Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#163Reader Mode

#163

“If I have to deal with this crap again, I’ll stop being a person. From now on, I’m Cynthia’s guinea pig! Bobby’s dog! No, screw that! I’m a stray dog now. A mutt with zero rights and emotional damage!”

Seojun choked back a sob mid-rant, the rest lost to the screeching protest of the cart’s busted wheel. Even being this close to the killer made his heart pound like it was trying to escape his chest. The pig mask, just inches from his face, stank of stale, earthy decay—a smell that turned his stomach and made him want to gag.  

And yet, here he was, pushing the guy on a transport cart like a delivery boy from hell.  

The reason was painfully obvious. Brown was strong, sure, but he was built like a refrigerator; subtlety wasn’t his thing. And Luciel? Slender frame, glossy black outfit, fashionable as hell and just as impractical. Which left Seojun, the guy with zero upper body strength and all the worst luck, stuck with the most dangerous job.   

Of course it did.  

Seojun sniffled, half from effort, half from despair, muttering curses at whatever past-life karma had landed him here.  

Then the pig-masked man groaned.  

A low, deep sound rattled from under the mask as his body sagged, slumping deeper into the cart with a dull thud. By some miracle, the cart was just wide enough to keep him from tumbling off.  

Seojun’s panic-slicked eye narrowed. His breath caught, senses honing in like a lens clicking into focus. The work clothes were oversized, but not enough to hide the man’s build: a soft gut pushing against the shirt, and arms that, beneath their rolled-up sleeves, held more fat than muscle. 

A dark, calculating light flickered in Seojun’s eye.  

This isn’t him.  

This wasn’t the real Gas Mask. That man, Fred, had been a walking mountain, all bulky muscle and wiry tension, like a boulder just waiting to roll downhill and crush you. But this one… this one was soft. Aggressive, sure. Dangerous, no doubt. But he’d lived a life of comfort.  

And that made him beatable. 

Say what you will about Fred, but at least the bastard had conviction. Should’ve asked for hazard pay while I was at it. Is that really what I was worth? Barely above minimum wage? 

Seojun was still fuming over his underpaid employment history when the man in the cart moved.  

There was no sound, no warning groan. Just a flicker—barely a blur at the edge of his vision—and then a flash of silver cut through the dark like lightning.   

“Agh—!”   

All thought vanished. His body moved before his brain could catch up. Seojun jerked his head back on sheer instinct. He felt the cold whisper of air where the blade sliced past, a half-second before a few strands of his own severed hair drifted down onto his forehead. He sucked in a ragged breath, a wave of dizzying exhaustion washing over him.    

But he couldn’t stop pushing. He couldn’t let go. That one busted wheel meant he was the only thing keeping the cart moving. The only thing standing between them and getting trapped here forever.   

Seojun got lucky. Pure, dumb luck; half a second’s worth. The killer had aimed for his neck, not the arms pushing the cart. An unfortunate miscalculation for one, a life-saving miracle for the other.  

But luck had its price. His panicked dodge had thrown Seojun off-balance, eye off the path. In the pitch-dark, his foot caught on something—a metal rail embedded in the concrete.   

A violent jolt shot up his arms. White-hot pain exploded in his left shoulder, and for a second, his vision went spotty.  

But it was worth it.  

The entire cart bucked hard, pitching its cargo sideways. The killer spun with the motion, thrown into disarray. He was still armed, still dangerous, but for one precious moment, he was just a flailing blur in the dark.  

Before Seojun could even process the unexpected stroke of luck, Brown’s voice bellowed from the side, thick with adrenaline.  

“Seojun! Now!”  

“Aaaaaaagh!”  

A desperate, guttural scream ripped from Seojun’s throat—a sound of pain, fury, and sheer, bloody-minded will. He drove forward with every last ounce of strength he had left. Sweat slicked his neck and his palms burned against the rough wood, but the gaping black rectangle of the freezer was right there. With one final, desperate shove, Seojun planted his foot against the killer’s back and kicked him off the cart. The man flew forward. The recoil sent Seojun stumbling backward, collapsing to the floor in a heap. 

The killer tumbled into the freezer, and the cart’s single good wheel spun with a final, hollow rattle before falling silent.  

As Brown threw his full weight against the heavy door, the world seemed to slow to a crawl.  

Through the narrowing gap, Seojun caught one last glimpse.   

