The night wind carried a damp chill, and the neon lights at the tunnel entrance flickered on and off. Ethan and Karl, still shaken after leaving the black market, walked with caution. The bottled nightmare energy, the forcibly transformed hosts, and the indifferent crowds seemed to linger in their minds, refusing to dissipate.
"This place… makes me more uncomfortable than the director's glare," Ethan muttered, lighting a cigarette and exhaling with a trace of sarcasm.
Karl remained silent, walking beside him with furrowed brows. They both knew the black market wasn't an isolated phenomenon—it had a much larger force backing it.
As they prepared to return to the Bureau, a hoarse voice echoed from the shadows.
"You… are searching for answers, aren't you?"
Instinctively, both drew their weapons, eyes sharp. A hunched old man stepped from the darkness, wearing a tattered Bureau uniform, the emblem on his chest faded and worn. His face was carved by time and scars, yet his eyes remained sharp, capable of piercing through everything.
"Don't be alarmed," the man said slowly, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. "I… used to be the custodian of the archives."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, instantly thinking of the Shadow Archives."Custodian? You mean… the archives sealed layer by layer?"
The old man nodded, his voice low and heavy."What you saw in the black market… is only the tip of the iceberg. The true secrets are written in the Shadow Archives… but most agents never get a chance to touch them in a lifetime."
Karl narrowed his eyes."And what do you want from us?"
The man slowly produced a small, black metallic object from his coat. It was shaped like a key, but etched with intricate symbols, the edges flickering with a faint light.
"This is the key to open the archives," he said, his tone weighed down by an uncontainable gravity. "I once guarded it. But now… I know the real enemy isn't in the dreamscape—it's within the Bureau."
Ethan and Karl exchanged a glance, each seeing in the other's eyes that familiar mix of doubt and unease.
Ethan reached out tentatively."If that's true, why give it to us?"
The old man exhaled slowly, his gaze deep."Because you haven't been fully assimilated by the Bureau. You still doubt. You still question 'justice'… Only someone like that is worthy of reading it."
His words echoed through the tunnel, like a prophecy.
Karl frowned."If this really is the archive key, giving it to us… aren't you afraid the Bureau will hunt you down?"
The old man chuckled, a sound tinged with the bitterness of age."Hunt me? Ha… they've long since given up on me. I'm just a walking shadow. Compared to me, you two need it more."
With that, he extended the key toward them.
The moment Ethan took it, an icy chill spread across his palm, as if an invisible force was seeping into his bloodstream. His mind swirled; faint whispers seemed to echo in his ears.
"The key… remember, it was not made for you alone," the old man cautioned. "Be careful. Opening the archives is not just uncovering the truth—it is opening an abyss."
In the next moment, the old man turned and disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, as if he had never been there.
Ethan stared at the key in his hand, the cigarette having burned to his fingertips without his noticing. He let out a low laugh, tinged with self-mockery."Looks like we've got another toy to drag us straight to hell."
Karl's expression was grave, voice low."Ethan, think carefully. Once we open those archives, there may be no turning back."
Ethan stubbed out his cigarette, slipping the key into his pocket, and patted Karl's shoulder lightly."Turning back? Brother, haven't you realized? From the very first day we stepped into the Bureau… there was never a road back."
The wind howled, and the distant city neon flickered, as if foretelling a dark truth about to be unveiled.
The archive key had finally fallen into their hands.