The atmosphere grows heavy as Io, lying lifelessly on the cold, bloodstained floor, hears the sound of approaching footsteps. They are measured, deliberate, and accompanied by the faint rustle of protective suits.

“Arghh…” Io groans weakly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Through the haze of pain and darkness, her thoughts race. There are only two types of people who would venture here: victims like herself or...

“It’s too bad the outcome remains the same,” a calm, collected female voice rings out, echoing down the dim hallway. The tone is clinical, detached. “The targeted anomaly hasn’t shown any significant change, no matter how many times we’ve repeated this process.”

Another voice—male, bitter—breaks the stillness. “My, my. Look at this mess. When I saw her on the camera, she had such a pretty face. All of it ruined by that damned anomaly.” His frustration simmers just beneath the surface, his voice tinged with something almost like resentment.

“Focus, Lucas,” the woman interjects, her tone sharp and cutting. “We’re not here to indulge your disgusting commentary.”

“Fine…” Lucas replies, though the irritation in his voice lingers.

Even though Io cannot see, she recognizes the voices. A chill washes over her. That tone—she would never mistake it. It’s Christiana.

Lucas turns slightly, addressing someone behind him. “What’s the status of the anomaly? Has it returned?”

A crisp, professional voice answers. “The target has retreated to the doll room. Control room has confirmed it is contained. Reinforced concrete barriers show no signs of stress or breach.”

“Good.” Lucas’s gaze shifts to Io, who remains motionless on the floor. A sinister curiosity gleams in his eyes. “Take a sample. Let’s see if the anomaly’s energy has polluted this one.”

“Yes, sir.”

The team of scientists, clad in protective suits, moves closer. Io’s breathing quickens as they kneel around her.

“No… please… stop…” she croaks, her voice barely audible.

Without hesitation, one of them pulls out a gleaming knife.

“ARGHHHH!!!”

Her screams fill the corridor as they carve into her flesh, extracting small, bloody chunks. Each slice feels like fire searing through her body, the agony so intense it drowns out all thought. Her pleas go unanswered. The scientists work methodically, unmoved by her suffering.

“Extraction process completed,” one of them announces, holding up a sealed, bloodied container.

Lucas inspects the sample briefly before turning to Christiana. “Should we feed this to the Scarecrow?”

“No,” Christiana replies curtly, though her tone shifts ever so slightly—an almost imperceptible change. “He won’t like it.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Instead, his gaze falls back on Io, whose mangled body trembles faintly.

“Let the cleaners handle the rest,” Christiana orders, flicking her wrist dismissively. She glances down at Io one last time, clicking her tongue in annoyance. “What a waste of resources. You might’ve been useful… if only you hadn’t wandered to your death so willingly.”

The group turns and walks away, their footsteps fading into the distance. Io lies there, her body broken and her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness.

As the muffled footsteps approach, Io’s consciousness flickers. If her eyes could still see, she would’ve immediately recognized David and his lackeys—figures of dread in the laboratory’s twisted hierarchy.

“Man… how many of these do we have to deal with tonight?” David mutters, his voice laced with frustration.

The man on his left shrugs, his tone indifferent. “Three. Just tonight.”

The larger lackey on David’s right, despite his intimidating frame, falters as his gaze lands on Io’s mutilated body. He grimaces. “I hate handling those doll’s leftovers. Especially when they look this bad.”

He hesitates and scratches his head. “But... weren’t there supposed to be no experiments with the doll today?”

David clicks his tongue irritably, waving away the question. “Just an unlucky wanderer,” he says flatly. With a sharp gesture, he orders, “Deal with it. Business as usual.”

The lackeys move efficiently, pulling out a folded metallic stretcher. They place it on the ground, then gingerly lift Io’s broken, twitching body and lay her on it. She groans faintly, her moans laced with raw agony.

“Take her to the incinerator in the garbage room,” David commands, his voice devoid of sympathy. “Dispose of her like the rest.”

“Got it,” the larger lackey replies, but something catches his eye. “Huh? Boss, look at this.”

He crouches near the spot where Io had been lying moments ago, brushing aside the congealed blood to reveal a ring. Its surface is tarnished, but its inscription, “LOD,” gleams faintly.

David’s expression darkens as he takes the ring from his lackey. His fingers tremble slightly as he inspects it, the writing igniting a flicker of recognition. His eyes dart back to Io’s pale, mangled form. “The hair color… it’s different,” he mutters, his voice betraying a rare hint of emotion.

“Then she’s not…” He trails off, his gaze lingering on the dark hallway ahead. His expression softens momentarily as he caresses the ring with a reverence that feels out of place amidst the brutality of the moment.

