Word Count
The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! The dimly lit room was filled with a damp, musty odor that clung to the walls.
On a bloodstained hospital bed lay a man so emaciated that his skin seemed to cling tightly to his bones. His face was deathly pale, resembling someone who hadn't eaten in days. Meanwhile, the man on the adjacent bed appeared far healthier—his complexion was flushed, and his breathing steady.
This man had just woken up.
Before even opening his eyes, his right hand instinctively reached under the pillow in search of his phone. But instead of the familiar touch of cold glass, he felt the rough texture of thick ropes binding his wrists and torso.
At first, he thought he was still half-asleep, caught in a lingering dream. He jerked his body in an attempt to roll over—and that was when the pressure of the restraints finally hit him.
His eyes snapped open. Muscles tensed as he struggled against the bindings, only to confirm the unpleasant truth. He was tied down.
Panic set in. His voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"I just dozed off at work—how the hell did I end up tied to a bed?!"
"Hey! Somebody untie me!"
"Is anyone there?!"
The man, wrapped like a mummy and struggling on the wooden bed, was named Dane. He worked as an NPC actor in a haunted house attraction.
Since it was a Monday with no reservations and he had stayed up all night playing games, he figured he could sneak in a quick nap during his shift.
But waking up tied to a bed in this dim, moldy-smelling room was far from what he had expected.
"Ugh… stop yelling."
The voice came from the neighboring bed.
Dane turned his head and immediately flinched.
The man speaking looked like a walking corpse—skin stretched tightly over sharp bones, hair tangled and greasy like a bird's nest. His tattered patient gown was stained with various dried substances, some dark and unidentifiable.
He, too, was tied to the bed, but his demeanor was unsettlingly calm. Despite Dane's panicked shouting, his eyes only flickered with unease, as if fearing something unseen.
Dane's breath caught. If the man hadn't just spoken, he would've sworn he was staring at a dried-up corpse.
"Damn it—you're alive?!" Dane asked, blinking hard.
"Don't… talk…" The man's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
And it was in English.
Dane frowned and decided to respond in broken English, hoping to get some answers.
"You… uh, player or NPC?"
The man wrinkled his brow, clearly confused. He seemed to understand the words but couldn't make sense of them.
"NPC?"
[Language template loaded.]
[Multilingual mode activated.]
Dane froze.
"What was that? Who's talking?!"
His gaze darted around the room, scanning the stained, graffiti-covered walls. Crude words and symbols were scrawled across the plaster, but there were no visible cameras or speakers.
It didn't look anything like the setups used in haunted houses.
"Alright, enough already!" Dane shouted, trying to mask his growing unease. "You're all messing with me, aren't you? Saw me sneaking a nap, and now you're playing a prank."
He forced a grin and puffed out his chest. "I've been in this business for years, okay? I'm not like those scaredy-cat customers who scream at every little thing."
He began looking around more closely, searching for any hidden cameras or mechanisms. Meanwhile, the man on the other bed watched him with a puzzled expression, as if questioning his sanity.
"Hey! I said let me go!" Dane yelled again, his frustration boiling over.
His voice echoed off the walls, but there was no response. Instead, his outburst sent the skeletal man into visible distress. The man's breathing quickened, and his wide eyes darted nervously toward the corners of the room.
"Stop yelling!" The frail man's voice rose in volume, though it still trembled with weakness. "You'll bring them here!"
The sudden urgency in his tone silenced Dane.
It wasn't just his voice—it was the look in his eyes. Fear. Real, bone-deep terror.
Dane's cocky bravado faltered as unease began creeping up his spine. Even with his experience acting in countless horror scenarios, something about this felt… different.
"Fine, fine—I'll keep it down."
Dane muttered, swallowing hard.
The skeletal man's professionalism made Dane feel utterly inferior. Deciding to fully commit to the role, he asked, "Can you tell me where we are?"
The frail man hesitated before answering, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know exactly where this is… but I've been here for over a month. It's like some kind of mental asylum—designed purely to torment people." After finishing, he let out a heavy sigh, his hollow eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
A mental asylum again? Dane muttered under his breath, careful not to let the foreigner hear him. He didn't want to provoke another emotional outburst about "taking the scenario seriously."
"What should I do next?" Dane asked, keeping his tone low.
"Don't do anything. Just stay quiet." The man's voice wavered. "I only hope they don't come back. I can't take any more of their torture."
He shuddered, his body trembling as he continued, "They've done unspeakable things to my body, trying to force some kind of mutation. I've been cut open, stabbed with needles, and patched back together just to endure it all over again."
His eyes widened, his emotions spiraling out of control. He looked at Dane with an expression that seemed to beg for someone—anyone—to understand.
"How exactly did they… torture you?" Dane's casual question struck a nerve.
The skeletal man's lips quivered, more in anguish than fear.
"They tore out all my fingernails. Hammered nails into my body. And when I was on the brink of death, they treated me—just to keep the torment going. They said it was all for the sake of turning me into a mutant."
"A mutant?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone transformation and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
—people who've undergone transformation and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
—people who've undergone transformation and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
—people who've undergone transformation and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
—people who've undergone transformation and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"
?" Dane's brows furrowed.
"Yes! Mutants—people who've undergone transformation and gained superpowers."
A chill ran down Dane's spine. "And I'm tied up here because… I'm next?"