Han Taejin kept walking.
The voices behind him rose another notch, but he didn't turn back. There was nothing behind him he needed more than distance.
The prep corridor bent left at the far end of the pharmacy wing and narrowed into a service stretch lined with storage rooms, prep counters, and two locked lab doors with wired glass windows. The fluorescent lights overhead were still on, but one of them had started to flicker in a slow, irregular pulse. The sound of it got on his nerves almost immediately.
He moved faster.
The interface hung in front of his vision no matter where he looked.
[Assimilation begins in 00:19:08]
Too soon.
Whatever this thing was, it had moved from weird to urgent fast enough that the entire building still hadn't caught up. That was the real problem. Not the message itself. Not even the girl on the floor.
It was the delay.
People always needed a little time to believe something. A few seconds. A minute. Long enough to keep acting like the old rules still applied.
That gap was where bad things got traction.
Taejin reached the end of the service corridor and stopped in front of the emergency stairwell door. He checked the handle.
Unlocked.
Good.
He opened it just far enough to look inside.
Concrete stairs. Emergency lighting. Fire extinguisher cabinet. No one on the landing above or below. The stairwell smelled like dust and paint, with a faint damp edge that suggested the building had the same maintenance problems as every other university structure built too fast and repaired too slowly.
Useful, but not by itself.
A stairwell gave him an exit. It didn't give him supplies, or a door he could actually hold if people started flooding in. He let it close and turned back to the storage rooms along the hall.
He needed a better combination:
one main entrance,
something heavy enough to block it,
nearby water and basic supplies,
and a second route out if the first one went bad.
He checked the first room on the right.
Too open. More of a prep space than a room. Long counters, too many breakable surfaces, two doors.
The next one was locked.
The third opened into a storage room barely bigger than a walk-in closet. Shelves on both sides, narrow central space, no window, one door.
He stood in the doorway for a second, measuring it.
Too small to stay in for long. Too easy to trap himself in.
He kept moving.
His phone buzzed again in his pocket.
Minwoo.
Taejin pulled it out while walking.
The screen was still dead-black except for the faint reflection of the corridor lights, but the message notifications were coming through anyway.
People are shoving now
Then:
One guy says he's going to the clinic but everyone else is trying too
Then:
Signal sucks what if it cuts??
Taejin typed with one hand.
Don't stay where people bottleneck. Pick a room. Water. One entrance if possible.
The reply took longer than usual.
you sound like youve done this before
Taejin looked up from the phone and watched a pair of students rush across the far end of the next intersecting hall. One of them was crying. The other kept saying, "It's probably nothing. It's probably stress."
Maybe. Maybe not.
Either way, stress didn't improve in a crowd.
He typed back.
No. I've just seen people panic before.
That was close enough to the truth.
He slid the phone away as the interface updated again.
[Host stress levels rising across local population]
[Remain calm]
"Helpful," he muttered.
The building had gotten louder in the last minute. Not just with panic. With movement. A lot of it. Doors opening and closing. Shoes scraping the tile too fast. Somebody farther off dragging something heavy. Two people arguing in clipped, ugly whispers that weren't nearly quiet enough.
A voice carried down the hall from the main corridor.
"Everyone from the lower labs, head to the lobby!"
Another voice snapped back, "Why the lobby?"
"Because the professors said so!"
"Which professors?"
No answer.
Taejin exhaled once through his nose.
There it was. The beginning of bad organization.
People loved centralizing when they got scared. One place. One crowd. One authority figure. One plan, even if the plan was stupid.
If what the interface said about adaptation and failure was real, then packing everyone into the same lobby was the kind of decision that sounded responsible right before it turned catastrophic.
He checked one more room and found something better.
The sign beside the door read:
PREP ROOM B-3
Inside were two metal prep tables on wheels, a deep sink, upper cabinets, lower storage, labeled drawers, a utility cart, and a narrow frosted window set high in the wall. One door in. A back service hatch near the sink that might lead into maintenance space if he got desperate enough to force it later.
Better.
He stepped in and looked around properly this time.
There were two unopened packs of bottled water under the sink. A box of gloves. Cleaning alcohol. Gauze. Labels. Tape. Scissors. Not enough to build a hospital, but enough to matter.
One of the tables was heavy enough to wedge against the door if he needed to buy time.
He set his bag down on the nearest counter and took stock again.
Water. Food. Tape. Scissors. Gloves. Sanitizer.
Still no real weapon.
He looked at the metal utility cart, the sink, the drawers.
Then he pulled open the long bottom drawer near the prep counter and found glass stirring rods, sealed sample jars, and a set of heavier metal lab tools in a tray. Not ideal, but better than the box cutter in his pocket.
He took the box cutter out and laid it beside the tray, comparing options.