The lackeys exchange a glance, silently acknowledging their boss’s inner turmoil. Without a word, they lift Io’s stretcher and begin their grim march toward the incinerator. Her faint groans of pain continue, each sound a haunting reminder of her suffering.

Finally, they arrive. The incinerator roars with relentless flames, its heat suffocating. As the lackeys approach the monstrous machine, one of them hesitates. “Sorry,” he murmurs under his breath.

Despite their hardened roles, the act of pushing another human into this hellish maw never sits right with them.

They pushed her onto the conveyor belt and stepped back, the door slamming shut with a deafening finality.

“Let’s go,” the larger lackey muttered, his voice shaky. They didn’t look back.

As the conveyor belt carried Io closer to the roaring flames, the heat began to claw at her skin. At first, it was a stinging sensation, like standing too close to a bonfire. But as her battered body neared the inferno, the pain surged, unbearable and all-consuming.

Her flesh began to blister, the outermost layers curling and blackening under the intense heat. The acrid stench of burning skin filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of her blood.

Io's ragged breaths turned into shallow gasps, her cracked lips trembling as the flames licked at her exposed wounds.

“Arghhh… it’s so hot… it hurts…” Her hoarse voice barely escaped her parched throat, the words swallowed by the roar of the incinerator.

The fire gnawed at her like a living thing, burrowing into her muscles and nerves. Her body convulsed involuntarily, a primal response to the searing agony. Her vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges as her nerve endings screamed in protest.

Her clothes, already soaked with blood, ignited first, the flames spreading hungrily across the fabric and searing her skin beneath. The fire’s heat was unrelenting, peeling away layers of her flesh like paper.

Fat bubbled and popped, the sound faintly audible beneath the inferno’s roar, and her exposed bones gleamed briefly through the flames before blackening.

It wasn’t just pain—it was something worse, something deeper. The fire didn’t simply consume her body; it seemed to pull at her very essence, as if trying to devour her soul. Io’s screams faltered, her voice breaking as the torment became too great to bear.

She clung to consciousness, trapped in a nightmare of unending heat and agony. Every nerve was aflame, her body no longer her own but a vessel for suffering. She could feel her lungs burning with every attempt to breathe, the air scorching as it passed through her throat.

And yet, as her body reached the limits of what it could endure, something inside her stirred—a primal, otherworldly force that refused to die.

As her vision dimmed entirely and her screams dissolved into silence, her body began to change.

Her body didn’t burn like the others before her. It began to melt—not from the fire, but from something far more unnatural. Her flesh turned liquid, oozing like thick, dark wax.

The molten substance shimmered, an unsettling mix of pale white and inky black, pooling on the conveyor belt like spilled water.

The liquid didn’t scatter or evaporate in the heat. Instead, it defied gravity, creeping together in rivulets as if guided by an unseen force. The pools converged, swirling and twisting, shaping themselves into a perfect, grotesque sphere.

It grew larger and larger, the dark white matter pulsating as it solidified. When it finally stopped, the "egg" stood impossibly huge, its size dwarfing the frail form Io had once possessed. Its smooth surface seemed to drink in the light, faintly reflecting the greenish hue of the corrupted flames.

And then, as the egg hardened, something horrifying appeared.

An emblem began to emerge on its surface, etched as though by invisible hands. It was the face of a clown, its eyes hollow and lifeless yet staring back at the world with an unnerving intensity.

Its grin was impossibly wide, stretching beyond the boundaries of reason, the expression one of pure malice and chaos. The longer the smile lingered, the more it seemed alive—taunting, mocking, and promising ruin.

The incinerator itself seemed to recoil, the flames dimming and sputtering as if afraid. The air grew unnaturally cold, a creeping frost spreading along the metallic walls of the cavernous furnace.

The very structure groaned, as though straining under the weight of the egg’s presence, the sound echoing like a mournful wail.

After leaving the garbage room, the two lackeys froze mid-step.

“Hey…”

“Yeah…”

They exchanged uneasy glances, both feeling the oppressive weight of something amiss. As if guided by the same unseen force, they turned their attention back to the incinerator room, dread pooling in their guts.

“What… what did we just do?”

“I… I remember we finished our usual job. Getting rid of a body.”

The bigger lackey frowned, his face pale under the flickering fluorescent lights. “But… whose body? Was it a boy? A girl? Even human?”

The question hung heavy in the air, unanswered. No matter how hard they tried to recall, the memory was gone. Scrubbed clean. The realization sent a cold shiver down their spines.

“It’s like… it’s been erased,” the smaller lackey whispered, his voice trembling.

The bigger one gulped. “This ain’t right. Something’s off. Something bad.”

Both instinctively took a step back from the door. The lab was no stranger to strange happenings, but this—this felt wrong on a deeper level.

“Should we check?” the smaller one asked, taking a hesitant step forward.

