Chapter 052 - The Derelict Hospital 04

  The thought bloomed in my mind and spread like wildfire—swift, fierce, and impossible to contain.

  I narrowed my eyes and said coldly, “Mind your own damn business.”

  “You’ve got a death wish!” the man snarled. He seized a discarded high-backed steel chair and hurled it at me with all his strength.

  Gasps rippled through the crowd as they scattered in panic. Old Man No. 9 was directly behind me, and I barely managed to twist my body and pull him aside, narrowly dodging the chair as it crashed past.

  No. 25 was also behind me, but I didn’t have time to worry about her.

  She reacted instantly, arching her spine in a sudden backbend to dodge the oncoming blow. With a swift kick, she struck the man square in the shin, sending him stumbling backward.

  She spat with a sneer, “You can’t even keep your girlfriend from running off, and now you’re blaming someone else? Is it your coordination that’s broken, or has your brain finally turned to soup?”

  “You little—” The man’s eyes blazed with fury as he turned toward her, but then his gaze snapped back to me. Cold and murderous, his eyes locked onto mine as he charged.

  I moved slowly—deliberately—reaching inside my sleeve where I’d hidden the scalpel I’d picked up earlier. The cool steel handle met my fingers. I drew a breath, steadying my rising fury, and waited.

  He closed the distance quickly—three meters, two—and that’s when I struck.

  I stepped forward and twisted my body, using his momentum against him. With a practiced movement, I threw him clean over my shoulder. He hit the ground hard.

  “Number 84, right?” I asked, my voice calm as I pressed my knee into his chest. The chair clattered nearby. The scalpel in my hand glinted as I held it inches from his temple.

  I smiled, just a little. “Feeling more awake now?”

  His eyes squeezed shut.

  Cold sweat beaded along his temples and dripped onto the blade.

  The scalpel’s edge was so close it kissed his skin—one inch more, and it would cleave into his skull.

  He slowly opened his eyes and stared at the shimmering blade in horror.

  His lips parted, maybe to plead, maybe to curse.

  But I didn’t care.

  I slipped the blade back into its sheath and rose to my feet, my voice cutting through the tension. “Everyone, calm the hell down! Whatever’s messing with your heads—rage, paranoia, whatever—it doesn’t justify turning on each other. Don’t sabotage your own side. Don’t get yourselves killed just to prove a point.”

  I looked around, letting the silence stretch.

  “In previous missions, we split into teams—four or five people per group, covering ground and sharing intel. That strategy worked.”

  “But this place... this hospital—it feeds on negative emotions. The more people gather, the worse things get. Group hysteria is deadlier than the ghosts here.”

  I let my gaze sweep across the crowd, voice growing colder. “Either you act alone or you team up with someone you trust with your life. We’re on the fifth floor already. Thirty-nine people left. Do any of you still think we have time for this kind of bullshit?”

  My words hit like a slap. The crowd froze, stunned.

  Old Man No. 9 stepped in quickly. “You heard him. Pick your teams. Now.”

  That snapped them out of it. Those still sane enough began pairing off immediately. The rest hesitated, glancing around before following suit.

  But our group had an odd number.

  “I’ll go alone,” I said flatly.

  ———

  Stolen story; please report.

  Feng Lan hesitated, then gave a nod. He teamed up with Old Man No. 9. No. 137 and No. 25 paired off without a word.

  While they deliberated over directions, I turned and walked away without looking back, heading for the stairs.

  I knew this had to be done.

  Because the most dangerous person on the team wasn’t No. 53, the muscle-bound brute. It wasn’t No. 84, with his bloodshot eyes and festering jealousy.

  It was me.

  I was struggling to hold back a rising storm inside—an animal hunger for violence, a cold, calculated wrath. The confrontation just now had pushed me to the edge. Convincing the others to stand down had drained the last dregs of my reason.

  If I stayed, I’d snap.

  I needed space. Distance.

  The second-floor hallway flickered under dim sensor lights. The bulbs pulsed like they were breathing.

  I hadn’t walked far when a chunk of something wet and fleshy plopped from a broken light fixture. Blood dripped slowly behind it.

  I paused but pretended not to notice. Just kept walking, kicking open the doors to each medical room and flipping on the lights.

  The doors were old—green wood, rusted metal locks. Beside each was a peeling sign:

  **Isolation Room**, **Psychological Consultation**, **General Surgery**, **Orthopedic Surgery**.

  Inside, it was carnage. Dust blanketed the shelves and counters, but beneath the grime were tools—surgical straps, bone saws, cleavers, and scalpels, all stained with dried blood. They were scattered like toys tossed aside after playtime.

  Above this level were the patient rooms. I’d glimpsed shadows lingering by the shattered windows earlier—figures too twisted to be called human.

  I glanced at the time.

  An hour left until “treatment” ended.

  Still early.

  I hesitated—then climbed to the next floor.

  This time, I didn’t force the doors open. I moved cautiously, checking the faded nameplates beside each room.

  They were coated in cobwebs, the letters still visible beneath the dust.

  They were categorized by cause:

  **External Injuries. Internal Injuries.**

  Fractures. Organ trauma. Straightforward enough.

  But the internal ones... now those were something else.

  I leaned in, reading them one by one:

  **Homosexuality. Depression. Anxiety. Bipolar Disorder. Rebellious Defiance. Harmful Addictions.**

  I frowned. This wasn’t medicine. This was ideology passed off as diagnosis. The air felt heavier the longer I stared.

  Then I felt it.

  Movement.

  A small shape stepped out from a nearby room, silent and strange.

  It just stood there.

  By the time I noticed, it let out a shriek that cut straight through my ribs—raw and shrill, like a soul being torn apart. I staggered back, the sound stealing the air from my lungs.

  But it didn’t lunge.

  Instead, it twisted mid-air, bit through the lock on the security window with inhuman strength, and—before I could move—leapt.

  From the fifth floor.

  It looked like a child.

  I instinctively lunged forward, a desperate reflex. But I was too far. Too late.

  All I could do was grab the railing and watch.

  The figure tumbled through the air, blood trailing behind. Its body began to dissolve mid-fall—muscle unraveling, skin peeling away.

  By the time it hit the ground, it was no longer a child.

  It was a skeleton.

  The bones hit the pavement with a crack like shattered porcelain.

  And then pain hit me—white-hot and electric. It tore through my nerves, and I dropped to my knees, muscles seizing in agony.

  A wave of despair crashed over me, not my own, but someone else’s. Like a transmission.

  **Let me die. Let me die. Let me die.**

  I lifted my head, drenched in sweat, eyes locking on the gap in the railing.

  It whispered to me.

  **So painful... So painful... Jump.**