Chapter 051 - The Derelict Hospital 03

  Why, I wondered, was the hospital placed right next to the school? What could possibly be the task we were meant to accomplish here, in this place so drenched in foreboding?

  Before I could think further, the heavy gates of the hospital creaked open, the sound a haunting, almost mechanical groan. Along with it came the nauseating crunching sound that made my teeth ache and my senses recoil in discomfort.

  A sharp hiss pierced the air—*shh*—someone was holding their breath, an involuntary reaction to the eerie atmosphere.

  I looked up, my gaze catching the figure of a group of nurses in pink uniforms slowly approaching. At first, they seemed normal, but the instant my eyes focused, my breath hitched. These nurses... they weren't quite right. Their bodies were nothing more than hollow skeletal frames, fleshless, grotesque. They weren’t human anymore; no beauty, no ugliness—only a terrifying, inhuman aura that clung to them like a cloud of ice-cold fog.

  As if to emphasize their unnaturalness, the lights flickered on and off in the building behind them, casting disturbing, stuttering glows that made the bones of these creatures seem even more grotesque. The way they moved—it was mechanical, stiff, jerky, as though they were marionettes controlled by invisible strings. Their movements lacked grace, their very presence like something out of a nightmare.

  A sudden panic rippled through the group of us. Some gasped, others froze, while a few, too terrified to even speak, stumbled backward. Then I heard the voice—the unmistakable voice of No. 53.

  "Shit, they're skeletons turned into spirits!" he shouted, a cold edge of panic in his voice. "Run, brothers!"

  I turned my head, and sure enough, there he was, the bulky, muscular man—who, I’d once witnessed charge into a research institute with a bundle of explosives—now visibly shaken and terrified of ghosts. How ironic, I thought. I remembered him asking the very first time we'd entered the facility, "That doctor's skeleton isn’t here, right?" A ridiculous concern in the face of what we were dealing with, but then again, fear makes strange bedfellows.

  The rest of the group, even though they too sensed the eerie, cold menace of the skeletal nurses, hesitated. Some of us knew they meant no harm, but the fear was primal—nearly impossible to ignore. Slowly, we began to retreat to the outer edges of the area, no further path to take. But then something unexpected happened. The skeletal figures, their eyes hollow and distant, reached into their tattered uniforms and handed each of us a small notebook.

  The retreat halted as if some invisible force had rooted us in place. Even No. 53, who had been frantically urging everyone to flee, stood there, scratching his head and awkwardly inching back towards the group.

  No. 25, clearly impatient, couldn’t hold it in anymore. Rolling the small notebook in his hand, he playfully knocked it against his own head, muttering, "What’s the big deal? They're just handing out medical records. Why the hell are we running? They’re not going to eat us."

  And indeed, that's exactly what these strange, skeletal figures were doing: handing out medical records.

  My name—"Sylas Turing"—was scrawled across the front of the medical record, followed by the number "32" in parentheses. The handwriting was bold and unyielding, the sort of penmanship that struck a chord of familiarity deep inside me. My finger traced the letters as if the action were automatic, like I had written this myself—*I* had written it, and yet... it was like looking at someone else’s thoughts on paper.

  As I scanned around, I saw the same scrawl on everyone else’s records. Each notebook was adorned with different handwritings, some familiar, some strange, but all unmistakably personal. I realized then—this game, or rather, the creator behind it, knew everything about us. Everything. More than we knew about ourselves.

  And then, the memories—the ones we’d thought lost—had been erased.

  But the instincts, the natural reflexes we were born with? Those had been left intact. They were embedded in us, still fresh and sharp. And when I opened my record, the pages were blank.

  The same was true for everyone else.

  When the last of us received our medical records, a mechanical, emotionless voice echoed in the air:

  "Please proceed to the hospital for treatment. The initial treatment time is 3 hours."

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  It was then that we cautiously stepped into the hospital.