“Are you insane?” the bigger one hissed, grabbing his arm. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

The smaller lackey hesitated. “You think… it’s an Anomaly?”

The bigger one nodded grimly. “What else could it be? You know what they say. Unpredictable. Dangerous. Deadly.”

As if in answer to their fears, the air around them shifted.

“Huh?”

“What the—”

Both stopped, their bodies tensing as the incinerator's usual oppressive heat began to dissipate. The air, once thick and stifling, grew unnaturally cool. The smaller lackey’s breath fogged in front of him.

“It’s… it’s turning cold.”

The metallic walls of the hallway seemed to groan, the eerie sound echoing through the silent space.

“Boss!” The smaller lackey yanked the radio from his belt, his hands trembling as he pressed the button.

David’s annoyed voice crackled through the speaker. “What now? Where the hell did you two disappear to?”

“We just… we just finished disposing of the… the…” His voice faltered. He blinked, confused. What had they been doing?

David’s voice rose sharply. “You’re cutting out! Speak clearly!”

The smaller lackey’s grip tightened on the radio. “Boss, something weird’s happening in the incinerator room. It’s going cold—like, freezing cold.”

Silence. Then David’s voice, tense now, crackled through. “Cold? That’s impossible. You’re sure it’s not an equipment malfunction?”

“No! This… this isn’t normal! We’ve been in and out of that room for years. It’s never done this before!”

David’s hesitation was palpable, even through the static. Finally, he spoke. “Listen. Do you see a red button in the corner of the room?”

Both lackeys scanned the walls, their eyes landing on a small, inconspicuous button near the floor.

“This one?” the bigger lackey asked.

“Yes. Press it.”

The lackeys exchanged wary glances. They’d seen buttons like this scattered throughout the lab but had never been told what they were for.

“You sure, Boss?”

“Just do it!” David barked.

Swallowing their fear, the smaller lackey reached out and pressed the button.

The response was immediate. A thunderous clang echoed around them as massive metal shutters slammed down over every exit. The hallway shook with the force of it, and the two lackeys found themselves trapped, sealed in with the incinerator room.

“BOSS!” the bigger lackey screamed into the radio, panic rising in his voice. “What the hell is this? What did you just do?”

David’s voice was calm. Too calm. “Sorry.”

The radio went dead.

They stood there, staring at the now-useless device. The chill in the air grew sharper, biting at their skin. From beyond the sealed garbage room, a sound began to emerge.

Beyond the sealed garbage room, the two lackeys knew the shutters weren’t enough. Against an Anomaly—something they couldn’t comprehend—no barrier could guarantee safety.

They stood frozen, staring at the metallic shutters. The silence pressed down on them, broken only by their own ragged breaths and the pounding of their hearts.

Then, it began.

Clang.

A metallic sound echoed through the room, faint at first but growing louder, sharper. Something was striking the shutters—hard. The rhythmic banging reverberated in their skulls, each impact more deliberate, more violent than the last.

And then, it stopped.

For a moment, silence returned.

The bigger lackey exhaled shakily, a small, fragile relief blooming in his chest.

But that relief shattered as an eerie, sing-song voice slithered through the air.

“Left, right, or middle?”

The bigger lackey jerked, his voice spilling out instinctively. “What…?”

The temperature dropped sharply. Frost began creeping across the walls, and their breaths puffed out in shaky clouds. A sound like nails dragging across metal came from behind them.

“Left?” the voice asked again, more insistent.

The lackey barely turned before he felt the cold steel slice through his arm.

“Arghhhhhh!” he screamed, clutching the bloody stump where his hand had been.

The smaller lackey spun around in terror. Standing there was a man—or what once might have been a man. It wore a tattered cashier’s suit, its face a blank canvas of pale flesh with no eyes, nose, or mouth. In its hand, a massive, jagged blade dripped with fresh blood.

“Hihihihi.” it giggled, a high-pitched, inhuman sound that seemed to rattle the walls.

“Right, or middle?” it rasped, turning its featureless face toward the larger lackey, who stumbled back, clutching his arm.

“No… no, please! Forgive me!” he begged, collapsing to his knees.

“Middle, then.” the voice purred.

In an instant, the creature vanished, reappearing behind the bigger lackey. Its blade swung with terrifying speed, slicing clean through his neck.

The lackey’s head toppled to the floor with a wet thud, his body standing eerily upright for a moment longer before collapsing. Blood sprayed in an arc, painting the walls in dark, glistening streaks.

The smaller lackey stood paralyzed, his legs trembling uncontrollably. A dark stain spread across his pants as his body betrayed him.

The creature tilted its head toward him, the blade dragging lazily along the floor.

“Left, right, or middle?”

