Chapter 47 Halloween Came Early

Mike pried the elevator doors open with a grunt, his muscles straining as the warped metal groaned in protest. The moment the gap was wide enough, he stepped back, taking in the scene before him.

The corridor beyond was mangled. Walls that should have been smooth, sterile white were instead crumpled, like something massive had tried to squeeze through them. Fluorescent lights dangled from the ceiling, their bulbs shattered, leaving behind exposed wires that swung lazily, spitting sparks. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Red crystal formations—jagged, pulsing—had begun to grow along the walls, cracking through concrete like tumors of raw, living glass. They pulsed faintly, like something inside was breathing. The ground was slick, coated in a dark, viscous fluid that seeped from somewhere unseen. Blood? Contaminated water? Oil? The mixture of smells—iron, rot, something sharp like ozone—made it impossible to tell.

Akarui, who had been joking just moments ago, felt his throat tighten. His fingers dug into the elevator’s frame as his usual cocky tone died in his throat. 

“Jesus, I know I said I wanted some excitement, but not like this. Not a horror show.”

Mike exhaled through his nose, running a hand down his face as he took it all in. 

“Well, kid. Halloween came early this year. Deal with it.”

Shachiku barely reacted the nightmare before them. He didn’t care about the crystals, the wreckage, or whatever the hell was leaking from the walls. His mind was focused on one thing.

Reaching Ichiban or die trying.

She was still here. She had to be. There was no time to waste. No time to process. No time at all.

Shoving past Mike, he stepped into the ruined corridor, his shoes squelching against the slick floor. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even blink.

He had to reach her. Before it was too late. He had to tell her everything. 

Mike clicked his tongue, stepping out of the wrecked elevator with the same energy as a guy checking out a bad storm from his porch—annoyed, unimpressed, but knowing damn well it wasn’t over yet. He took a long, slow look down the corridor, hands on his hips, then let out a dry chuckle.

“Well, those lab rats really did it this time.” His voice was level, but there was weight behind it—like this wasn’t the first time Helios-9 had played with fire and gotten burned. 

“I swear, every damn time they start poking at things they shouldn’t, it’s always my ass cleaning up the mess.”

The corridor was a mausoleum of failure. Walls buckled inward as if something massive had forced its way through, leaving claw-like gouges along the steel panels. Doors meant to seal automatically in emergencies had either jammed half-open or had been completely torn off their hinges. 

 The red crystalline growths lining the walls pulsed faintly, as if sensing their presence, their glassy surfaces shimmering under the flickering lights. Worse, some of them had started spreading across the floor, jagged and uneven, like the earth itself was being corrupted by something foreign.

And then there was the sound.

Somewhere in the depths of the facility, beyond the broken corridors, a distant, wet shuffling echoed through the vents. It wasn’t just the groan of a collapsing structure. It was movement. And it wasn’t human.

Mike sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before moving toward a half-functional security terminal lodged in the wall. The screen was cracked but still flickered with static-filled images from the facility’s camera feeds. He pulled out a cable from his belt and started working to jack in, muttering under his breath the whole time.

“You know, I put in one goddamn request. One. Told ‘em, ‘Hey, maybe don’t mess around with the scary glowing rocks you pulled outta the goddamn void.’ But noooo, gotta keep the funding rolling, gotta make history. Well, congratulations, eggheads, you made it all right. You made hell.”

Akarui, usually the loudmouth of any room, stayed quiet. His hands twitched at his sides as he took small, careful steps around the crystallized formations. 

“Uh… Mike? Maybe now’s not the time for a grumpy old man monologue. Shouldn’t we be, you know, leaving?”

Mike didn’t even look up as he worked. 

“Oh yeah? You got an exit plan, kid? ‘Cause last I checked, we’re in lockdown. Those doors ain’t opening unless I say so. So, unless you want to start licking these walls and hoping they teleport you outta here, maybe shut up and let me work.”

Mike grumbled as he worked, fingers flying over the malfunctioning console, his other hand smacking the side of the screen every so often like an old TV that refused to cooperate.

 “Come on, you piece of junk, gimme something. Static ain't gonna help me open blast doors."

The monitor flickered violently, lines of corrupted code flashing across the screen, distorting the camera feeds as if the entire system was rotting from the inside. Then, after a final hard smack, the static cleared.

And what he saw made even him pause.

Camera 04: Hallway Delta

A scientist stood with his back to the camera, pressed against the wall, his lab coat stained with something black and viscous. He twitched unnaturally, his head lolling to one side as if his neck had been half-snapped. Something about his stance was wrong—his legs were stiff, but his arms… they were moving. Not his arms—his ribs.

The man's chest cavity had split open, and inside, something red pulsed and twitched, crystalized bony protrusions clicking together like an insect cleaning itself. As the scientist shuddered violently, a long, slick, crystal appendage unfurled from within him, groping at the air like it was learning how to use its new body.

Then, as if it could sense being watched, the scientist jerked his head backward—too far, too fast—until his milky, unfocused eyes locked directly onto the camera.

The feed cut out.

Mike muttered a curse under his breath.

 “Jesus…”

Camera 12: Storage Room Theta

Bodies. Stacked against the walls, piled on top of one another like discarded puppets. Some were still in their hazmat suits, others had clawed at their own skin, deep gouges running down their arms as if trying to rip something out from underneath. The worst part? Some of them were still moving.

One figure, pinned beneath a collapsed shelf, twitched violently, its fingers dragging weakly across the ground, scraping deep red streaks into the metal flooring. Then its head began to rise—not with effort, but as if something behind it was pulling it upright by invisible strings.

The camera feed blurred for a moment, then jumped forward. The bodies had rearranged.

No. Not rearranged.

They were standing now.

The feed cut out again.

Mike sucked in a slow breath, his grip tightening on the console. 

"Really wish I didn’t see that."

Camera 09: Cafeteria

At first, it looked empty. Tables overturned, food trays scattered, chairs lying in broken heaps. Then, a shape twitched at the very edge of the frame—a figure hunched over a table, motionless.

The image glitched, and suddenly it was closer.

A woman, or at least what was left of one. Her limbs were elongated unnaturally, her jaw unhinged, gaping in a permanent, soundless scream. Her body convulsed in slow, jerking movements, as if trying to breathe but forgetting how.

Another glitch.

She was even closer.

Mike’s stomach twisted.

Final glitch.

The woman was right in front of the camera, face tilted, staring. The footage froze. Then, in a final burst of static, the screen blacked out.

Mike exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

 "Nope. Nope. Noooope. Not dealing with that today." 

He cracked his neck, returning his focus to the console. 

“Alright, doors first, nightmares later.”

But as he worked, a new thought crept into his mind—one he didn't dare say out loud.

How many of those things were moving?

And how many of them were already on their way here?