The silence that followed was heavier than the cold creeping into their bones. Seojun rubbed his arms, a useless gesture against the goosebumps crawling up his skin. The chill wasn’t from the air—it was the memory of that freezer, of being locked inside with the dark pressing in.
Seojun’s stomach plummeted. He bit down hard on his tongue, swallowing the scream rising his throat. The sharp sting was familiar; he’d bitten the same spot again, and it hurt like hell. But it worked. His fear escaped as nothing more than a quiet, choked gasp.
“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!"
“Aaaaah! Gyaaaa! Holy—!”
Three voices twisted together—shriek, choke, gasp—into a single ragged wail.
In the trembling cone of their flashlights, the pig-masked figure doubled over. Not in pain. In laughter. A wet, wheezing sound that bubbled up like he was drowning in his own lungs. The cleaver dangled from a meaty fist, each hacking laugh flicking fresh, warm drops across the concrete.
“W-What are you talking about?”
Luciel’s voice broke halfway through the question. She tried to stand straighter, tried to look confident, but her voice gave her away. And it wasn’t because of the cold this time.
“What... what just happened?”
Luciel’s voice came out softly, so different from her usual confident grand tone that Seojun almost didn’t recognize it. But he wasn’t really paying attention. His mind was racing.
Seojun shook the notebook and instantly regretted it. Dust exploded everywhere, making him cough like crazy. The thing was absolutely disgusting—so gross that even someone with serious germophobia would think twice about touching it, even with gloves on. He pointed his phone’s flashlight at the cover, trying to make out what used to be a title under all that grime.
Okay, think. The factory was barely secured, just a metal bar anyone could lift. Maybe kids had peeked in through the entrance.
Seojun latched onto the excuse, willfully ignoring how solid that bar had looked when Dennis had moved it.
The Polaroid spat out its photo with a familiar mechanical whirr. Dennis caught it mid-air before it hit the ground. Everyone leaned in, watching as the blurry image slowly sharpened into focus. He gave it a quick shake. Pointless, sure, but some habits die hard.
Finding a hair or some plastic in packaged food would be bad enough. But drugs? That was something else entirely. Seojun felt his eye widen as the full weight of it sank in.
Luciel made her way over to the guy who’d collapsed on the ground, his head hanging low and hands braced behind it like he was fighting to stay upright. When she was about five steps away, she started digging through her coffin-shaped bag.
So, there they were, Seojun’s truck rumbling onto a pretty deserted-looking road, tailing the van up ahead. Brown and Luciel were in that one. The sky overhead was a vast, clear blue. A cool morning breeze rustled through the reeds, and every so often, the sweet chirping of birds would sneak past the truck’s windows.