The Bureau dormitory at night resembled a frozen beehive. The corridor lights stuttered, as if debating whether to keep shining. Ethan's partner, Andrei, sat hunched on his bed, clutching a crumpled photocopy. His fingertips had worn the edges into ragged creases.
The words burned on the page: The purge list has been personally approved by the Director.So simple. So poisonous. A fishbone lodged in his throat.
"What are you staring at?" Ethan entered with two coffees. The smell was punishment-grade bitter.
Andrei looked up, eyes hollow—like a late-night infomercial host forced to hawk defective pillows. "Ethan… don't you think the Director's orders feel more like traps lately?"
Ethan snorted. "You just noticed? We've been in the pit from day one. The Director just likes digging deeper so we mistake it for mining."
Andrei's voice dropped. "I read the files… Those colleagues who were 'cleared'—their only crime was thinking too much. If that's a death sentence, you and I should've been fireworks by now."
Ethan sipped, grimacing. "Say it that bluntly again and tomorrow you'll be replaced by scrambled eggs at breakfast."
Andrei leaned closer, trembling. "Don't you see? He's not purging enemies—he's purging witnesses. The more we know, the more dangerous we are."
The clock on the wall ticked, measuring their remaining safe minutes.
Andrei gave a dry laugh. "I used to think the Director was a genius lunatic. Now I see he's just a meat grinder, and we're the meat."
Ethan rolled his eyes. "Leaders always say it's 'for the greater good.' Translation: so they can sleep better. The purge is his personal sleeping pill."
"And if he sleeps, what happens to us?" Andrei muttered.
"Simple." Ethan smirked. "We become his sleepwalking companions. Brace for walls."
The silence cracked under Andrei's fist slamming the bedframe. "I can't play deaf anymore, Ethan. The Director's rotten. We need to—"
"Shut up." Ethan's voice cut sharp as a blade. "Say that out loud under surveillance, and you'll be gone before sunrise."
Andrei's eyes blazed with gambler's desperation. "You're not scared?"
"I am." Ethan's smirk was weary, bitter. "But I'm not scared of him. I'm scared of that revolutionary look on your face. Around here, rebels end up as the Director's PowerPoint slides."
The silence returned, heavier. Patrol footsteps outside tapped like invisible handcuffs.
Andrei crumpled the page, tossed it into the bin. His voice muffled: "Sometimes I think… maybe we're just maintaining a lunatic's delusion."
Ethan slid the other coffee toward him. "Welcome to the Doubters' Club. Perks include: dying a little faster than the rest."
Andrei stared at the cup. After a long pause, he chuckled. "At least we get coffee first."
The bitterness overflowed—part caffeine, part black humor—saturating the room.