had one, despite his efforts to hide his wealth. It's been a good night though so you agree and exchange information.
The party isn't for another 2 weeks, so you put a reminder in your calender for the day before.
You keep playing and drinking and the next thing you know you are waking up at home. It's Sunday so you don't have to work. You spend the day nursing your hangover and answering old texts. One of them being from the man from the night before. His name is Eric and he's excited you decided to come to his party.
Work and home. Video games and drinking. Occasionally meeting with friends at the bar. The time goes quickly. You wake up for work on a Friday and a calender notification reminds you of the yacht party tomorrow. You check the weather forecast and find that it should be a beautiful day tomorrow. The thought of being on a yacht begins to seem very appealing. You go to work and everything seems easier than normal. When people ask what you're doing that weekend you are proud to tell them you have plans to party on a yacht. You can feel the jealousy in your coworkers responses and it inflates you even more.
You go to your usual bar, ready to boast about your plans. You win a few games of pool and end up making $57 dollars on bets, and that is after you paid for your drinks, an unprecedented outcome. You get home and sleep deeply, before waking up naturally around 10am.
In the morning you decide to wear your bathing suit to the event, tossing on one of your nicer polos. You pack a bag with a towel and a change of clothes and some sunblock. You get in your car feeling generally positive.
Upon arriving at the marina you notice that every other car in the lot are the same make and model of your own. Even the same year. Only the colors are different. You aren't sure of what to make of it, so you decide to brush it off. After all everything else has been going so well lately.
You approach the gangplank and there is a short line. Everyone in the line looks kind of like you, but you don't notice because you're too busy fantasizing about what this yacht party will be like. You've never been on a yacht after all. You scroll the timeline on Meta as you wait in the queue. The concierge asks for your cars registration, which is confusing but luckily you keep it in your wallet. He regards it positively and ushers you up the plank. When you get to the top, a second man hands you a pair of glasses.
"Your smart glasses, sir" he explains in a droll fashion. You thank him dismissively and quickly put the glasses on. The glasses have ear piece attachments so you place them in after you don the spectacles. You've never been on such a huge boat so you figure it's just part of the process. You meander your way through the party and notice it's mostly people that look and feel just like you. That and the most gorgeous models you've ever seen. The ratio is oddly perfect.
"Having a good time?" An unfamiliar voice asks from behind.
You turn to see a woman in a black bustier with full body fishnets underneath, and thigh high boots. You explain to her you only just got there and fall into a surprisingly easy conversation. She shares most of your interests and you try and mask your shock. Most girls you meet aren't that into racing games and collecting obscure funko pop nfts.
Eventually the man you met at the bar approaches. He's calm and collected and wearing what is clearly a tailored suit. You feel small and under dressed by comparison, even though most of the guests are also wearing swim wear.
He asks if you are enjoying yourself which you assure him you are. You notice the woman you were talking to is hanging smugly on his shoulder, but it seems natural so your mind puts it aside. You talk about a show you all like and he talks about his latest business successes, but somehow you never feel jealousy. Eventually he leaves and you go back to your conversation with the woman.
Time goes on and eventually you feel like you should probably get going. Despite the conversation being so easy you have the overwhelming feeling that nothing is going to happen between you and the scantily clad woman you've been conversing with all night. You break things off, much to her dismay, and make your way back to the gangplank. However when you get there it's blocked off and the plank has clearly been withdrawn. There's an attendant and he declares to you that the party isn't over and no one can leave until it is. You question him in frustration, declaring that he cannot hold you hostage. He argues back that you can't possibly swim back to land from here. You look out and see the shore clearly and it's not even that far. You try to bring this up but the attendant explains that land is easily 1500 nautical miles away.
You feel the weight of the glasses suddenly on your ears, your bodies attempt to explain the situation. As you take them off you realize that the glasses were showing you things that weren't there. The ear buds pop off and all of a sudden reality slaps you in the face. You look around and see the concierge for what it is, an android fixed to that spot. It doesn't even have legs. You turn and see dozens of people just like you all wearing glasses and talking to the air besides them. You see nothing but water as far as the eye can see when you look out. Panic sets in as you try to figure out what is happening.
You run to the nearest person and rip the glasses off their face.
"What the.. what the fuck man?" They yell at you in exasperation. You frantically try and explain the fictitious nature of what is happening.
"Yeah no shit." They retort. "Like a girl this hot would ever be interested in me." They snatch the glasses out of your hand and quickly put them back on, continuing the dream.
You try to wake a few other people up but the response is basically the same.
