I checked the clock on my wrist.
Two hours since we'd entered the maze. Around the one-hour mark, it began shifting-- corridors collapsing, walls sliding into place, pathways rewriting themselves as if the labyrinth were alive.
"The labyrinth's getting nervous," my taller colleague, Agent Ares, said flatly.
"It's not crumbling, though," I replied. "It probably recognizes our uniforms from previous cycles."
Silence reclaimed the corridor.
Each time we tried taking a main route toward the supposed center, a new wall formed, redirecting us in the opposite direction.
'At this rate, we won't find the remaining survivors in time.'
"Supervisor Ash," Ares called out again, voice low. "Is the mimic still unconscious?"
I slipped a hand into my coat pocket and pulled out a glass marble-- smooth, cold, faintly humming.
Encased within was a faint swirling shadow: the unconscious anomaly.
The Diamond Prison -- an item born from another anomaly affiliated with the Bureau of Anomalous Affairs.
It can contain Tier 5 to Tier 3 entities. Upon destruction, its prisoner is sent directly into the real Diamond Prison beneath HQ -- a construct that nullifies all anomalous contamination and ability.
I turned the marble in my gloved hand, light glinting across its surface.
"Still unconscious. Should stay that way for a few more hours. Why?"
Ares's eyes swept the dark corridor ahead. "I can feel something nearby. Thought it might've been the mimic."
"Feel?" I raised a brow. "You're aware that requesting an item from an anomaly requires supervisor accompaniment, yes?"
"I'm aware," he said quietly. "I meant gut feeling, not gear."
I allowed a small smirk. "Your instincts really are sharp. Guess your military years weren't wasted after all."
"Appreciate it, Supervisor."
The walls groaned again-- one rose behind us, sealing our path, another slid into place ahead, cutting off the route forward.
Ares clicked his tongue. "Tsk. Think we'll finish this before dinner?"
I let out a dry laugh. "Forget dinner-, looks like we're clocking overtime again."
"I don't get paid enough for overtime without prior notice," Ares muttered, though his face stayed sharp, expression unreadable.
"We're the Rescue Department," I said, chuckling softly. "I thought you joined because you wanted to help people."
"Affirmative."
A faint hum pulsed through the air-- low, almost imperceptible, like the vibration of a living thing beneath concrete.
Ares turned slightly, pulling on black leather gloves identical to mine-- standard issue for the Field Investigation and Civil Rescue Department members chosen by the fourth ring.
[Glove -- The Fourth Ring Series]
Wearing the gloves increases contamination risk, but stores it for four hours, releasing it as blunt force during close combat.
Exceed four hours, and the user is dragged into the Fourth Ring-, their skin harvested to create more items.
High risk, high reward.
"You hear that?" he asked quietly, flexing his hands.
I did. It wasn't sound, exactly-- more like pressure. A resonance brushing against the edge of thought. The labyrinth had moods, I'd learned that much after my fourth deployment. But this… this felt focused. Different.
"Don't react," I said quietly, eyes narrowing. We kept moving through the twisting halls.
"Do you think these changes are tied to the mimics?" Ares asked.
"You can read the FID's report later," I replied. "My working theory is that the maze accidentally merged with a mimic."
Ares smirked faintly. "Anomaly cannibalizing another anomaly, huh?"
"We'll be out of a job if they keep it up," He added.
"At least you'll get to retire," I spoke. "That's more than most in our line of work."
"Touché."
Another wall slid into place, blocking our path completely. I froze.
We'd have to split up, the maze could react slower if we moved in different directions.
"Supervisor Ash?" Ares asked, tone even.
"We split. I'll continue toward the heart. You circle south and look for survivors. If they reach the exit before I deal with the core, they're dead."
"Understood."
He turned without hesitation, heading down the opposite corridor-- no questions, no hesitation, only that soldier's instinct accompanying him.
"Word of advice," I called out. "keep your legs moving. And don't engage unless you have to. Avoid pairs or groups of mimics, they'll tear you apart."
"Yes, sir. Thanks."
