The headquarters lobby of the Bureau looked like it had been ripped apart by a giant hand: shattered glass chandeliers dangled precariously, their cold reflections splintering in the air like a gallery of indifferent faces. The slogans on the walls once read "Loyalty, Order, Clarity"—but someone had spray-painted over them: "Lies, Conspiracy, Insomnia."The irony was, the new ones felt far more accurate.
The factions had finally torn off their masks. The loyalists barricaded themselves inside the conference room with files and pistols. The rebels built roadblocks in the corridors out of broken desks, looking like lunatics at a discount live-action paintball match. As for the unlucky neutrals, they simply faked a trip to the restroom, quietly betting on who would survive past lunchtime.
My partner and I slipped among the chaos, watching the "Storm Within the Bureau" unfold. Nobody cared about the nightmare crisis outside anymore; they were too busy accelerating each other's heart rates.
"You think this is some kind of human talent?" my partner muttered, swinging his gun. "Gods are trying to eat us out there, and in here our colleagues are already biting each other first."
I gave a dry laugh. "At least it saves on catering costs. Locally sourced ingredients, eco-friendly and energy-efficient."
Gunfire rattled through the floors. Meeting tables turned to trenches, file cabinets to barricades. An archivist crouched behind a copy machine, praying like mad—not to any god, but whispering, "Please, please don't shred my payroll slips."Of course, a stray bullet tore through the machine, and pay stubs turned into confetti drifting across the hallway. Feet stomped through them, soaking blood into digits—an abattoir turned financial statement.
That's when I realized: this wasn't just power-struggle theatrics. The loyalists and rebels both brandished "Nightmare Dossier" variants, accusing each other of corruption, contamination, manipulation. Every accusation sounded true. Every piece of evidence looked forged. Nobody had the right to play savior—but everyone was fighting for the part.
"Did they forget?" I panted against a cracked glass door. "We're the Investigation Bureau, not the Suicide Bureau."
"Who knows?" my partner shrugged, expression flat as if at a post-funeral tea. "Maybe the investigation's conclusion is: everyone deserves to die."
No sooner had he spoken than a senior officer burst out of the conference room, face crimson, waving a pistol:"The Director is fake! He's controlled by the nightmare! Follow me if you want to live!"
Seconds later, the deputy director appeared from the opposite side, rifle in hand:"The rebels are insane! They want the gods to descend! Kill them, and we live!"
The two factions squared off in the center of the lobby, the air thick with gunpowder and middle-aged sweat. A moment's silence—then the first shot fired, triggering the self-destruct switch.
Bullets screamed. Headquarters became a slaughterhouse.
My partner and I ducked behind an overturned couch, sponge stuffing exploding like snowflakes under the barrage.
"I've got bad news," he whispered. "We're stuck between two mobs of lunatics."
"And the good news?" I asked.
"The good news is—they're too busy killing each other to remember us."
On the far end, a tech officer shouted, waving his laptop: "I have the proof! The real truth is—"A bullet punched through the screen. He collapsed like a projection switched off. Proof? Deleted in a heartbeat.
Amid the carnage, the slogan board finally fell, splitting in two on the bloody floor. "Loyalty" rolled into the corpse pile, "Order" flipped into the blood, and "Clarity" slipped into the drainage channel, floating away.The whole storm summed up in three lines: Loyalty lost, Order dead, Clarity fled.
I couldn't help laughing—dry and brittle as sun-bleached bones.My partner glared. "What the hell are you laughing at?"
"At the fact we're still alive," I shrugged. "That's more absurd than winning the lottery."
The firefight raged on, sides blurring as slogans shifted and bodies fell. The Bureau was no longer an organization. It was a self-cannibalizing carnival.
And I knew, deep down, this storm wouldn't stop.The nightmare outside was opening its jaws.But inside, humanity was already tearing itself apart first.