Dreams are like a crumbling theater. They always pick the scenes you least want to watch and play them back at you.
Only this time, my script had no grotesque monsters, no Bureau conspiracies—just an old friend.
Through the haze of gray mist, I saw a familiar silhouette.
"…You finally made it."
The voice was low, tinged with that same ill-timed optimism I remembered.
It was Mark—the friend who had "died" years ago during an investigation mission.
I froze, half convinced it was some hallucination. But no—this wasn't illusion. This was a dream, and in dreams, nothing was "impossible."
"Mark?" I asked, hesitant, my chest tightening. "But you—"
"—died?" He cut me off, smiling exactly the way he used to. "Yeah. Died good and proper. Now I can only work part-time in your head."
I was silent for a while before managing:
"You know, that's pitch-black humor. Like a cheap commercial—'Afterlife Side Job, Meals Included, Housing Not Provided.'"
He burst out laughing, his voice echoing through the fog.
"You're the same as ever, still cracking jokes in the middle of despair."
I tried to pat his shoulder, but my hand passed right through him. The hollow, icy sensation nearly suffocated me.
"So what are you? Real, or just a comfort I cooked up in my own head?"
Mark shrugged.
"Does it matter? Either way—you need me."
I stared at him, my chest aching like a dull blade carving through.
We had run missions together, downed coffee so bad it should've been reported as a crime, and cursed out dumb orders from higher-ups.
The last time I saw him, the ruins were drowning in blood mist, and he'd stepped into the blow meant for me.
"You know… I always thought you shouldn't have died," I said quietly.
"Hey, who doesn't think that?" His grin faded, his eyes turning serious. "But the world of men was never fair."
Then, leaning in, he added, "I didn't come just for nostalgia."
My gut tightened. "What do you mean?"
Mark raised a hand. Mist flowed at his fingertips, coalescing into the charred fragment of a dossier.
"They're lying to you," he said. "The Bureau, the government—those rules you think you understand? All of it's a fraud. What you saw in the archives… just one corner of the puzzle."
I frowned.
"Sounds useful. Problem is, how do I know you're not just a nightmare playing dress-up?"
He grinned.
"You don't. You either choose to believe, or you keep doubting."
"Perfect." I rolled my eyes. "Classic paranormal friend behavior. Die, and still find ways to screw with me."
But then he smiled with a weariness I'd never seen before.
"Honestly, I envy you. You still get to keep running. Even if you joke that humor's your shield, I know—better than anyone—that you're hanging by a thread."
The words hit like a fist to my chest.
He was right. Between the Bureau's plots, nightmare assaults, and government surveillance, I'd long lost track of who the real enemy was.
I drew a shaky breath. "So what are you here for, then? Pep talk?"
"Something like that." He smirked. "Don't forget—I swore if I ever got the chance, I'd kick your ass in a dream."
I blinked—then laughed so hard I almost choked.
"…You really hold grudges."
"Can't help it. That's what old friends are for."
As he spoke, he began to step back, the mist swallowing him whole.
"Wait!" I reached out, but my hand only cut through empty air.
"Got anything else to say? The dossier fragment… the Shadow Protocol… what the hell are they?"
Mark's voice was fading, muffled, but it burned into my ears:
"Keep digging. But don't trust a single 'ally.' Not even me."
The mist consumed him, and the world returned to silent gray.
I stood alone in the void, unable to laugh.
—
When I jolted awake, the ceiling loomed overhead like a cold, expressionless face.
Eileen sat nearby flipping through a file, frowning when she noticed the sweat on my brow.
"Another nightmare?" she asked.
I licked my cracked lips, voice hoarse.
"Something like that. Met an old friend."
She gave a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Dead men showing up in your dreams? Real healthy."
I forced a crooked smile.
"Yeah. Healthy enough to open a clinic."
But deep down, I knew—this was no ordinary dream.