Chapter 501

The neon signs of Seoul dripped rain onto the slick streets. An oppressive quiet hung heavy, a stark contrast to the usual vibrant noise of the city.

Empty delivery scooters lay scattered, their silent stillness unsettling. They were remnants of a recent, frenetic life, abruptly stopped.

The scent of disinfectant, mixed with something metallic, filled the damp atmosphere. The sterile smell was the only sign of human existence that could be found in those dark avenues.

Lee Hana tightened her jacket, pulling the collar high around her neck. Her phone's dim screen displayed a shaky map leading to the "Rhythmic Rescue" shelter.

It was a stupid name for a place trying to protect the last living humans in her section of the country.

The rhythmic pounding from a distance wasn't from a Kpop dance club. It was a relentless, repetitive beat – the telltale sound of the infected.

They were the "Beaters" - gamers consumed by "Power of Beat," a viral rhythm game that transformed its players into something gruesome and deadly.

A few months prior, Power of Beat, once an enjoyable online app, turned sour when they added their special DLC patch to create this chaos.

Hana moved with practiced quiet, each footstep deliberate, knowing what to do since they went through her small block weeks prior, only barely saving her life.

The infected moved in hypnotic synchronicity, each limb jerking to the pulse of their internal game.

A sudden scuffling sent her crouching behind a stack of discarded cardboard boxes. Two Beaters, faces gaunt and eyes hollow, shuffled past in perfect, disturbing synchronicity.

They moved with jerky, inhuman actions, fingers twitching as though they still held virtual controllers. A small whimper caught her ear and was hidden by the sound of those relentless clicks, those terrible rhythms.

Hana's grip on her rusted pipe tightened, her knuckles bone-white. Her gaze remained fixed, following their awful path.

She rose slowly, heart a trapped bird against her ribs. The rain splattered on her glasses as she made sure to check left and right.

Each beat felt like a punch, sending the reminder of all she lost: family, friends, neighbors. Even now, those memories are only the most vivid ones she can cling on to.

She advanced with a cold sense of determination, the "Rhythmic Rescue" her only beacon, even though it might just be a light out in the storm that leads you nowhere.

The deeper Hana moved into the district, the more the repetitive pounding swelled, getting increasingly close.

The sounds of "Power of Beat," each click a nail hammered into the coffin of this dead city, was a painful memory to the gamer who used to play this back when they made her fun and a hobby, before its malignant upgrade.

Once the game became known, everyone loved it; however, the people who were now Beaters couldn't turn off the game because of what that special update caused, it kept those poor souls stuck.

Hana remembered those dark, inky evenings, her focus and determination high on leaderboards. Now the leaderboards didn't matter when it made the people's lives they claimed to love turn into such horrors.

Now, the same beats became a siren's call, a morbid invitation to death's domain. Her memories only a dull, sharp reminder.

Reaching a narrow alley, Hana took a pause. The wall of discarded trash became an uncomfortable shield against those who were unfortunate enough to become the puppets of "Power of Beat."

The incessant rhythmic tapping reached its highest here, echoing in the confines of the alleyway like an awful heart beating slowly and deliberately.

It came from an old computer cafe, where shattered window glass framed the horrific ballet of the infected.

Inside, Beaters swarmed the place, their fingers dancing on phantom controllers, each click making those ghastly movements.

The light was sickening, bouncing from screens that displayed an endless stream of "Power of Beat." Their faces were close, illuminated with what is now hell on their monitors.

Their skin looked gray and dead. The faces displayed expressions of both frustration and concentration as if they didn't know what the horrible, terrible fate of theirs was to begin with.

Hana observed them closely, seeking any patterns to predict their action, their behaviors a form of the worst, disturbing choreography she's ever had the misfortune of seeing in person.

This used to be fun, now, it is an experience of hell she could only find in a nightmare. This new memory makes it harder to keep pushing, for more steps taken and a grim resolution, each stride.

The constant, calculated noise made her grip tighten more and more on her rusty pipe.

She noticed something, something different – a Beater seated before the largest monitor in the center, its movements almost, disturbingly normal, more human than any of those in the cafe, or perhaps he was just good at concealing the monstrous change within himself.

His motions, quick and deft, had an element of practice to them that those poor, awful creatures didn't hold in themselves. The rhythmic noise from his keystrokes was terrifyingly faster and it made Hana uncomfortable with how quick he can perform his grim game, so skilled in those morbid mechanics.

This one was no mindless zombie; there was something behind that cold stare and calculating gaze that watched the game intently. He must have known something no other Beater has the unfortunate privilege of knowing.

He must have found a way to "level up", this horrific game had a cruel learning curve and he learned all of its rules. He must be a master player now, as a Master Beater of sorts.

Hana slowly backed out of the alley, making sure to keep herself behind walls of discarded garbage that made this putrid location its very definition. The sense of uneasiness she was carrying from just one moment before did not fade away, as those small, calculated beats continued.

He made her want to retreat, not engage. This one was on a whole different, scary level and she'd do well by just going along with her path to Rhythmic Rescue instead of this detour of pure, deadly chaos.

The rhythmic pounding continued, echoing a terrifying melody, a requiem for all the lost humanity here and the very essence of her own slowly ebbing away with all she was going through.

