“Work is happiness! We serve with joy!”

The sheep-headed workers chanted with unified enthusiasm and, upon receiving the horse-man's nod of approval, immediately returned to relentless typing.

Across the open-plan floor, a tall figure in a crisp suit waded from one end of the reception desk to the next. His head was that of a horse, complete with a mane trimmed into something like a posh style.

“Welcome, you all!” The horse-man turned to Edris and the others, his voice ringing with calculated enthusiasm. “I am the Manager here at Archive X.”

The Manager swept out an arm, pointing to the far edges of the office space. “Of course, we expect you to meet your quotas. But never fear—overworking leads to a trip to the Wellness Center.” He paused, a bright smile stretching across that long snout. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Edris felt a chill inch along his spine. Anything described in such saccharine terms was bound to be more sinister than it seemed.

The horse-man led them on a brisk tour. They were situated amidst the so-called “workplace,” in cubicles set up in drab rows, each partition manned by a sheep-headed employee silently scribbling away. Their pens made a relentless scratching sound, like mechanical quills on parchment.

They passed clusters of sheep-headed workers who hardly raised their heads, too engrossed in the endless busywork. The Manager, meanwhile, rattled off the function of each room: the general office for daily tasks, a prep room for “company synergy,” a glass-walled meeting room, a resource center lined with archaic filing cabinets—and finally, at the end of a stark hallway, a door that remained locked tight.

A bronze plaque hung above the door:

BOSS’S ROOM.

“The Boss does not like being disturbed,” the Manager said simply. “So if you need anything, bring it to me. Not him.”

Edris, arms folded, gave the locked door a fleeting glance. He said nothing, keeping his expression cool. The others exchanged wary looks.

Celio hovered near Edris, one hand clenched around the probation pamphlet some staff member had given them all. Edris glanced at the cover. A threat that was as blatant as it was cheery:

Succeed in your tasks for a chance at a bright future at Archive X!

Put in the hard work, and happiness will come with time!

When the tour looped back to the main floor, a deer-headed woman in a pristine blouse motioned for them to line up.

“New arrivals! Sign here,” she chirped, thrusting pens into each intern’s hand.

The contract pages listed working hours, protocols, and mandatory goals. Edris skimmed his, aware of Celio to his right, who was scanning the page in confusion.

Edris had just lifted his pen to sign when something in his head stuttered, like a record skipping. He heard a faint voice, so quiet it might have been an echo:

— No.

Edris blinked. He turned his head around the office for the source of sound. Nothing.

— No, no, no.

He glanced downwards.

— NONONONONONO-

The pen in his hand—it was the one making the noise.

Amidst the open office, Edris fell into confusion.

The sound seemed to be coming from the pen itself, or so it seemed. The bizarre chants, emerging almost like his own voice, froze him momentarily.

Nobody else appeared to notice—the interns were all busy scribbling. Celio, too, had already placed his pen tip on the signature box, though the boy had thrown a puzzled glance his way.

“Is there a problem, Intern Edris?” The Manager’s black eyes bored into him, horse ears twitching. Several sheep-headed workers paused their own scribbling to look up, blank stares locked in his direction.

For an instant, Edris debated. But the pen in his hand had gone silent.

Was he imagining things? Hallucinations weren’t exactly rare, especially in light of the Labyrinth’s tricks.

Maintaining composure, he signed his name with a smooth stroke, then let the pen drop to the desk.

The moment he completed the last letter, something shifted in his mind, as he’d brushed against a hidden gear. A strange lurch rippled through his thoughts, gone almost before he could register it.

Then, a discreet ping vibrated along his [PROFILE].

Edris flicked his gaze downward, spotting new text across his inner vision. The [MAIN QUEST] had been updated.

MAIN QUEST:

Survive the probation period and become an official worker at [ARCHIVE X]!

TIME LIMIT: 24:00:00

A mere twenty-four hours.

The urgency of it almost made him grimace, but he schooled his face into neutrality.

Turning away from the ominous message on the screen, he happened to make eye contact with the Manager. For a flicker of a second, Edris thought he glimpsed the tall horse-man smile with too many teeth, as if the lab had swallowed them whole.

Yet when he looked again, the smile was no longer there, instead replaced by the same corporate grin as before.

The deer-headed staffer tore off the top layer of his contract and handed him a probation packet, thick with guidelines and forms. Another slip of paper vanished into her arms, as though swallowed up.

Behind him, Celio was next, quickly scribbling his name. The same process repeated: one copy returned, the rest mysteriously whisked away.

“Excellent,” the Manager said, his voice as bright as the overhead fluorescents. “With that settled, all of you—get to work. There are quotas to meet.”

With a flick of his hand, he pivoted away, revealing row upon row of bleary-eyed sheep tapping on keyboards in dead silence.

