I always thought "trust" was like buying a lottery ticket: most of the time, you spend money and end up with a worthless piece of paper. Ridiculous as it was, in this world of ruins, I was forced to place a bet—and this time, the jackpot was my life.
After the battle in the church, we sat amidst the wreckage. Broken wooden chairs lay scattered; the candles on the altar flickered as if any moment might be their last. My throat still burned from being choked, my voice rasped as if sandpaper had been rubbed across it.
"You do realize you almost died, right?" my friend said, voice so calm it made me furious.
"Almost? Please. I was already picking background music for my brain's eulogy." I rubbed my neck and grinned. "But thanks—at least I didn't embarrass myself in front of the monster."
He didn't smile. He just stared at me in that infuriating way, like a doctor examining a patient: you can't tell if he's going to help or just wait for you to die so he can sign off.
"You have to make a choice," he said.
"A choice? Don't tell me it's one of those 'walk the path of light or darkness' multiple-choice things. My life already feels like a broken game."
"You either trust me… or trust the Bureau," he said plainly.
The air turned cold. My heart pounded, like someone drumming inside my chest.
—Trust him? The former friend, now traitor—or maybe just an illusion?—Or trust the Bureau? The place I'd signed my soul to, full of schemes, a black stage more twisted than opera?
Neither option was appealing. Like choosing between poisonous mushrooms and expired instant noodles—the only difference being whether you get diarrhea now or meet the grim reaper later.
I sat in silence, long enough to imagine a dozen ways to die. Finally, I sighed.
"Fine. I choose you." I looked at him. "But don't get me wrong—I'm not choosing because I trust you. I just trust the Bureau even less. At least you've saved me, while they only write my death reports."
His eyes flickered, a subtle loosening, but he quickly returned to his cold mask. "You'll regret this."
"I already regret being alive," I shrugged. "This is minor."
We stared at each other, tension stiff as plaster. Then I reached out, giving him a half-hearted handshake.
"Temporary partners?" I raised an eyebrow.
He hesitated, then shook my hand. His palm was icy, like it had just crawled out of a grave—well, considering our world, it fit perfectly.
"There's no turning back on this path," he said.
"Don't worry. I can't even see the signposts." I smirked. "We're stumbling in the fog anyway—at least someone's falling with me."
Wind blew through the broken windows, bringing the night's chill, and some absurd sense of ceremony. At that moment, I realized I'd made a choice that wasn't particularly wise. And yet, somehow, I felt a strange relief.
Maybe it was because I no longer had to pretend to be a "loyal agent." Or maybe… I just wanted to gamble once. Gamble that he really wasn't lying.
I looked up at the shattered glass. Life, after all, had always been one lousy bet.