Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#110Reader Mode

#110

The news that D had managed to become invisible hit Seojun harder than he expected. He’d already heard the story from Tim, so he knew it was only a matter of time before she was able to do it. But there’s a world of difference between knowing something in theory and seeing it with your own eyes. The impossible had become real, and no amount of mental prep could dull the surreal feeling that came with it.

Seojun’s mind began to wander, idly wondering what he would do if he could turn invisible, too.

“……”

But his thoughts drew a blank. He’d spent so long stuck in a cycle of negativity that even the idea of hope or ambition felt foreign. No matter how much he clung to the idea of change, those years of ingrained negativity wouldn’t just vanish overnight. Especially not here. Not while he was still a prisoner, still trapped after being kidnapped. The more he let himself think, the darker it got, his thoughts tightening like a noose. He bit down hard, teeth pressing into his lower lip until it stung.

What if I turned invisible and stepped onto a street, only to get hit by a car? I’d die alone, and no one would ever know what happened to me…

He imagined his parents, frantic with worry, searching everywhere for him, only to find nothing.

A lump formed in Seojun’s throat, and he swallowed hard, trying to push it down. The thought of that lonely, tragic end made his chest ache. He’d always been the type to obsess over worst-case scenarios, imagining tragedies that hadn’t even happened yet, like the sky crashing down on his head at any moment.

Anyway. D really did it. She actually became invisible. I guess it makes sense, considering the way they treated people here like disposable lab rats. Subjected to cruel experiment after cruel experiment without a second thought.

Even as his brain kept circling back to the terrifying 0.56% chance of catastrophe if he ever became invisible, he couldn’t help but admire D’s perseverance. The journal didn’t go into details, but the side effects she’d suffered were horrific enough to paint a vivid picture.

Some days, blood would seep from every inch of D’s face, dripping from her eyes, ears, nose, even her mouth. Other times, a violent rash would cover her skin, leaving her body raw and burning from head to toe. Then there were the moments when her senses warped, trapping her in a nightmare world where nothing felt real, like she was lost inside her own mind. It never ended. A merciless cycle of agony.

Just thinking about going through even a fraction of what D endured made Seojun shudder. If he had to face even one of those symptoms, he knew he’d have fled from the lab, barefoot and wild-eyed with terror. The thought was too much, so he sighed, forcing it out of his mind and shifting his focus back to L’s notes in the journal.

「Why didn’t D’s shoes turn invisible? Her clothes were completely transparent, but those red shoes were just dancing there on their own! It was incredible! Hey, S, is it over? Are we finally free?」

L’s tone was frantic, edging toward hysteria. His excitement wasn’t just about the lab’s breakthrough—it was something else, something deeper. The researchers were ecstatic about their success, but L? His words were fueled by desperation, clinging to a shred of hope that maybe they were nearing the end of their captivity. Seojun could see it in the shaky, uneven handwriting, like he was holding his breath, waiting for the moment their suffering would end.

But when Seojun flipped to the next page, S’s reply was a cold slap of reality, dousing any flicker of hope L’s delirium might have sparked.

「Get your head out of the clouds, L. I know what you’re hoping for, and believe me, I want it too. But D’s invisibility is a mess. It’s erratic, and even the researchers can’t explain how she does it. They’ve never even seen her turn invisible or visible again. It only happens when no one’s watching. Yeah, she’s a successful invisible human, invisible to thermal cameras too, but she can’t stay that way forever. Everything about this situation is a crapshoot, and now she only communicates by writing on a chalkboard. The only ones celebrating are the wild dogs that patrol this place.」

「S, it’s just like you said, the researchers don’t know which drug triggered the changes in D’s body. I overheard them talking about it the other day. But now that D’s using her ability, maybe she won’t have to suffer every day like before, right?」

「Who knows? Does it even matter? Either way, that’s D’s problem to deal with, not something for you or T to lose sleep over.」

S’s last words landed with a cold finality that made Seojun uneasy. There was something ominous about the bluntness, the way the message seemed to shut everything down. He tapped his leg anxiously, his fingers tracing the jagged, angry lines of S’s handwriting, imagining the sharp, irritated voice behind it.