The killer wasn’t scrambling or lunging for the exit. He was calmly reaching up to adjust the pig mask, straightening it on his head as if he were fixing a tilted hat. Then, the head turned. Through the shadows, two vacant, black eyeholes locked directly onto Seojun.  

It wasn’t a look of panic or rage. It was a look of quiet recognition. A look that was memorizing his face. 

A cold dread, sharp and absolute, washed over Seojun.  

The heavy thud and metallic clank of the lock sliding into place was the most beautiful sound Seojun had ever heard. Brown gave the handle two firm yanks to double-check, then pocketed the key and pulled Seojun to his feet.  

“You sure it’s locked?” Seojun gasped, his whole body trembling.  

“Yeah, I checked. Luciel, let’s go!”  

They grabbed her from the corner where she’d been huddled, and the three of them fled for the stairs, Luciel repeating the same two words like a desperate prayer. 

“Second floor! Second floor! Second floor!” 

“Did you find anything else useful up there? Besides the key? Like… I don’t know. A crowbar? There’s always a crowbar in these situations.” Seojun asked, his voice still shaky as he tried to tune out Luciel’s frantic chanting.  

He wasn’t really joking.

They couldn’t just leave that guy locked in a freezer and hope he’d turn into a popsicle. The thought made his skin crawl. It was like trapping a huge, twitchy spider under a glass—you know it’s still in there, waiting. The idea alone felt wrong, a deep, gut-level revulsion. Seojun gave a hard shudder.

Beside him, Brown leaned against the wall, catching his breath before shaking his head.  

“Finding the key was pure luck. McCullan and I split up to search the offices since there were several of them.”    

At the mention of McCullan, a somber silence settled over the group. Brown’s expression faltered, his jaw tightening, cheeks trembling ever so slightly.  

Seojun didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t have to.  

They all knew.  

Another name for the factory’s growing death toll. Another body, probably cold and still beside Dennis in the dark. 

Being the practical man he was, Seojun accepted it calmly. He’d only known them for a few hours. It was sad, sure, but not personal. His real concern was making damn sure he didn’t end up with the same bloody fate.  

Brown shook off the thought with a sigh. “Anyway, I checked the manager’s office first. The key was sitting right there. I stepped back into the hall, called for McCullan, but he didn’t answer. Figured he was already downstairs. Soon as I got down here, I got you guys out of that freezer.”

By the time Brown finished, they were at the top of the stairs. Finally feeling a sliver of safety, they pulled out their phones again, the bright beams of the flashlights cutting through the oppressive dark. Seojun swept his light over the railing and swallowed hard. He’d been too focused on just moving his feet to notice before, but the second floor was dangerously high.   

Right… Brown had mentioned the factory manager fell from here. 

The phone lights illuminated a long, empty hallway lined with doors. On the left: one large office and a smaller room beside it. Dead center: a plain, unmarked door. And to the right: three identical rooms, each with a small, dark window set at eye level.   

They were closest to the right-hand side. Brown aimed his flashlight down the hall. 

“The door in the center and that last one on the end were both locked, so we couldn’t get in. But that big room on the left? That’s the manager’s office. Found the key in there, thanks to you.” He gave Seojun a grateful nod. “Right under the flowerpot, just like the journal said.”   

“No, I should be thanking you,” Seojun replied, returning the nod.  

It was a strange, tangled loop of gratitude. Brown was thanking him for a clue that led him to rescue the very person who found it. The thought wasn’t exactly happy, but it felt… solid. Something to hold onto in a situation that felt otherwise depressing. 

Funny how a random note in a forgotten journal could mean the difference between breathing and being left to freeze in a metal tomb. Life was fragile like that. Arbitrary. Unfair. And sometimes, just barely merciful.   

“And those two doors at the end lead back down to the first-floor hallway.” 

Brown seemed determined to explain everything he knew, as if saying it all out loud might hold the despair at bay. Luciel clung to every word, nodding fast, drinking in the reassurance of structure.   

But Seojun’s mind had drifted. He was stuck on a more immediate concern.  

Where the hell’s the crowbar?  

He swept his phone’s light across the wall… over peeling paint, faded signage, dust-covered floors. His beam passed an open doorway, wide and yawning.  

Then he froze. 

And because he’d been looking—not talking, not thinking—he saw them first.  

A pair of eyes. Deep in the darkness. Staring back at him.