We pushed deeper into the back corridor—each step quieter than the last.
The lights here were different. Flickering, yes, but not all broken. They blinked in a steady rhythm, almost timed. An old maintenance grid was still feeding partial current, wiring hissing softly inside the walls. But it wasn't the sound that bothered me.
It was the smell.
Like meat left to rot in a sealed coffin. Sweet at first, then acidic. Every breath felt like it left something behind in my throat. I covered my mouth with the edge of my shirt.
"I smell blood," Liang Mei muttered.
"No," I said. "It's worse."
The corridor opened up into a chamber, ten meters wide, much smaller than the room behind us, and filled with debris. Bent rebar jutted from the walls. A forklift rested against a collapsed stairwell, its metal skeleton picked clean.
And the bones.
Everywhere.
Crawlers. In pieces. Limbs twisted like rope. Backs torn open from inside. Some were fresh. Some were old, but half devoured like husks.