Maintaining a measured composure, Edris followed the other interns into a cluster of cubicles. Celio took a seat beside him, fiddling anxiously with the stapler on his desk. Around them, the sheep moved like cogs in an invisible machine, unblinking, oblivious to any intrusion.

Edris tested the waters by standing, finding that no one cared to notice. He motioned for Celio to come.

They drifted to the so-called Preparation Room, a cramped area with posters exhorting them to “Strengthen Company Bonds” and “Unity Through Collaboration.” The air felt stale, and cheap floor polish smelt faintly.

Celio glanced around in apprehension as Edris spoke, tone calm.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

“What is your intern task?”

"Wiping windows and mopping floors. All miscellaneous work." Celio responded, scratching his head. "I don't get it. I saw the list: printing, window-wiping, meeting setups… weirdly random. How are these miscellaneous works supposed to determine who passes the probation period?”

“They're not. I'd speculate that more lies behind all this,” Edris replied, voice unruffled. "Something more determinative for the little time we have. We should keep alert."

His words trickled as he noticed a handful of others filtering in.

Leading the interns was a gaunt man with a mid-length beard. The man stopped just an arms away from the two. Edris raised an eyebrow.

“Players seem to be playing the role of interns for this Labyrinth, which means this is all of us here. Better to get to know one another,” the man muttered in a raspy voice, pointing to his name tag. “I'm Morris. This is my seventh Labyrinth.”

Edris eyed the man up and down. It was rare to come across a Labyrinth veteran, let alone who'd been brought in so many times.

“Edris. And this is Celio.” Edris replied, gesturing to his side.

The bearded man offered no handshake, simply turned aside. “If you’re wise, you’ll keep an eye on your own back. Places like this—anyone can crush your hope and stab you in the back.”

Celio frowned. “So why'd you bring up introductions?”

Morris gave him a side glance.

“Naturally, to know who might be capable of doing so.”

The boy stepped forward to protest, but Edris slid in front first. He gazed into the man’s eyes, then smiled. "He makes a good point. We have quite a small group this time, so we might as well get to know each other and exchange some information."

Morris made a “hmph” sound in response, not saying more.

"In that case..." The person who spoke next was a familiar face to both Edris and Celio. The boy tipped off his glasses nervously, avoiding eye contact with the group.

“M-my name is Terrace. This is my third time in the Labyrinth.”

He clutched the papers as if they might save him from drowning. Edris gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment. Sensing the nervous energy rolling off him, he recalled the flicker of memory from the day before. Back in the Golden Room, this meek boy had been the one Jagon initially was trying to pressure into a game.

Terrace snuck a glimpse at Edris, but quickly turned away before the latter turned his way.

“It is nice to meet you all.”

“I dunno about that—‘nice’ is probably the last word I’d use to describe this entire situation.” Another man scoffed, and Terrace tucked his head even lower.

The man, introducing himself as Tesler, had wine-like hair, half drooping from his face. Judging by his accent, he was a Zacriyan. Probably from the west—around Vyris territories.

“Zacriyan?” Edris asked, and the man looked his way.

“Naturally,” Tesler said. “Y’all not? Actually, what the hell is this place?”

“A Labyrinth,” Morris explained. “First time?”

“Labyrinth? You mean one of those shenanigans from Adalan?” He crunched his nose. “Hold on. Am I in Adalan?”

The bearded man didn’t show any impatience at his series of questions. Instead, he spent the next minute or so explaining the situation. Tesler listened, his expression turning from one of annoyance to being purely dumbfounded.

“…Huh.” He crossed his arms. “What the fuck is this old man talking about?”

“Hey, hey. Quit tryna start things like this.” A woman cut in, giving Tesler an eye roll as she stepped forward. “You’ve probably been uneducated as a foreigner, but this has been a quite recent crisis in our capital. A newly announced emergency, actually.”

“And how in the world did I end up being a victim of your nation’s problem?”

“You gotta ask yourself that.” The woman shrugged as she faced the group. “Oh, I’m Yesteria, by the way. Born and raised in Odeen. I was at the store shopping for gigapelts when this entire thing happened.”

She shook her head.

“First time in the Labyrinth, but my darling has been pulled in before. Guess I got affected by him.”

“Did your husband get pulled in as well?” Celio asked.

“Oh, not my husband, just a little situation I have. But yes—he was pulled in just moments before I did. Though I couldn't find him anywhere here.”

“Likely a different Labyrinth, then,” Morris said. “You will be able to meet him in [ANCHOR HOUSE]."

He paused, voice dipping into the cold.

"If both of you survive.”

"...Aren't you the optimist." At his words, Yesteria crossed her arms and shuffled a few steps further. Morris stood sternly, not giving a response.