The box cutter was faster to draw. The metal forceps were sturdier. Neither one was something he wanted to bet his life on.
A heavy glass reagent bottle from the top shelf caught his eye.
Ugly, but workable.
He set that aside too.
The interface timer slid lower.
[00:16:41]
The pressure under his skin came back, stronger this time.
Taejin stiffened.
It started in his chest and spread outward in a slow ripple, not pain exactly, but close enough to make his breathing catch for a second. His pulse felt wrong. Too hard, then suddenly too light, like his body had missed a step and hadn't decided whether to correct it yet.
He put one hand against the edge of the counter and waited it out.
It faded after a few seconds, but not completely.
A line of cool sweat had broken across the back of his neck.
"Great," he said quietly.
His own assimilation. Or whatever this was.
He'd expected as much the second the interface called it biological. He just hadn't expected it this early.
He took another drink of water, more out of instinct than logic, and looked at the closed door.
The building sounded worse now.
No single disaster yet. That would have been easier. Easier to understand, easier for people to react to. What he heard instead was the early phase of collective bad judgment.
Too many footsteps. Too many people calling names. Too many doors opening. Someone crying openly now. Another voice trying to sound firm and failing.
A sharp knock hit the prep room door.
Not pounding. Just quick and nervous.
Taejin's hand moved immediately toward the box cutter.
"Who is it?"
A girl's voice answered through the door. "Sorry— is this room in use?"
He looked once at the prep tables and the supplies he'd already pulled out, then at the interface still hanging in front of his face.
In use. As if this were a library seat.
"Yes."
A pause.
"Can I just— can I get some water?"
Taejin stood still.
That was the sort of question people hated being refused. Which was probably why she'd asked for something small first.
He walked to the door but didn't open it yet.
"One bottle," he said.
The silence on the other side suggested she hadn't expected him to answer at all.
Then: "Okay."
He opened the door just enough to see her.
Second-year, maybe. Lab apron tied around her waist, one sleeve rolled up unevenly. She looked like she'd started sweating and hadn't stopped. A guy stood a few steps behind her with both hands braced on his knees, breathing hard.
Taejin's eyes flicked to him first.
No visible blood. No obvious bite. Pale, but that didn't mean much anymore.
He took one of the bottles from under the sink and handed it through the gap.
The girl took it quickly. "Thanks."
Her eyes dropped to the prep tables behind him. Then to the door. Then back to his face.
"You're staying in here?"
"For now."
"The lobby's safer," she said automatically.
He almost laughed.
"Based on what?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, then looked back at the guy behind her. "They're gathering people there."
"That's not the same thing."
The words came out flatter than harsh, but she still flinched a little.
The guy behind her straightened slowly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hey," he said, voice rough. "If you're not helping, fine, but don't act like you know better than everybody."
Taejin looked at him properly this time.
His pupils looked a little too wide. There was a faint trembling in his fingers. His breathing was still off.
Could be panic. Could be more.
"Then go to the lobby," Taejin said. "Nobody's stopping you."
The girl grabbed her friend's sleeve before he could answer and pulled him back. "Forget it."
They left.
Taejin shut the door and slid the metal prep table an inch closer to it.
Not barricaded yet. Just ready.
His phone buzzed again.
Minwoo.
There's a guy in here saying we should all stick together I think that sounds bad now Was that your point?
Taejin stared at the messages for a second.
Then typed:
Yes.
A second later:
Stay away from anyone acting sick. Don't let people box you in.
The answer came back slower, with a typo.
you are being really annoyingly right today
Taejin's thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Then another message pushed the thread down.
Wait
Someone just threw up blood
The tightness in Taejin's chest sharpened again.
He looked at the countdown.
[00:14:52]
Too fast.
He typed:
Get out of the center. Now.
No answer.
He hated that more than he expected.
Not because Minwoo was a close friend. He wasn't. More like one of those people college forced into your orbit until you got used to each other. But he was familiar, and familiar people disappearing into bad situations always hit harder than strangers.
A commotion broke out just beyond the prep room door.
This time there was no guessing which direction it came from. Right outside. Fast footsteps, then a crash into the wall, then a string of swearing.
Taejin moved to the side of the door and listened.
"Hold him up— hold him—"
"I'm trying!"
"He said he couldn't breathe—"
A choking sound cut through the hallway.
Then something struck the door itself. Not a fist. A shoulder, maybe.
The handle jerked.
Locked.
Good.
A woman's voice shouted, "Open this room!"
Taejin didn't answer.
The handle rattled again, harder this time.
"Open it!"
Another voice, male, closer to the floor: a wet gagging noise, then a cough.
Then the woman again, this time openly panicked. "Please!"
Taejin closed one hand around the glass reagent bottle he'd set aside and stood absolutely still.
