The noise drowned out the rest of their conversation.

They stepped into the carriage. The train began to move.

After several stations had passed, the guide gave a subtle signal—it was time to get off.

They exited at Alisher Navoi station, each lost in his own thoughts.

The young man wanted to finish the question that had been growing inside him… but he held back.

The guide walked in silence, following some invisible route. Even on the escalator, the atmosphere between them didn’t shift.

A train stood waiting on the opposite track.

As if it had known—they would be coming back.

They approached like machines: one leading, the other following. Once again, they entered the carriage.

At last, it seemed they had reached the destination. The guide gestured ahead:

“We get off here. This is where it begins.”

“Gafur Gulyam Station?!” the young man exclaimed in surprise.

“Let’s head somewhere private.”

His tone had turned firm—almost commanding. He led the way to the far end of the platform, where the shadows were deeper.

The young man suddenly noticed—they were heading toward a metro exit blocked off for repairs.

“Where are you going?! That area’s completely shut off!”

“Keep moving.”

“But it’s locked!”

“It’s supposed to be.”

Without a word, the guide pulled out a key, casually unlocked the gate, then grabbed the young man’s wrist and led him through the metal bars.

The screech of the iron gate blended with the roar of the departing train—like it had all been choreographed in advance.

Inside was dim. The light from the platform barely reached the first few meters of the corridor.

From his pocket, the guide took out an antique pocket lantern—a real relic—and handed it to the young man. Then, with a simple match, he lit the wick.

Taking the flickering lamp back into his own hand, he walked ahead.

“No need to bother trying,” he said coolly.

“Over on this side of the platform, your phone won’t work.

Neither will that pocket flashlight.

Even the navigator we gave you—it’s useless here.

Shift just slightly to the left… and you’ll change entirely.”

The young man nodded silently.

Without protest, without questions, with the cold professionalism of habit, he followed.

He accepted everything unfolding around him as simply another part of the mission.

The guide handed him a bundle of worn clothing.

It carried the musty scent of age and dust.

The clothes were rough, thick, heavy—stiff, as if starched—and unmistakably old.

Garments with a history.

Piece by piece, he removed his own clothes and slipped into the unfamiliar ones.

They didn’t fit right. They didn’t feel like his.

They felt like someone else’s life.

He felt exhausted. Out of place. Like he had stepped into a stranger’s body.

Questions buzzed in his head like static:

Who wore this before me?

Where has it been?

Why me?

These questions rang in his ears, louder with every heartbeat.

“Leave your clothes here. You’ll return to this spot later.”

“I don’t get it… What is this, a changing room? Isn’t this a bit too weird?”

“Don’t worry,” the guide said calmly. “While you’re changing in this shelter, I’ll briefly explain the mission…

My name is Jahongir. As I mentioned before, I’m part of the Organization’s logistics division. And for this assignment—I’m your escort.”

Jahongir raised the lantern slightly, a faint smile on his face.

“I know. The place looks eerie. But trust me—what’s ahead is even more remarkable.

This… is a dream come true for any secret agency.”

Something inside the young man’s mind snapped like a fuse.

Only now did he truly begin to feel the atmosphere, the weight of it all.