As the invisible human experiments intensified, S’s journal entries grew shorter, sharper, every word soaked with bitterness. Meanwhile, L’s entries swelled with frantic energy, as if he was desperately trying to fill the void S left behind. What used to be a conversation between two minds was turning into the desperate ramblings of someone slowly unraveling.

「I think… T might be starting to come around, little by little. When she first got here, it was like… like she’d left her soul behind, right along with her severed hand. But now… I’m not so sure. There’s something in her eyes. A flicker of life that wasn’t there before. It’s faint, but it’s there. Still, I wonder… are emotions even worth it? T’s moods are all over the place. It’s like watching someone switch between two extremes. Yesterday, she couldn’t stop laughing, wandering around like a little kid. She opened up in ways I never thought possible. I learned more about her in those few hours than I had since she first arrived. Who knew she’d be so proud of being born just one day before her lover?

But today… today was awful. She cried nonstop, bawling until her face was swollen and raw.

The researchers seemed confused. I heard them whispering about changing her meds again. They say her ability’s development is stalling, but I don’t get it. They’ve already made someone invisible, right? So why does it matter if our powers get stronger or weaker?

D became invisible, so why are we still here, suffering? S… I’m starting to think that emotions and insanity are one and the same. But what do I know?」

L’s words bled desperation, spilling across the pages, while S remained as cold and distant as ever. His detachment was unnerving, like he was watching everything from the outside, untouched by the suffering around him. L clung to S’s presence, desperate for connection, but it was like grabbing at smoke—the harder he tried, the more it slipped away. The tension only thickened. S’s attention, disturbingly intense, was locked on D, like a weight pressing down, heavier with every second.

「S, why are you looking at D like that? Do you even realize what kind of expression you’re making? It’s… it’s creepy. Dark. You look just like one of the wild dogs.」

「■■■■■ ■■■■」

That had to be S’s reply, but the entire line was blacked out, like someone had deliberately censored it. Ever since D’s experiment had partially succeeded, an odd, almost suffocating atmosphere had settled over the test subjects. The bond they’d once had, built through shared suffering, was slowly unraveling.

But the biggest change was in S. The youth who used to be so clear-headed, the one who’d been experimented on for his thoughtography ability, had grown cold, almost unreachable. The young man L had once looked up to for his wisdom and bravery wasn’t there anymore. Instead, there was someone else—a brooding stranger, and his emotions seemed to be edging towards jealousy.

I never thought he’d be the jealous type.

Seojun sat cross-legged beneath the podium, his head tilted slightly as he stared at the journal in his lap. Could S really be jealous of D, just because she’d managed to become invisible? It seemed out of character. From everything Seojun had pieced together from the scattered journal entries, S didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d get jealous.

People’s emotions can flip on a dime, but still…

Absentmindedly, Seojun scratched his back with the edge of a gavel, gaze drifting back to the journal. S’s sudden jealousy, L’s desperate need for connection, T’s wild swings between sanity and madness, and D’s endless suffering—it all weighed heavily on the test subjects. Whether or not D’s experiment had really been a success didn’t seem to matter. The emotional toll it left behind was impossible to ignore. And those blacked-out lines… they were showing up more often, as if pieces of the truth were being erased bit by bit.

Seojun squinted, leaning closer, trying to make out the words hidden beneath the thick, black ink that covered S’s response. He stared so hard it felt like the letters might magically reappear, but the lines stayed stubbornly illegible.

With a frustrated sigh, Seojun stretched out his long, spindly legs, accidentally bumping them against the podium. The resulting thud echoed through the quiet room, and the podium wobbled, teetering like it was about to fall. A large shadow loomed over him, and Seojun’s heart leapt into his throat as he realized it might actually collapse.

“Ahhh!” he yelped, flinging his arms out just in time to catch the podium before it crashed onto him. Even with his hands bound, he managed to steady it, though his muscles ached from the strain and sweat prickled his forehead. The drawer inside the podium rattled from the impact, its contents spilling out, scattering papers across the floor.

