The Ghoul walked a few steps ahead, her presence eerie and silent except for the faint sound of her boots clicking against the cold concrete floor. Her movements were fluid, calculated—like a predator surveying its territory. Behind her, Rika supported Kazuki, draping his arm over her shoulders as they trudged along the dim corridor. His body leaned heavily against hers, each step painful, his breaths shallow and ragged.

"So... where are we going exactly?" Rika asked, her voice breaking the silence.

The Ghoul glanced over her shoulder, her expression indifferent. "He didn’t tell you?"

Rika pressed her lips together, not responding. She kept moving, adjusting Kazuki’s weight as they continued down the hallway.

The Ghoul slowed, tilting her head slightly as if she found their ignorance amusing. "We’ve planted bombs in this facility. You two will guard one of the sites."

Rika stopped in her tracks. "What?" Her voice sharpened with disbelief. "You planted bombs?"

Kazuki, barely managing to stay on his feet, stiffened at her words. "Bombs?" he echoed, his tone thick with exhaustion but carrying a sliver of alarm.

The Ghoul kept walking, as if she hadn't said something earth-shattering. "The Poachers have infiltrated," she added casually. "We need to keep them from disarming the bombs."

Rika felt her pulse quicken. "Hold on. You want us—" She stopped mid-sentence, a surge of frustration rising within her. "We're supposed to guard a bomb? Are you serious?"

The Ghoul halted and turned to face them, her blackened sclera and glowing pink eyes meeting Rika’s gaze. "I don't joke, girl."

Rika’s grip on Kazuki tightened unconsciously, her mind racing. Bombs? Infiltrators? And now they’re supposed to play security guards?

"This is insane," Rika muttered, shaking her head. "He can barely stand, and you think we can hold off an attack?"

The Ghoul’s gaze didn’t waver. "You’ve fought me. You’ll manage."

Kazuki let out a grim chuckle, though it was more of a wheeze. "This... is the worst plan I've ever heard."

"Not a plan," the Ghoul said calmly. "A necessity. We can’t afford to fail." She turned back around, continuing down the corridor as if the conversation was over.

Rika exchanged a glance with Kazuki, bewilderment and frustration clear on her face. His brows were furrowed, lips slightly parted as he fought to stay conscious.

"This... this is crazy," Rika muttered, supporting Kazuki as they moved forward again. "Guarding bombs... who the hell thinks of this stuff?"

"Apparently," Kazuki said between labored breaths, "people who plant bombs."

They fell into silence for a moment, both of them still trying to process the absurdity of their situation.

"You’re serious about this?" Rika called after the Ghoul, her voice laced with skepticism.

"Deadly serious," the Ghoul replied without turning. "Now keep up. We’re almost there."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Rika cursed under her breath but didn’t stop. She had no idea how they were going to pull this off. But—she glanced at Kazuki beside her, battered and leaning on her for support—they didn’t have much choice now, did they?

***

The dim glow of CCTV screens flickered across the dark room, casting a ghostly light on the two figures standing before them. The Manager stood motionless, clad in dark clothes, a sleek black mask concealing his face. His stillness felt unnatural, like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Junpei’s eyes flickered between the screens. On one, Rika and Kazuki trudged behind the female Ghoul through labyrinthine corridors. Kazuki was leaning on Rika, his steps shaky, as though barely holding himself together.

On another, Endo and Eiji were advancing toward a different bomb site, their silhouettes moving fast through the maze-like halls. They were following another subordinate of the Manager. But it was the chaos unfolding in the main hall that held Junpei’s gaze longest—the storm of clashing bodies, bloodied faces, and brutal carnage.

The tension in the room was thick, suffocating. Junpei knew the Manager’s mind was always several steps ahead. And whatever he was about to say next, Junpei was prepared for it to be bad.

The Manager broke the silence. "I think it’s time for you to go." His voice was calm but carried a weight that hinted at unspoken consequences.

Junpei didn’t react outwardly, but every muscle in his body tensed. His eyes followed the Manager’s hand as it slid into the folds of his coat, producing something—small, sleek, and unmistakable. A mask.

It was smooth black porcelain with curved edges, its surface polished to a reflective sheen. The sight of it made Junpei’s jaw tighten.

The Manager held it out toward him. "It’s time for Orochi to make a return, huh?" There was a sly edge to his words, as if amused by the inevitability of it all.

Junpei didn’t respond immediately, but his hand hovered near the mask, almost hesitant. Memories stirred at the edges of his mind—memories of battles fought in the shadows, blood spilled in the name of survival, and the terror his presence once commanded.

‘Orochi, huh?’ Junpei thought. The name tasted bitter on his tongue, like an old poison.

"I told myself I wouldn’t put it on again," Junpei murmured, eyes still locked on the mask.

The Manager gave a soft chuckle, his amusement unsettling. "We all tell ourselves things. It’s how we get through the night."

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the security monitors and the distant, muffled echoes of the chaos outside.

Junpei finally reached out, fingers curling around the cold, smooth mask. He brought it up to eye level, staring into the empty holes where his eyes would soon sit.

"Guess the night’s not over yet," Junpei muttered under his breath.

***

The sleek black sedan rolled to a halt, its tinted windows gleaming under the sunlight. The setting felt desolate—an isolated building standing like a relic of forgotten days, surrounded by cracked asphalt and weeds breaking through the concrete. No sign, no markings—just silence and obscurity.

The car door swung open with a dull click, and a figure emerged.

He stood tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of frame that made even the stillness around him seem tense. His build was muscular, the bulk of a man who was no stranger to violence, and every movement he made was deliberate, calculated, as though each shift of his weight could be dangerous.

He stretched his arms lazily, vertebrae cracking with a satisfying pop. Then, with the same unhurried ease, he leaned back into the open door, retrieving a black nylon jacket from the seat. The fabric whispered softly as he slung it over his shoulder, letting it hang there casually for a moment before slipping his arms through the sleeves.

The man adjusted the collar, smoothing it down with precise, practiced gestures. A faint breeze carried the smell of blood and chaos, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

Without a second glance at the sedan, he turned toward the nondescript building. His boots crunched over loose gravel as he made his way to the entrance.

The rusted metal door groaned as he pushed it open, the dim light inside casting his shadow long and menacing across the threshold. He stepped inside, the door clanging shut behind him with a hollow finality.

No greetings, no questions—just the quiet hum of fluorescent lights overhead, and the echo of his steady footsteps as he ventured deeper into whatever awaited within.