I always thought I'd die in some boring place—like stuck on an overpass during rush hour, or buried alive in a bathroom by my landlord for unpaid rent. But apparently fate had a different sense of humor. It shoved me into a much more ridiculous role: the Nightmare Key.
The confirmation ritual wasn't some solemn religious ceremony—it felt more like a bad reality show.
Raven led me into the deepest chamber of the so-called sanctuary, a room lined with broken mirrors. Only, these mirrors didn't show reflections—they rippled with gray waves, as if behind each one lurked a neighbor waiting to strangle me.
"Step inside," she ordered coldly.
"You sure you're not trying to sell me to a horror film crew?" I muttered, stepping onto a circular stone dais. Symbols at my feet lit up, and the air instantly thickened—like the stale, suffocating air of an office breakroom.
The mirrors began to show "other versions" of me. One pair of bloodshot eyes, like I'd been awake three nights straight while my boss gas-lit me. Another with a torn grin, smiling like a loan had finally been approved. A third dripping in nightmare tendrils, looking like a failed Oscar makeup nominee.
Raven studied them with the seriousness of a farmer's market judge. "See? These are your projections within nightmare energy. More than three layers means you're no ordinary host."
I rolled my eyes. "So I should be proud that I can run three simultaneous accounts?"
She ignored me, pressing on: "The Forbidden Records mention this—'The Nightmare Key can open or seal the ultimate rift.' Your body is the container."
It took me a while to swallow that. Then I said, "So basically, I'm the universe's universal bottle opener."
My friend Qi grinned. "Which means if the world ends, it's because you twisted it open; if the world is saved, same deal. Sounds like a soda commercial."
"Exactly," Raven said flatly. "Your existence is the core of the conspiracy. The Bureau has known all along—they just never confirmed it."
Memories cascaded back: the Director's stare, the documents calling me a "container," every near-death "accident" I somehow survived. It wasn't luck. I wasn't a victim. I was the damn key.
"Great," I muttered. "So I'm not just unlucky—I'm everyone's unlucky charm."
The mirror images warped. One of my reflections pressed its hand against the glass, cold against my palm, like touching a freshly thawed corpse.
"Fuck!" I yanked back. "That was more awkward than blind dates."
Raven's eyes lit up. "It responded to you. That's the confirmation of the Key."
Qi patted my shoulder. "Congrats, man. You've been promoted to Universal Locksmith. Next, you just need to pick which lock you're opening."
I just felt cold.
Here, in this ridiculous underground temple, my identity got rubber-stamped. Not agent, not traitor, not survivor. The Nightmare Key. A part that could open or shut the world.
And my first thought wasn't about destiny—it was whether I could apply for hazard pay. If I could crack open reality, surely I deserved a housing subsidy, right?
But Raven's words killed the joke: "Now that it's confirmed, you must choose a side. Either stay with us and use the Key to seal it, or fall into the Bureau's hands. They'll force you to open it."
I stared at my palm, my laugh bitter. "So freedom just means I get to choose which way to twist."
Qi sighed. "At least you've got a choice. If they catch you, you'll only have one—open the cap."
And in that moment, I heard it. Not Raven, not Qi—something deeper. A whisper brushing my ear:
—"Turn it. We've been waiting for you."