“I’m Rico.” The last one for introductions was a girl in a short grey bob. As she spoke, her gentle gaze flicked to Edris. “I… work in Odeen’s Healing Faction, under the Soul Patchers. I was clearing out the civilians when the next pull occurred. It was right after you and the man in white hair had evacuated the primary-risk targets.”

At her words, Edris gave a slight tilt of the head.

“I see.”

"Oh, you were a part of the rescue team in Odeen?" Yesteria tilted her head to look at Edris. "Quite heroic, huh."

"Not at all," Edris said with a smile. "I only happened to be in the situation."

After introductions, the group returned to the main hall, each carrying a new stack of tasks: forms to fill, files to organize, and bizarre group chants about “team harmony.” Edris buried himself in the drudgery, all the while keeping an eye on the Manager, who roamed through the aisles humming an upbeat tune about productivity. In the hush of it all, the only real sounds were distant keyboards and the shuffle of papers.

The monotony continued on for another hour when it happened.

Midway through sorting a stack of nonsensical charts, Edris felt sudden heaviness flood his limbs. For an instant, his vision blurred at the edges. He clenched his fists, forcing oxygen into his lungs.

...What?

His pulse beat loud in his ears as he pressed a palm to the desk, steadying himself.

“Master?” Celio’s voice, laced with anxiety, broke the hush.

“I’m fine,” Edris said evenly. “Just… torn a muscle from hitting the printing too hard.”

At his words, the youth blinked twice.

“Ah. I see.”

Without saying more, he waved Celio off and slipped into the hallway. After a couple of turns, he found his way to the restroom—a stark place with glaring white tiles and humming fluorescent tubes. Over the sink, he twisted the tap to let the water flow, leaning in to splash a little on his face.

After a moment’s hesitation, Edris reached up to unbutton part of his collared shirt, sliding it off his left shoulder.

The mirror showed a pale reflection, marred by a thick scar from his left collarbone to shoulder—a deep line that had healed but left a faintly discoloured ridge. Tiny dark lines branched off it, intricate as creeping vines, making their way to the location of his heart.

Edris narrowed his eyes.

So this was this time's aftermath of the Sacrificial Hourglass?

During the last exchange in Labyrinth 17, the relic gave him what he later named the “Surge,” an ability that allowed him to drastically amplify his physical potential for a limited time.

The short bursts of agility he had bartered for were valuable, but the price was more than mere life force. Indeed, he suspected a cognitive backlash in exchange. Overuse would sap away his clarity, a creeping mental fatigue that would gnaw at him when he least expected it.

And as if a testament to his hypothesis, the mark of usage had blossomed like a cursed tattoo. There was no pain—just a persistent sense of disquiet that he had unwittingly bound more of himself to that relic’s power.

He heard footsteps. Reflexively, Edris tugged his shirt up, flicking off the faucet as the door swung open.

Into the bathroom stepped Terrace, who jumped a little at seeing the dark-haired man by the sink.

“Ah. My apologies,” he mumbled. “Didn’t expect someone to be here.”

Edris nodded, turning the handle back on into a gentle trickle, making a show of washing his hands. He caught Terrace’s reflection in the mirror—tense shoulders, eyes scanning the tile floor through the thickly rimmed glasses.

Edris offered no small talk, only a faint curve of the lips that might pass for a polite smile. Inside, his mind was still preoccupied by the scar, the creeping illusions of the office, and that hallucination with the pen. The entire Labyrinth was a stage set for compliance, and nothing about it felt right.

The click of the faucet reverberated softly against the white tiles as Edris kept his palms under the running water, feigning a casual rinse.

“Edris,” Terrace said, wearing a small smile, “I wanted to thank you again for, you know… stepping forward in the Golden Room that day.”

Edris offered an even nod.

“It was nothing.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Frankly, he had no desire to linger in forced pleasantries, not when the next trouble in this Labyrinth might come at any moment. Their short, heated encounter with Jagon was now a past chapter, overshadowed by this new predicament.

The timid man swallowed as he stepped closer.

“So, since we know each other already, I’m guessing we should—maybe—work together? In this place. Right?”

Edris shut the tap and moved to the side, reaching for a paper towel.

“Teamwork does go a long way.” He didn’t say yes, and he didn’t say no. He caught the slightest flicker in Terrace’s eyes, uncertain whether relief or doubt. “Will you need the sink?”

Terrace paused, then nodded. “Y-yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Edris gestured for him to step forward, then slipped out of the way. Watching the man disappear out the door, Terrace let out a sigh and switched on the tap. A second later, he jerked his hands away with a sharp gasp.

“Serenity, it’s so hot—burning!” He hissed under his breath, shaking droplets from reddened fingers. He spun his head towards the exit, but the dark-haired man was long gone.

“How did he...?”