Reaching a deserted main road, Hana's sight spotted a fire station, one that might have those supplies the "Rhythmic Rescue" shelter may need.

Hana thought of this detour for the sake of other people; she did not do this out of pure selfish determination to just save her life. The people still needed her; there might still be a fight left in her if she just let that one beacon of light give her a chance, even just once more, one last chance.

It would only be a slight detour, just enough for some of those much needed medical supplies or even just bandages.

The main road was empty and covered with what used to be the citizens of Seoul and how they just ran and fell.

Some looked asleep as their very skin looked transparently pale; the color that they once wore in their very faces was now a ghastly image. They just laid there. Their life was taken; they just slipped out of the mortal coil without any regard.

This became too much. This constant state of decay.

Pushing all those emotions away, Hana kept up her calm as she found that entrance of the fire station. It was wide open, one that probably let in all the wrong type of guests.

Inside, there were few Beaters, surprisingly, as though the sirens or lights attracted fewer and not the entire swarms of them to the main road. This was definitely her very first bit of "good luck" for today.

Hana crept through the darkened rooms, listening intently for those dreadful rhythms of "Power of Beat." Some areas had an awful quiet, a terrifying emptiness.

It was the perfect kind of set-up where some Beaters could ambush you at any given moment. Her movements now have become even more careful, each calculated to keep a distance.

She secured bandages, antiseptics, and water into her tattered backpack, checking each room systematically as her eyes took stock. The water supply seemed untouched as it was tucked far into a room near the very back. This small room she has to access was very risky.

Making a decisive choice, she opened the back room's door.

What she found was nothing less than a horror show. The firefighter, now a Beater, was not facing the correct way. He seemed to be still working hard with something else in his possession.

He was trying to fix one of their hoses while keeping up with the awful beats of the game, his whole body jerking as his hands tried so desperately to piece the two together, so focused that he barely even seemed aware she entered the room to begin with.

The way his shoulders shook; how they seemed both focused on this work but completely unaware was so creepy and unsettling that she couldn't look for too long.

He paused his movements, looked over at Hana as he suddenly began shaking. It seemed to have reset itself; some awful coding was triggered within him the moment his very eyes saw her, like a sick switch being flipped.

She knew what this meant; it was only going to get far more difficult than it ever was before. Now all of those noises, the pounding, will now lead more to this location; the one they will not leave untouched.

Before he could do more, Hana brought the rusted pipe she had high and used all of her body force and sent the man into the wall as his skull slammed into the brick and tile that now lay on the floor from their prior contact.

With shaking limbs, Hana fled that room and got to the nearest exit with her head ducked, and all the noise and sounds of the area just starting to increase more and more to that of a swarm's.

The road had started to feel more difficult. The beating from those inside seemed like one big heart with the thump of all the feet of more and more Beaters coming her way, she was going to have to push this more quickly than usual, no matter the cost.

The streets ahead were flooded with more Beaters as they flooded every avenue possible as she just bolted, trying to keep from becoming yet another member of this horrible mob.

Hana's pace was unwavering now; Rhythmic Rescue was close. If she ran fast enough, maybe she had some luck of surviving the terrible consequences that this world is making her go through.

Her goal was clear in her view, yet something in her soul started to weigh her down, now the world seemed to fade to some grimy gray instead of its earlier dull view.

The rhythm of their approach sounded like an ever-advancing drum line; her own pounding heart tried its hardest to keep a strong tempo. This might not last long if they had other things planned.

Reaching a tall fence surrounding a converted warehouse, marked "Rhythmic Rescue," her chest began heaving from the terrible and heavy pace. But no. Not now, not here, not this late into it, she needs to get her final act right this one last time.

With newfound vigor, Hana reached for the top and hoisted herself up and over the barrier. As her feet found their footing, it was not a place she was expecting.

The safe haven she anticipated was nowhere to be seen; instead, there was only what could only be described as organized chaos. She had made it through the fire station's horde only to see what looked like more organized forces working on a brand-new objective.

Beaters surrounded an arena and in the center was the master Beater, that terrifying player who was very quick. The cacophony he had set in motion as his performance kept the arena safe but deadly as the infected now just ran in a circle around him, completely entranced by the performance in front of them, his awful melody was working a very morbid magic in this forsaken hell of South Korea.

They were not fighting the Beaters; they were being manipulated and used like puppets; he used them to form the grand spectacle as they went round and round.

His eyes fixed on Hana, acknowledging her, as if he was expecting this particular type of ending. No longer the focus on the game itself, as he paused and lifted the headset. He even pulled the mic closer to himself, as if they both were about to have a normal conversation that is the worst and creepiest kind of its own.

A cold, detached smile reached the edges of his lips. He has her where he wants; in the thick of this game where all the terrible choices must end in terrible ends.

The world is dark, but his smile can only shine through, that smile the final message in a sea of madness and terror as she found her last and final stop: her very, tragic demise.

This story could have easily been solved with communication, but what makes it a tragedy was its awful conclusion. She may never see what Rhythmic Rescue is really about, her demise now, one to the master of Power of Beat's very show. This whole terrible affair made her last memory the sounds of those endless clicks in her very ears.