The lackey opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His mind reeled, unable to process the nightmare unfolding before him.

And then, he heard it.

The voice. Not from the creature in front of him, but from behind.

“Left, right, or middle?”

He whipped around, his heart hammering wildly. Another figure stood on the opposite side of the room, identical to the first—faceless, suit-clad, blade in hand.

And then another voice joined, this time from his left.

“Left, right, or middle?”

They were everywhere. Each metallic shutter was now flanked by one of these… things. He spun in circles, his laughter bubbling up, uncontrollable, hysterical.

“Aha… ahahaha! I can’t—hahaha! I can’t…”

“Middle?” one voice rasped.

“Right?” another asked, almost playful.

The lackey’s laughter broke into sobs as the walls closed in. The creatures moved in perfect synchronization, their blades raised high.

“Fuck you, David,” he whispered bitterly, his eyes darting to the radio on the floor.

The last thing he felt was the cold steel slicing through his neck

---

In the control room, Lucas and Christiana watched the events unfold on the screens.

“They can teleport,” Lucas observed, his tone cold and analytical. “But, as usual, there’s a condition for it.”

Christiana’s expression was hard, her unease evident. “Are those two spies?”

Lucas shook his head firmly. “No. They’ve grown up inside this facility. They wouldn’t know how to betray us, let alone have a reason to.”

“Then why,” Christiana pressed, “would they bring that thing into the garbage room?”

She rewound the footage, her eyes narrowing. On the screen, the two lackeys pushed a stretcher holding something invisible. It shifted unnaturally, almost like it had a will of its own, as they wheeled it from the doll’s hallway to the incinerator room.

“It’s too suspicious,” she said.

Lucas frowned, a flicker of recognition in his sharp gaze. “Wait. Weren’t we in the doll’s hallway around that time, too?”

Christiana tilted her head. “Were we?”

She rewound another recording, scanning for any sign of themselves. Then, she froze. The footage showed them—walking aimlessly through the hallway, their movements lifeless, robotic. Moments later, David’s group appeared, doing the same.

“Anomaly,” Christiana whispered.

The room fell silent as every scientist reached the same chilling conclusion.

Lucas switched the monitor back to the incinerator room. The screen filled with images of faceless figures in tattered suits, standing eerily still. But there were more of them now. Multiplying. Each one identical, as if stamped from the same horrific mold.

“They aren’t moving,” Christiana murmured, unease creeping into her voice.

“For now,” Lucas replied. “Seal the incinerator room immediately. No one goes near it. If anyone disobeys, deal with them.”

David, standing quietly in the corner of the room, nodded. “Understood, Master Lucas.”

“And one more thing.” Lucas’s tone turned colder. “Make sure the team receives appropriate compensation for today’s… losses.”

David’s face remained emotionless as he responded, “Understood, Master Lucas.”

“Dismissed.”

As David left, Christiana turned to Lucas. “Why do you trust those pigs to handle this?”

Lucas chuckled softly, a dark gleam in his eyes. “Even pigs have their uses, Head Chief.”

Christiana’s gaze sharpened. “Contact the builders immediately. That incinerator room is a liability. Turn it into a containment cell. We’ll need it for future experiments.”

Lucas gave a slight smirk, saying nothing as he walked out.

---

Elsewhere, in the mansion…

Io lay sprawled across a lavish bed, her eyes half-lidded as she examined her hands. Every part of her body remained intact, unmarred by what had transpired.

“It’s fun,” she whispered, a shiver running through her.

Fear. Pain. Desperation. She loved them all. They were intoxicating, a drug she couldn’t resist. It was why she adored horror games—the thrill of being terrified, the rush of helplessness. She hated it. She needed it.

And now, she craved more.

Io touched her stomach. It growled softly, an empty, gnawing sensation spreading through her.

“Hungry…” she murmured, her brow furrowing.

This hunger was different. It wasn’t physical. It gnawed at her in ways she couldn’t explain, a void that demanded to be filled.

She reached for the book lying beside her, its cover pulsing faintly, as if alive. With a single touch, a shimmering screen appeared in front of her, its surface flickering with white flames.

The number 6 burned brightly in the center.

Io reached out, her fingers brushing the fiery numeral. A wave of ecstasy surged through her, and an unsettling smile curled her lips.

The hunger grew sharper, more insistent. Yet, deep down, she felt something else—a quiet voice, whispering promises of unimaginable power, if only she let the hunger take control.

“What happens if I keep going?” she wondered aloud, her voice soft, almost childlike.

The thought made her giddy. Wasn’t it fun to find out?

Io’s eyelids fluttered, her vision blurring as exhaustion overtook her. She drifted into unconsciousness, her mind alight with visions of chaos and suffering.

Her last thought lingered like a dark promise: Let’s keep playing.