  At first glance, it seemed like any ordinary hospital—long corridors stretching into the distance, the faint hum of outdated machinery, and the soft rattle of shattered glass as the cold night breeze wailed through broken windows. The air felt chilled, each gust biting at our skin. It felt eerily... lifeless.

  The hospital had once been a place of healing, but now, its walls were steeped in decay. Patient rooms stood in rows, abandoned and empty. Treatment rooms, once sterile and clinical, were now overtaken by rust and grime. Operating tables, unused for years, lay covered in dust. Piles of forgotten medical equipment lay scattered across the floor, overtaken by the passage of time.

  If this had been a new facility, spotless and pristine, it might have offered a sense of security. But this was no new hospital. This was an abandoned relic of the past, its halls polluted by bloodstains, its instruments coated in thick dust. Maggots and spiders scuttled over piles of rotting matter, and the flickering, dying light bulbs added an almost oppressive atmosphere, their dim flicker casting long shadows across the broken walls.

  No. 137 tugged at my sleeve, voice trembling, "Bro, I'm scared..."

  She turned to Elliot next, eyes wide, her voice barely a whisper, "Elliot, do we really have to go in...?"

  I gently pushed her back, positioning her between me and Feng Lan. With so many of us moving together, it felt a little less terrifying.

  As we crossed the threshold into the ruined lobby, a buzzing sound—a low, constant hum—began to vibrate in my skull. My scalp prickled, and my vision blurred for a split second. I felt something foreign and primal stirring deep inside me, something... dark.

  Then, suddenly, a torrent of emotions exploded in my chest—fear, rage, sorrow—all vying for dominance. I felt the weight of each emotion pressing down on me, yet I forced myself to hold them at bay, to keep them locked within.

  In the midst of this, No. 137 broke down, her sobs echoing in the hollow hospital. We all instinctively turned toward her. She wiped her eyes hastily, sniffling as she spoke, "Sorry... I-I don’t know why I’m crying, but I just feel like crying..."

  None of us had the energy to console her, and I barely managed to open my mouth to ask if she was okay when I was interrupted.

  A new voice, quick and forceful, reached my ears. A girl with long, curly hair and dressed in a provocative, youthful style stepped forward, her gaze fixed on me with a strange intensity. She was slender, dressed in high boots and a tight outfit that accentuated her figure. I recognized her immediately—No. 103.

  She was looking at me with something close to affection, her voice dripping with sweetness, "No. 32, I’ve liked you for a long time. Since the second instance, I’ve thought you were amazing—why don’t we team up? I can do anything, way better than this firewood girl beside you."

  Her lips curled into a teasing smile as she licked them, clearly trying to provoke a reaction.

  I frowned, attempting to pull my hand away, but before I could, Elliot was quicker. He grabbed No. 103’s wrist, his movements sharp and almost violent, pulling her away from me. I opened my mouth to protest, but Elliot had already spoken for me, his voice firm. "Elliot!"

  He stopped just in time, his hand slowly loosening from hers.

  I took a deep breath, pushing the turmoil within me down. I spoke as calmly as I could, "This round may heighten our emotions. The darkness inside us will become stronger... We need to stay composed and move on separately after this."

  But before I could finish, another figure appeared—tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably furious. It was one of No. 103’s companions, and he didn’t look happy.

  "I’ve been wanting to punch your pretty boy face for a while now," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "What are you showing off for, huh? Just because you’re loud, you think you can boss people around? You’re nothing but a loud dog barking!"

  He stormed forward, grabbing No. 137 by the arm and yanking her roughly away, his glare focused on her. Then, pointing at me, he snarled, "I know what you’re up to. Trying to seduce my girl, huh? I’ll kill you one of these days, brat!"

  I raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "Oh?"

  At that moment, I could no longer suppress the emotions swirling within me. I felt them—felt them push through my every fiber, louder and louder, screaming at me, telling me what to do.

  They said,

  You want to kill him.

  You *need* to kill him.

  *Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!*