Before Seojun could fully react, something hard thudded against the top of his head, slid down his scalp, and bounced off his shoulder. For a brief, confused moment, he thought it might be the first volume of the shared journal, but as he blinked and looked down, he realized it wasn’t a journal at all—it was a file.

Just as Seojun was trying to wrap his head around this new discovery, the speaker overhead crackled with static, startling him. The sudden noise made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he had a strange feeling that the Wizard was about to make some grand announcement.

– Oz, what are you doing down there instead of searching for clues? Practicing yoga? Meditation?

“…….”

The Wizard didn’t waste any time, launching into his usual tirade of sarcastic comments, poking fun at Seojun’s clumsy movements. Seojun couldn’t help but wonder if the Wizard’s eyesight or cognitive abilities were failing him. The way he talked, you’d think he was sharp, but Seojun was willing to bet he was lacking in one of those departments. He muttered under his breath as he righted the podium, already fed up with the Wizard’s nagging. It was time to share his findings, if only to shut the Wizard up for a while.

He grabbed his sketchbook, carefully stripping away the layers of emotional turmoil—the pain and confusion that S and L had suffered—until all that remained was the cold, hard truth. He condensed everything, reducing the tangled web of their misery into five stark lines, like wringing the last drops from a soaked rag:

[1. This place is an illegal lab designed to create invisible humans.

2. I found the exchange journal written by the victims of these experiments.

3. According to the journal, there are four test subjects, identified as S, L, T, and D.

4. Among them, a female subject named D has successfully become invisible.

5. The “she” mentioned by the kidnapper is likely this “D.”]

Seojun hesitated, wondering if he should add more, but his hand was throbbing, and the page was already filled to the edge. The essentials would have to suffice, he decided. He lifted the sketchbook, showing it to the Wizard.

– Invisible humans?

The Wizard’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. Unusual for him. He usually didn’t bother to hide his indifference, but now, there was something different. His tone felt quieter, more thoughtful. And then… silence.

Seojun’s arms ached from holding his sketchbook up for so long that he finally gave in, tucking it under his arm. The air felt thick, like something unsaid was hanging there, but no follow-up came. No smug remark, no sarcasm from the Wizard. Just… silence.

The longer it dragged on, the worse it got. Seojun’s anxiety shot through the roof. His gaze flicked to the CCTV camera on the wall, its red light staring him down like some kind of unblinking accusation. A sudden thought crossed his mind.

Does this bastard think I’m lying?

Honestly, it would make sense. If someone started talking about invisible humans out of nowhere, he’d probably think they were losing it, too. A chill prickled the back of his neck, doubt sinking like a heavy stone in his chest.

Seojun didn’t hesitate. His hand flew across the page, scribbling faster than his thoughts could keep up. He had to explain himself.

[I’m not saying it’s true, but the people experimented on here believed it. They really believed it. This idea actually dates back to Victorian England…]

The words tumbled out, messy and frantic, the pencil writing across the page in half-formed explanations. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince the Wizard or himself anymore. He was rambling now, grasping at anything that might make sense, when—

A deafening screech blasted from the speaker, so sharp it felt like it was tearing through his eardrums. Seojun’s sketchbook slipped from his hand, falling to the floor as he clapped his hands over his ears. He winced, staring wide-eyed at the speaker. Behind the static, he thought he heard a sharp intake of breath.

And then…

ー AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…

The Wizard’s laughter exploded, high-pitched and distorted, filling the room. It bounced off the decaying walls, echoing back in layers until it sounded like a whole crowd of madmen laughing at once. It wasn’t just laughter. It was wild, maniacal cackling, like the Wizard had found something incredibly amusing.

And it didn’t stop. The laughter kept going. And going. And going.

In another place, another moment, that kind of laughter might’ve sounded happy, even normal and carefree. But here, in this crumbling, dead-silent courtroom, with Seojun standing alone like a condemned man before an unseen jury… it was something far worse. It was terrifying.

Seojun couldn’t move. His body locked in place by the sheer force of the sound. Trapped and helpless, he could only endure the echoing laughter. It rattled his skull, vibrated through his bones, until finally—thankfully—it stopped.