The rule was simple.
He didn't know what the interface counted as "collapse" or "corruption," but the hallway outside was already too unstable to open the door blind. One desperate person asking for help was one thing. A group dragging a maybe-sick person through the corridor while trying random doors was how you got a room full of problems.
The woman hit the door once with an open palm.
Then footsteps, running.
Not away. Past.
More voices joined the noise farther down the hall, and the whole thing shifted away from the prep room in a rush of panic and bad momentum.
Taejin stayed where he was for another ten seconds before lowering the bottle.
He hated this part.
Not the refusal itself. That part was clear enough. He hated the uncertainty after it. The little stretch of time where you had to wonder whether you'd just made the right call or the sort of mistake that followed you later.
His interface flickered.
A new line appeared beneath the timer.
[Host adaptation state fluctuating]
He stared at it.
Then another line formed, one letter at a time.
[Seek stable condition]
"How specific."
His own body answered with another wave of pressure.
This time it came with pain.
Brief. Sharp. Like something hot had slipped through his veins and vanished before he could locate it. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and grabbed the edge of the prep sink hard enough for his knuckles to pale.
Then it was gone.
Not completely. The afterimage of it stayed behind, a crawling discomfort under the skin of both forearms.
He looked down.
Nothing visible. No discoloration. No trembling.
Yet.
He forced himself to unclench his hand and think.
Water. Food. Smaller room. Less people. Those were still right. What he needed now was information.
The interface wasn't giving enough, which meant he had to pull it from somewhere else.
His gaze moved to the upper cabinets. Then to the labels on the drawers. Then to the sink and the supply shelves.
If things got worse in the building, people would head for the clinic or the lobby. If they got really bad, they'd start trying to break into smaller rooms to avoid whatever was happening in the halls.
He needed to know how many alternate exits this prep room had.
He crossed to the back service hatch by the sink and tested it.
Locked from the other side.
He tried again, harder.
Nothing.
Still, the frame had some give to it. Not enough now. Maybe enough later with a tool and time.
He looked around for something heavier than the reagent bottle and found a metal stool folded under the prep counter. Better. More awkward, but better.
He dragged it closer to the door.
Then another voice came through the hall outside, clearer this time.
"Everybody to the lobby now! If you're in the prep wing, move!"
Taejin walked to the door and looked through the narrow wired-glass pane.
A graduate assistant he recognized vaguely from one of the intro science labs was half-jogging down the corridor, waving people toward the main hall. She had a stack of keycards on a lanyard around one wrist and the sort of expression people wore when they were trying not to let everyone around them notice they were scared too.
Behind her, two students came out of another prep room. One was crying. The other kept saying, "They'll know what to do there."
No, Taejin thought. They'll have more people there.
The grad assistant saw the prep room door and pointed at it. "If anyone's in B-3, move to the lobby!"
He didn't respond.
She moved on.
The countdown slid lower.
[00:11:16]
The corridor lights dimmed.
Not all the way. Just enough to make every head in the hall jerk upward at once.
Then they came back, weaker than before.
This time, nobody even pretended things were normal anymore.
Taejin could hear it in the building.
The voices had changed. Less confused, more frightened. Less "what is this" and more "what do we do now."
He checked his phone again.
No new message from Minwoo.
He sent one anyway.
You alive?
No answer.
He put the phone away and listened to the hall.
For a few seconds, things were oddly quiet.
Then a scream cut through the building.
Not shock this time.
Pain.
Raw and prolonged and close enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck.
Something crashed.
Voices surged toward it.
Someone shouted, "Get away from him!"
The scream changed. Broke. Turned into a ragged choking noise.
Taejin moved to the door before he could think better of it and looked through the wired glass.
The corridor beyond the intersecting hall had become a knot of bodies.
Too many to see clearly.
Students were stumbling backward, not running yet, but close. A professor had one arm out in front of her and was shouting at people to back up. A boy near the wall slipped and went down. Somebody else ran over him without meaning to.
Then Taejin saw the center of it.
A male student on the floor.
On his knees at first. Then not.
He folded wrong, as if something had gone loose under the skin, and hit the tile with both hands hard enough to make a sound Taejin heard even from where he stood. Two people reached for him instinctively.
The professor screamed at them not to touch him.
Too late.
The interface flashed so brightly that everyone in the corridor seemed to freeze for one broken second.
[Assimilation begins in 00:09:58]
[High-risk instability detected nearby]
The student on the floor lifted his head.
Even through wired glass and bad angle, something about the movement was wrong enough that Taejin stepped back from the door before the thought had finished forming.
The next sound from the hall was a scream that ended in a wet choking snap.
And that, he thought, grabbing the metal stool with both hands, was probably the point where the building stopped being salvageable.