Bewildered by everything and feeling the pressure not to waste any more time, I tidied myself up and approached the nun in charge of assigning wagon duties. I handed her the introduction letter. She read it mechanically, eyes scanning with disinterest, before saying in a flat tone, “May the Father bless you in your journey. You may proceed.”

  It felt like things were going too smoothly—but I quickly learned otherwise. Hauling crates and supplies from the donors to the wagons was backbreaking work. All the while, I made sure to casually glance toward the taskmaster overseeing the operation.

  That old man—whom I assumed was John D.—stood quietly, neutrally observing the scene. He basked in the morning sunlight, not breaking a sweat despite the unbearable heat. There was something detached about him.

  Eventually, after what felt like hours of grueling labor, he finally approached the workers. With a radiant smile, he announced, “Thank you all for your service to the Lord. Your devotion is greatly appreciated. You may leave and collect today’s payment.”

  Then he pointed.

  “Except you,” he said, singling out an unassuming worker.

  John D. continued, “I feel a greater purpose in you. You may transport the cart to the warehouse. Select anyone you deem worthy to lighten your burden.”

  Realizing this was my only way into the warehouse, I knew I had to convince that man to take me with him.

  But the chosen worker—he was practically glowing with fervor. Muttering under his breath, over and over, “Chosen... chosen! I was chosen!” Something in his voice cracked, like part of his sanity had been left behind.

  It was... unnerving.

  I approached him. Others lingered nearby, praying in front of John D., likely hoping to be noticed too. I cut ahead, trying to speak directly to the man.

  “Excuse me, sir... chosen. May I have the privilege of assisting you in your task?”

  He ignored me. Still lost in his delirium.

  I tried again. And again. Nothing.

  Then I muttered under my breath, “If only Lex were here, this would be so much easier…”

  That snapped him out of it.

  His eyes, dark and obsessive, locked on mine. “You know our rising star?” he asked. “He was chosen on the first day! He’s the most admired among us. I’ve been here three months… and only now... I’ve finally been chosen.”

  He paused, almost reverently.

  “I’ll carry on the legacy of my colleague, who was lost in his duties…”

  I swallowed dryly. There’s too much to unpack here. They’re insane.

  So I tried again, this time with bait.

  “I live close to Lex,” I said. “I could help you... maybe even get you a chance to speak with him.” (Sorry for selling you out, my friend.)

  Light—almost literal light—seemed to burst behind his eyes. He agreed instantly.

  As John D. silently retreated back into the parish, the “chosen” gathered his own crew. I followed, trailing them toward the warehouse.

  It looked to be in the direction of the slums.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  On our road to the slums, it just looks too pitiful—the hungry, the sick, and the undesirables roam this place. I truly had hoped things would have been better, but the war has clearly taken its toll. Oddly enough, it’s emptier than rumored.

  While ruminating on that thought, I spot a warehouse bearing the church insignia, deeper into the filth. The security is orderly, and people are waiting in lines for something... Either way, we approach the loading entrance, where some guards—wearing unidentifiable uniforms marked with sun iconography—beckon us inside.

  What I see is a medium-sized warehouse. Everything about it screams "restricted area beyond this point," yet the guards are allowing the workers to unload even in those parts. I take my box and observe the interior. Lots of crates are stacked, and man-sized mirrors bearing a black sun motif are positioned near the emergency exits. There's also an extra space—cut off—where no one dares approach.

  Surprisingly, security inside is lax. If I maneuver through some boxes, I could easily approach and try to enter the restricted section. After calculating the risks, I find it feasible. With a gambler’s luck, I return to the unloading area and seek out my “chosen” leader. I explain to him that I wish to atone through more work, so that I too may be chosen.

  He is delighted by my "dedication" and hands me another box—one destined for the more devoted. Lucky for me, it’s close to the other side.

  After placing the box in the designated area, I do a quick scan to make sure no one's watching. I only need a moment—just long enough to peek inside without raising suspicion. I approach the door and try to open it... but it doesn’t budge. In my desperation, I resort to the monocle. And I finally see it—there’s a brick that’s loose. I push it, and the door clicks open.

  Just as I’m about to enter, I glance back—and I see him.

  The monster with no face, entering through an emergency exit, staring at me... and walking.

  I quickly slip through to the other side and topple a few boxes behind me to buy some time.

  ***

  I do a quick scan of the room: more boxes, more mirrors—no escape. Internally, I’m screaming: There must be something. I have no time. I still have the monocle on, but it’s not showing me anything. Nothing. Nothing! Only that... it smells of iron and sulfur?

  I glance at the ground. Black markings at the center—looks like blood stains. Old stains... No time for that.

  Then I notice: it’s silent. He’s not even attempting to open the blocked door.

  I take a furtive look, and I see him on the other side of the room—like a ghost. And before I can even process that, my body reacts on its own and ducks into a box next to a mirror. I rip the monocle off. That monster appeared after I used it—I can't trust it right now.

  Then... whispers. At first faint, then suddenly I can hear its voice—clearly.

  It twitches from the spot where I see him, and then—Sophia’s voice:

  "Her again..."

  Then Lex’s voice:

  "Is that loyalty?"

  Then a whisper I’d heard in a dream:

  "Not your place."

  And finally—my voice. It looks at a mirror and says:

  "Found you."

  He grabs something from his pocket and makes a grasping motion toward the mirror.

  Realizing what he’s about to do, I leap away from the mirror just in time.

  The monster mutters:

  "I hate it when they notice."

  Then I see him walking toward the mirror—I immediately start to run. I suspect he’s crossing over toward me. I try to reach the spot he left, and I hear him say:

  "Don’t delay the inevitable consequence of your actions. This is destined."

  In desperation, I try to trust the monocle one last time. I use it—and the creature speaks again:

  "Oh, my dear friend… what’s that? You’re not supposed to have something like that. I’ve got to confiscate it—for our own good."

  He’s talking like Lex now.

  I look through the monocle: a hollow body—but there’s something shining where he was gripping. Nothing more.

  Damn it. I’ve got to gamble.

  I try to parley.

  "What do you want from me?!"

  It replies:

  "I’m not doing this because of mere wants. Now come closer to me, so that we may continue with our day."

  "Will I live?"

  With Sophia’s voice, it says:

  "Yes."

  I think to myself: Good. It thinks I’m an emotional sucker.

  I approach slowly. It watches me, still and silent. The closer I get, the more I hear whispers—distorted voices that stir something primal. They’re almost designed to paralyze prey.

  I’m nearly next to it now. It must believe it has total control. A predator playing with its food.

  With the last of my courage, I throw a punch.

  It’s surprised—its body flickers like a mirage—but too late. My gloved hand touches the shining, hidden object.

  It screams, the sound inhuman and blistering.

  A second later, it punches me in the ribs and throws me across the room with unnatural strength. I’m gasping, pleading—pain crashing over me in waves. Adrenaline keeps me moving.

  It’s shrieking in some impossible tongue.An unbearable pain lances through my mind, like something inside me is tearing. . Light erupts from its face. Every mirror flares with energy—I see it through the monocle. One mirror is spinning, glowing… like a roulette wheel.

  I don’t think. I leap.