Fifth Floor Reconnaissance (1)
Any exploration needs a goal. Aimless wandering is just empty futility.
There were four places on the fifth floor, excluding the corridors: the Principal's Office, Vice Principal's Office, Broadcasting Room, and Counseling Room. The Vice Principal's Office was off-limits for exploration—the rulebook explicitly said never enter.
I climbed the left staircase from the fourth floor up to the midpoint of the stairs to the fifth, then stopped. Per the staircase rules, I couldn't turn back from here. Tension gripped me. I'd boasted confidently on the Gallery before leaving, but now that it was real, regret hit hard. Why the hell did I say I'd explore?
Listening to all those escape stories on the Gallery must've gotten to me. Watch travel vlogs and suddenly you're itching to hit the road; binge mukbangs and your stomach starts rumbling. It happens naturally, no prodding needed. That sparked a tiny bit of courage in me—maybe I can just take a peek too. But that courage evaporated the moment I faced the fifth-floor corridor's vibe.
For some reason, unlike the other floors, it used red emergency lights. That made the already creepy space even more sinister.
Do not linger long in one spot.
If an ominous feeling arises, leave that place immediately.
That's why I was holding out midway up the stairs—the rule. The second I went up, any sense of leisure would bid me a sad farewell. I checked the rules again. As always, they were helpfully straightforward, but this time there was a catch: the criteria were vague. "Ominous feeling" as the benchmark for leaving? To me, the entire fifth-floor corridor screamed ominous—where the hell was I supposed to go?
Glancing down at the fourth-floor corridor showed nothing unusual. A fleeting thought crossed my mind—maybe sneak down half a flight?—but I crumpled it up and tossed it. I'm cowardly, sure, but I don't ditch rationality. Irrationally breaking rules would make me the fearless idiot.
I sighed. I'd griped enough. There were no other options anyway. I ascended toward the fifth-floor corridor.
The moment my foot hit the fifth-floor corridor, something unbelievable happened. I blinked once, and the red light I'd known switched to green. Bright lights flooded the entire ceiling, illuminating everything. What the—? Hallucination?
It was the first brightly lit corridor I'd seen since arriving at this school. In a one-eyed village, two eyes are the freak. Normally, you'd feel safer in light than dark. But this was one-eyed village territory. So far, the rules had steered me toward darkness over light. The dark school beat the bright city; on the fourth floor, safety meant moving when the emergency lights went out. So even with the blinding visibility now, unease gnawed at me.
Get it together. I started walking the corridor. The rule against lingering didn't specify "one spot," but standing still sure wasn't smart. Stay calm. The Gallery admin didn't seem worried, so the fifth floor probably had a high survival rate. As long as I didn't screw up. No panicking yet.
The closest spot was the Broadcasting Room. An "ON AIR" lamp sign hung above the door, unlit.
1. If the lamp is off and no broadcast is playing, it's safe.
2. If the lamp is off but a broadcast is playing, stop it immediately.
3. If the lamp is on but no broadcast is playing, it's dangerous.
4. If the lamp is on and a broadcast is playing, never enter.
I cracked the door and peered in. Unlike the corridor, it was pitch black inside. My eyes, adjusted to the bright light, made it seem even darker. I groped the wall for a switch—nothing. Why doesn't this school have light switches?
I hesitated, then cautiously stepped inside. Clunk—a sudden noise made me check my feet, but nothing there. The sound came from a bit behind me. Turn around? This wasn't the first floor. Looking back wouldn't be wrong. Bracing myself, I glanced over my shoulder.
Nothing. Overreaction, then. That's when a cold gust brushed my cheek. It came from a corridor window, slightly ajar. Was that open before? Unease hit; I slammed it shut and returned to the Broadcasting Room.
Too dark inside, so I left the door open. I could've closed it and waited for my eyes to adjust, but even if safe, I didn't want to hunker down in a place like this. Beyond a glass window lay the recording booth, with its door inside. The rules forbade entering, so I ignored it.
Otherwise: broadcasting equipment and shelves stacked with tapes. Total noob at this stuff—I couldn't tell one machine from another. Except one thing: a big red button, isolated. Probably the broadcast switch. Hope I never touch it.
Behind: shelves of tapes, labeled in unreadable script. I spotted one in barely legible, mangled Hangul-like text and pulled it out. Looked ordinary. Curious about the contents. No rule against checking tapes, right? Scanning around, I found a slot on a machine.
Wait—power's off; would it even work? Shrugging, I slid it in. It fit perfectly, and the machine whirred to life. Can't think normally in this world.
Static... more static...
"Aah."
A human voice. Not the eerie monster kind—plain, deep, straightforward. My heart raced at this trace of humanity. Different from the Gallery's text-only vibe. If sound amps fear, it surely soothes too. I leaned in, eager for what came next.
"I hope this recording reaches my successor."
Successor—me. With 66 predecessors, weirdly no records left behind. Just fragmented Gallery info.
"I've searched every corner of the Main Building, but no escape route."
Despair crashed in.
"Couldn't accept reality, checked over and over, but nothing. So I'm finishing this and heading to the Annex Building."
His voice trembled—fear, probably.
"I think I'm going to die... So two pieces of advice for my successor."
"First, there's a noose in the Gym Storage. One-use, but useful—find a way to cut it."
"Second, be cautious with counseling in the Counseling Room. How to enter the Counseling Room..."
Noise intensifies... static... cuts out.
The tape spat back out. No key info, but progress. I'd vaguely assumed no Main Building exit anyway—66 wouldn't have failed otherwise. Predecessor died scouting the Annex, no doubt. My impulsive jaunt now had purpose. People live brighter with goals.
I bowed briefly to the tape, slotted it back, and headed out. Then a chill gust hit. The window I'd closed gaped wide open. One thought flashed: We're fucked.
Inside should've ignored corridor rules, right? Like the first-floor Admin Office. Hadn't blatantly looked back then. No time to agonize. Rule said leave at ominous feeling—means chance still there. Had to bolt.
Target: central stairs. Focus on escaping fifth-floor corridor. Who knows what outside. Deep breaths, calm down. Can't trip. Hoo... hoo... Heart pounded anyway. No more delay—I launched from the Broadcasting Room.
Don't look back. No thoughts till stairs. Ceiling lights flickered wildly. Central stairs—now. I stepped down.
All fifth-floor lights died. Pitch black stairs; foot slipped, I tumbled.
"Gah! Ugh!"
Nearly at the bottom, so no major injury. Midway, I looked up. Emergency lights now glowed, revealing a dark, red corridor. No clue if a monster chased me.