Basement Atrocities
Thud! Thud! Screech!
Was it the rumors of ghosts?
The sounds echoing from the wooden stairs leading underground were utterly spine-chilling.
A thick moldy stench, clouds of rising dust, and damp, icy air clung to every step.
The flashlight beam reached only the bottom of the stairs.
Just as they neared the end.
Kim Chan-yeol spotted something and flipped the switch.
Click!
With the sound, the entire basement blazed with light.
It must have been the light switch.
But...
The scene before them froze the two men solid as ice.
Their hearts hammered wildly, a storm of thoughts swirling in their heads.
Stretching out ahead was a transparent wall offering a clear view inside—and shambling within were zombies.
"Fuck, what the hell is this? Why the fuck are these inside the safe zone?"
Choi Hoon's voice shook uncontrollably.
Kim Chan-yeol, watching in stunned silence, fared no better.
Walls or no walls, how could zombies be inside the safe zone?
How many soldiers had died trying to clear these bastards out?
"But... something feels off, doesn't it, sir?"
"Yeah. Way off."
They were right.
The zombies on the other side of the wall looked nothing like the ones everyone knew.
For starters, they didn't frenzy at the sight of humans.
Their eyes locked straight on the two men, yet there was zero reaction.
Normal zombies would've lost their shit the moment they heard footsteps on the stairs.
Then there was their appearance.
Unlike the ones that rotted on the spot and turned gray-skinned, these still held a human shape.
Black veins bulged grotesquely under their skin, and their lips hung in ragged tatters—not exactly normal, but still.
Kim Chan-yeol screwed up his courage and edged toward the wall.
The zombies shuffled right toward him.
They stretched hands toward his face.
Mouthed words like they were trying to speak—but no sound came through.
That was when it hit.
Kim Chan-yeol recoiled in pure horror.
"Th-th-that guy! Isn't that... him, sir?"
"Shit, yeah. That... who the hell was it?"
Choi Hoon clawed at his hair, but his mind had gone blank.
"Ah! Got it, sir. Wasn't he the original boundary zone manager?"
"Right! That's the fucker!"
The words hung in the air as their jaws dropped in unison.
This was the guy who'd managed the boundary zone right when the safe zone went up.
The first holder of the Work Leader post.
Problem was, he'd vanished just days later. No one had laid eyes on him since.
There were whispers of people disappearing like this all the time, but who could've guessed it was real?
"They turned him zombie and stashed him here?"
"Doesn't add up, sir. No reason for him to turn, and if he did, someone would've seen. Wouldn't stop at one or two."
"Then what the fuck is this?"
Choi Hoon glared at the zombies, his gut churning.
"Sergeant Choi, sir. One thought popping in my head."
"Spit it out."
"Someone dragged these people here... and turned them into zombies, sir."
"What kinda bullshit is that?"
"Could be experiments. Tower's working on a vaccine, right? To whip up any kinda drug, you need clinical trials. Means live test subjects, sir."
"...!!"
Choi Hoon stared at him, gut-punched.
"Fucking hell—they grabbed these people for experiments? Healthy, living ones?"
"I... wouldn't know for sure, sir. Just a hunch."
"Nah. Nothing else fits. Bet the other warehouses are the same."
Choi Hoon thought of the remaining two.
"But that's weird too. Room's got tons of empty space—why split up the zombies?"
"Ah, so... maybe live ones still in there?"
Kim Chan-yeol had no answer.
This was uncharted territory for him, same as Choi Hoon.
"What the actual fuck is going on here? Screw it. Gotta check the others. Out."
As Choi Hoon stepped out and cracked open the next warehouse door.
"Sergeant Choi, sir."
"What?"
Kim Chan-yeol stood there, face etched with unease.
"Shouldn't we report to the squad leader first, sir?"
"You kidding? Who knows when we can post guards again."
"Ah..."
"Quit overthinking. Just burn this shit into your memory. I'm half out of my mind—might forget later."
Kim Chan-yeol nodded—made sense—and followed into the next warehouse.
Again, vast empty spaces.
One thing snagged their eyes: a massive handcart shoved in the corner.
They locked eyes, then shoved it aside.
Not plywood this time—a steel plate.
Gloved hands straining with groans, they finally budged it, revealing stairs ahead.
They plunged into the darkness once more.
Each step down wrapped them in nameless dread.
Along with a mounting, godawful stench.
Kim Chan-yeol found the switch and hit it.
The basement flooded with light.
And... people.
Kim Chan-yeol's heart thundered like it would burst.
Beyond the same transparent wall—not zombies, but living humans.
They spotted the men, eyes bulging wide as they scrambled to the wall.
Gaunt, skeletal wrecks.
Kim Chan-yeol had seen the like before.
African famine victims. Concentration camp inmates from war flicks.