A wall slid shut behind him, sealing our paths apart.
'Gee, not even a good luck.'
I started forward at a steady pace, running just fast enough to keep the maze from adjusting too quickly.
'Feels like the walls are… pulsating. Gross.'
Time blurred-- minutes, maybe hours-- until I reached the heart of the labyrinth.
And there it was;
The center, a withered tree, its roots embedded deep into concrete.
Torn cloth. Supplies. Makeshift tents. Even a campfire.
'The people in this cycle sure went all out, huh?'
My thoughts froze as I felt a presence behind me.
I turned slightly and glanced over my shoulder. One mimic with an unnaturally wide smile. Then another to my left. Another to my right.
And ahead-- a fourth one, middle-aged, smiling with too many teeth.
"Greetings, mister. My name is Charles."
He tilted his head, that grin never faltering. "You wouldn't happen to know where a few of our camp members are? Three youngsters — one blonde, one dark-haired fem—"
"No." I cut him off. "But I'm looking for them too."
"You Bureau folks are so unfair... always taking others stuff." That thing going by the name Charles said, voice full of mock pity.
'He recognizes the BAA Suit?'
I flexed my wrists, feeling the gloves hum-- heavy with stored contamination, waiting to be unleashed.
'Four mimics at once? Great. Guess I can kiss this world goodbye… Seriously though, whose idea was it to split up again?'
I drew in a breath, steadying myself.
'Let's just hope Agent Ares is having an easier time.'
---
Gray arms jutted from the walls-- sometimes even shoulders, sometimes faces. Like the labyrinth itself had swallowed people whole.
The corridor grew narrower with every step, the air thicker, fouler. The smell of rot settled in. The trapped figures didn't move; they were as much part of the maze as its concrete and steel.
I leaned closer to one of the faces on my right. Its features were twisted in agony-, the next one, in rage. Another looked like it was silently screaming.
But some… some were calm.
Expressionless.
Even smiling- that same stretched, unnatural smile Charles wore.
"What the hell happened here?" I muttered.
"Best not to think about it," Sarah said. "But… I think we're close."
Josh didn't answer, only pushed forward through the dark.
After a few more turns, the walls opened into a straight corridor ending in a narrow, descending staircase.
"Is that…?" Josh whispered.
"The exit?" Sarah finished for him, hope flickering in her voice.
We hurried down the steps.
They led into an enormous hall-- concrete like the rest of the maze, but darker, almost black. Eight massive pillars connected floor to ceiling, each twice as wide as a car.
"Ugh- that smell." Josh covered his mouth and nose.
Now I understood where it came from.
The entire floor was covered in blood. thousands of liters of it, rippling faintly. Not deep, but deep enough for severed limbs to float like broken driftwood.
"Look!" Sarah's voice cracked with excitement.
I turned. Her eyes shone with relief-- pure, radiant, almost manic.
Josh's expression, however, had gone cold. Completely unreadable.
At the far end of the hall stood a massive red door.
The same door from my memory.
We descended into the blood. Sarah went first, her hand clutching mine for balance.
"It's not deep," she said, exhaling shakily. "Only up to my knees."
We pressed forward, step by step, avoiding the scattered limbs. The door loomed closer, our movements slow, deliberate.
Halfway through, Sarah bumped into a floating corpse.
"Ugh, fuck--" she gagged, recoiling. I could barely stomach it myself.
"You alright?" I asked quietly.
"I'm fine," she managed. "We're almost there."
Josh still hadn't said a word. His head was lowered, eyes hidden behind a curtain of his dark messy hair.
"Josh?" I reached out, hand brushing his shoulder.
He looked up.
"I'm fine," he said softly. Then, after a pause: "I guess we finally made it to the exit, huh?"
His tone was wrong-- hollow, detached.
And then I remembered what he'd told me back at the camp on the day i had first met him:
There are clones-- copies of the dead. They look and act exactly like them… until they get excited. Thats when they show their true colors.
Josh's mouth twisted in a unnatural, vicious way. He smiled.
Too wide. Too sharp.
The exact same smile Charles had worn.