Dark Fang stirred on the cold, cracked floor, his fingers twitching as consciousness returned. With a groggy groan, he pushed himself up, blinking at the dimly lit room.
“What the hell happened?” he muttered, rubbing his head.
A sharp sigh cut through the silence. “That’s what I’m supposed to be asking you, Pinnochi,” came Lockey’s cold voice, his tone as sharp as the blade he wielded. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his blank, almost detached expression masking the frustration bubbling underneath.
Pinnochi froze, his gaze snapping toward Lockey. “You? What the hell are you doing here?”
Lockey’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Got bored. Decided to go for a little stroll.”
Across the room, Finn’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait... you know him?” she blurted out, unable to mask her surprise. “And how do you know his name?”
Pinnochi scratched his head, his confusion mounting. “Why does it feel like I got my head slammed into a wall?”
Lockey replied with a bluntness that bordered on cruel. “Because you did.” His gaze darkened, his tone cutting through the tension. “Now, I’d like an explanation as to why the hell you attacked me. Especially when you clearly knew who I was.”
Pinnochi glanced down at his disheveled appearance—the tattered black coat and scuffed boots—and a sudden chuckle escaped his lips. “Ah... so that’s what’s going on,” he said, his voice carrying a tinge of amusement.
Lockey’s expression turned icy. “You better have a good reason for this,” he warned, his voice low and steady.
Pinnochi waved a dismissive hand. “Relax.” He turned to Finn, who was standing awkwardly near the wall, her eyes darting between the two of them. “Is he blind, or what?” Pinnochi asked casually, gesturing toward Lockey.
Finn stifled a laugh, biting her lip. “He’s... uh... looking the wrong way,” she said, unable to suppress the humor in her voice.
Lockey clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening. “Before you start explaining anything,” he growled, “fix my sight.”
Pinnochi tilted his head, examining Lockey with mild interest. “Oh, I see. That explains a lot.” He chuckled again. “Guess I didn’t hold back when I went after you.”
Lockey’s patience was wearing thin. “Stop stalling and get on with it.”
Pinnochi nodded, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Alright, alright. Let’s fix that.” With a flourish, he summoned his Universal Key. The weapon materialized in his hand as a sleek, purple dagger tinged with black, its jagged design radiating a menacing aura.
“Hold still,” Pinnochi said, stepping forward.
Lockey didn’t flinch as the blade nicked his arm, a shallow cut forming. “This should take effect in about five minutes. Your sight will come back gradually,” Pinnochi explained, stepping back and spinning the dagger in his hand.
Finn’s gaze flicked between the two of them, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. Lockey, still leaning against the wall, sighed. “Five minutes, huh?” His voice was calm, but there was a steel edge to it. “You’ve got five minutes to explain yourself. Start talking.”
Pinnochi smirked, sheathing his dagger. “Alright, Lockey. Let me tell you exactly what’s going on.”
“This,” Pinnochi began, “isn’t just any mask. It’s a tool I created—a living virus, in a sense. It carries my memories but operates with a personality of its own.”
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Lockey’s brows furrowed slightly. “A living virus? You’re saying it controls you?”
“Exactly,” Pinnochi replied. “When I put this mask on, I’m no longer fully in control. The virus takes over, manipulating my body and mind. It allows me to act as someone else entirely.” He paused, his gaze shifting downward. “The effect lasts for a limited time. Once it wears off, I’m back to normal… but with all the consequences of what I’ve done.”
Lockey’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I did suspect you weren’t in your right mind,” he said, his voice low but cutting. “Still, creating something like that just to play a second personality? You took it too far.”
Pinnochi let out a humorless laugh. “What do you know, Lockey?” he said bitterly. “I work for the WCM. I’m connected to a secret cult so elusive even the WCM can’t track them. And I’m on the list of the top ten most wanted criminals in the world. One man juggling all of that while trying to keep his identity hidden? This was the only solution I could think of.”
The room fell silent. Finn glanced nervously between them, unsure of what to say. Lockey’s expression remained stoic, but his posture softened slightly.
“Hmph,” he muttered, turning his head slightly. “Excuses or not, you nearly got us both killed. Be more careful next time.”
Pinnochi smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Next time, huh? Sure. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The tension in the room lingered like an uninvited guest, though the immediate danger had passed. Pinnochi stood, stretching his back with an exaggerated groan, his expression lightening as though his earlier seriousness had dissipated.
“So,” Pinnochi began, resting his hands on his hips and giving Lockey a sidelong glance. “What exactly were you doing here? Surely you don’t just wander into places like this for fun?”
Lockey’s response was as flat and cutting as his gaze, even though he still faced slightly to the side of where Pinnochi stood. “Taking a stroll,” he replied curtly, as though that explanation was the most natural thing in the world.
Pinnochi blinked, then laughed—a deep, genuine sound that filled the room. “A stroll? In here? I’ve heard a lot of bold excuses in my time, but that’s got to be one of the best.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Fine, keep your secrets. I’m not your babysitter.”
Lockey’s expression didn’t change, but a subtle shift in his posture suggested his patience was thinning. “Believe it or don’t. I couldn’t care less.” His voice carried a faint chill, and Pinnochi decided not to press further.
Finn, who had been quietly observing the exchange, glanced between them, her curiosity evident. “You’re really not going to explain?” she asked hesitantly.
Lockey ignored her question, instead turning slightly toward the wall, his brow furrowing. His gaze lingered as though trying to pierce through its solid surface. “Something was here,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Pinnochi followed his line of sight, scratching his head. “Eh? Just an old wall, Lockey. If you’ve got some grand theory, I’d love to hear it.”
Lockey didn’t respond, his silence heavier than before. Finn shuffled awkwardly, unsure whether to interrupt, but before she could say anything, Lockey turned abruptly.
“We’re done here,” he said, his tone final. Without waiting for a response, he began walking toward the exit, his steps measured but purposeful. Finn hesitated, casting a glance back at the wall, before hurrying to follow him.
Pinnochi watched them leave, shaking his head with an amused smirk. “So cold,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the room.
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Pinnochi strolled over to the desk, his demeanor suddenly shifting as he picked up a folder stuffed with documents. He flipped through them quickly, his sharp eyes scanning for the specific pages he needed.
“Ah, there you are,” he said under his breath, pulling out a few sheets and slipping them into the inside pocket of his coat. He looked around at the mess left behind from the earlier scuffle. Broken furniture and scattered papers lay across the floor, and a faint scorch mark marred one of the walls.
“Tch,” Pinnochi clicked his tongue, pulling out a small, compact device from his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, the device hummed to life, emitting a soft glow. He began moving it over the debris, and slowly but surely, the room started to clean itself. Shattered wood reassembled, papers floated back into neat stacks, and even the scorch mark faded into nothingness.
As the room restored itself, Pinnochi glanced back at the door, ensuring no one was watching. “Can’t leave a trail,” he muttered with a sly grin. “Especially not now.”
Once satisfied, he slid the device back into his coat and adjusted his sleeves. His usual playful demeanor returned as he made his way toward the exit, pausing only to glance at the now-pristine room one last time.
“Guess it’s time for the infiltration,” he said with a small chuckle, his hand brushing against the mask hidden within his coat. The familiar weight of it felt reassuring. “Let’s see what trouble we can stir up this time.”
With that, he stepped out into the hallway, his confident stride betraying none of the chaos that had just unfolded. The game was far from over.