Desperate you try and make your way to the bridge of the ship. Surely someone here must know what's going on. An android tries to stop you on your way but it's reach is limited as it's affixed to a post. Eventually you arrive at the control room and finding the door unlocked you let youself in.
Before you is the man you met in the bar. You know he's real because you aren't wearing the glasses anymore. You touch your face to assure yourself and feel warm sweat, which only assuages your nerves so much.
"What are you doing in here?" He demands coldly.
You explain that you have no idea what you're doing here. You just wanted to go home and found that you were out at sea.
"Did my illusions not please you?" The man asks, his cold detachment unfamiliar compared to who you met weeks prior.
You explain that you were having a good time but you are tired now and want to go home.
"You weren't supposed to take the glasses off." The man says bluntly. "Now you'll have to go through this the hard way."
Those are the last words you hear before you are struck in the back of the head and knocked unconscious.
When you wake up the first thing you notice is the immense pressure on your shoulders. You shake the sleep from your mind and try to get your bearings. Looking around you find that your body has been strapped to the front of the boat with a series of ropes. Your positioned as a figure head on the massive yacht, the spray of the ocean splashes against your face rhythmically. Behind you the party rages on. The way you're hung they could all see you if not for the glasses. But so far no one else has even thought to take them off. Transfixed by their fantasy as they are.
Suddenly you notice the waters are unusually calm. There are no waves as far as you can see.
"It begins soon." A familiar voice comes from behind. You struggle to turn your head to see. In your peripheral you see Mark Cuban. His frame is silhouetted by the lights of the decorations behind him, but because of the voice you know.
You call to him by name, screaming to know what is happening.
"People think a megalodon is just a giant shark." You hear him say in a calm voice. "But that's just what we want them to believe."
Ok, you reply in frantic confusion. What is a megalodon than Mark?
"You'll see. I hope you understand why. In your last moments I hope you understand. Why." He trails off and you hear foot steps drawing away.
You look back ahead, weary from the strain of your crucifixion. The pain in your shoulders burns like nothing you've ever experienced. The salt water spray soaking your body is causing the skin to begin to tear beneath the rope. You try to see through teary eyes what is happening. Before you the ocean begins to rumble as if boiling. You see a dark shadow form about 100 meters from you. The waters churn with it at their epicenter. It started off small but now the shadow is almost everywhere you can see. Suddenly the surface of the water is broken. Thousands of tentacles spring forth from the depths and reach high into the sky. They writhe around in front of you reaching higher and higher, then bend down towards the ship. You blink the tears from your eyes, and you see that at the end of each of the tentacles is a facsimile of a man or woman. The tentacles reach down into the party, you crane your neck around again to see. No one seems to notice them. You assume because the glasses keep them from noticing. Each tentacle slides into place next to a guest, the blaring music blocking out any background sounds. Then everyone begins making out with their tentacles effigy. A raucous orgy breaks out, and you can't help by try and watch. Adrenaline the only thing keeping you going. All at once your attention is immediately drawn away from the scene as you realize something warm and wet is pressed right up against you. Your head snaps around and you see one of the tentacles is rubbing up on your body. You aren't sure at first, but you stare at it and realize.. it's entirely made out of money.
The night air is fraught with a shrieking that pierces you in a way you can't describe. No other noise exists while it goes on. Your eyes squeeze shut from the combination of pains. There are more sounds now. Gun shots maybe. Explosions. You hear what your brain tells you is a light saber. Bright light shines on the outside of your eyelids and you feel the bow of the ship lifting you into the air. You open your eyes, and see a giant robot grappling with the giant tentacle monster made of money. You just know Mark Cuban is the pilot. You begin to imagine all the businesses you could invest in with the amount of money it would take to make a giant monster capable of raping an entire yacht's worth of simpleton. You have no idea how no one knows about these things. Your stomach leaps into your throat as you are suddenly pitched downwards towards the waters surface again. You throw up seconds before the waves meet your face. The bow of the ship cuts down through the wave as it comes down on the other side. Mark Cubans giant robot has clearly triumphed and the waters are calming down. A pair of crane arms off the stern secure the monsters body using large steel cables on winches. A pair of guards hauls your body back onto the deck and the air stings the spots rubbed raw by the wet ropes. Your body winces together. Gently you pull your shirt off your skin.
In a daze from the pain you look about the deck from your prone position. Most of the other party goers are dead or injured. The air is filled with a cacophony of grown men crying.
You look back towards the sky and see Mark Cuban standing over you. "I told you you'd understand."
"Who...who was Eric?" You ask. But he just spits on your face and walks away.