Even worse: their "living space."
Shit smeared everywhere—walls, floors—like someone flung paint cans. Clothes stiff and yellowed with piss.
No dog or pig would live in that.
Rage, disbelief, shock, terror crashed over them—they couldn't even approach the wall.
"Please... save us. Please, let us out."
"You... new faces. Here to rescue us?"
Choi Hoon could barely breathe just looking. Kim Chan-yeol just swallowed hard.
"I'm sorry. All my fault. Please, get us out. I'll do anything. Anything."
Kim Chan-yeol found his voice first.
"How long... have you been in there?"
"Don't know. So long... lost track. What's it like outside? Still winter? Spring back?"
"No... no way..."
Too shell-shocked to think straight.
"Please, let us out. Or... food, anything."
"What've you been surviving on? Wait—who locked you in here?"
"Nights, soldiers snatch us one by one. Food? Every few days, someone tosses water and veggies. Barely enough. You're here to save us, right?"
A white-haired old man wheezed it out, staggering.
No hesitation—they thrust forward canteens and pocketed snacks.
They crammed energy bars, cookies, hardtack into their mouths like animals.
Some hands crusted with dried shit, discoloring like skin disease.
Choi Hoon, face still twisted in horror:
"Soldiers, you said. Hear that? What kinda motherfuckers...? Hey. This all that was here originally?"
"More at first. All dragged off. No idea where."
A young guy, wolfing choco pies, rasped it out.
"Eat up and hang tight. We'll bring help."
"No—don't go!"
"Open this first!"
At "wait," they hurled snacks and mobbed the wall.
Slipping and crashing, crawling sideways off-balance, dragging useless legs.
Kim Chan-yeol's eyes burned red.
Impossible to watch without losing it.
Tears welled; reason frayed.
But they had to get out.
Report now—stop worse from happening.
"Sergeant Choi. I'll stay here, sir. Go get the squad leader and backup."
Tears brimmed in his eyes.
But Choi Hoon couldn't abandon his junior.
"Out together. Too risky solo. No clue on time—who shows up meanwhile, we're fucked."
"Even if caught, you bring people—that's it, right, sir?"
"That's the fucking variable, idiot. Snap out of it."
Choi Hoon's face hardened.
Kim Chan-yeol was too raw, too emotional.
But leaving him? Even worse.
Harsh truth: these folks had endured years locked up. A few more hours wouldn't kill them—that was Choi Hoon's cold calc.
Reading that on his face?
A young guy about Kim Chan-yeol's age pressed flat to the wall, staring Choi Hoon down.
"We'll wait. You'll come back, right?"
His eyes swelled red.
Choi Hoon ground his teeth.
Rage boiled, arrow hunting a target.
"Yeah. Back soon. Real soon. Out by tonight, swear it."
His grim resolve drew nods from the wall-clingers.
"Move. Now."
Choi Hoon yanked Kim Chan-yeol's unmoving shoulder.
That's when it went down.
"Argh!"
Kim Chan-yeol's gaze flicked to the stairs—he screamed and toppled backward.
Choi Hoon whipped around. Midway down the stairs stood a figure.
The Production Manager.
Skinny little guy, big mouth, famous for his dramatic yapping.
Face stiff as a mannequin.
As Kim Chan-yeol scrambled for his dropped rifle, Choi Hoon snapped his muzzle up.
"Hands behind head. Down."
"You two. How long you been here?"
The manager's voice came low and heavy—nothing like his usual chatter.
Choi Hoon ignored it.
"Cut the shit. Down. Before I paint the wall."
"Hmm... you think shooting's that easy?"
"Down. I've dropped plenty. No countdown. This is it."
"How about you two come up? I'm a victim too. Save me first if you're saving them. You think I want this shit? Save me, then we save them."
His eyes burned with conviction—truth, maybe.
Choi Hoon held the gaze, finger brushing the trigger.
"Chan-yeol."
"Yes, sir."
"You first. I'll stick this prick in the middle, we go up together. Never know what he pulls topside."
"Understood."
Kim Chan-yeol lowered his gun and took point; Choi Hoon herded the manager up the stairs.
Soon all three crested into the warehouse.
Clack!
"Gah!"
Suddenly, Kim Chan-yeol's wrist was seized—he staggered.
His rifle clattered to the floor.
Choi Hoon swung his muzzle late—too late.
The Production Manager pinned the rifle underfoot, knife from his pocket now pressed to Kim Chan-yeol's throat.
"Ngh!"
The thin blade pierced neck skin; a rivulet of blood trickled down.
"Knife down, you fuck!"
The manager met Choi Hoon's eyes, then spoke in a voice gone ice-cold.
"One blink, he's dead. Who's quicker? Gun. Down."
Choi Hoon's finger tightened.
Infected People