The hurried footsteps echoed through the dim corridors of the Mu Yang High School scenario, their frantic pace suggesting a desperate flight from some unseen terror, like a prey animal escaping a relentless predator. Chen Ge stepped out of the Sealed Classroom, his flashlight beam cutting through the oppressive gloom, just in time to catch sight of Zhu Jianing, the towering 1.8-meter-tall man, bursting from the female dormitory, his screams piercing the silence as he raced down the corridor like a mad bull, his face drained of color. The spirits tied to the twenty-four name tags, nestled in the paper box Chen Ge carried in his Doctor Skull-cracker outfit, pulsed with subtle energy, their connection to the recreated school amplifying the scenario's dread, the fire-scarred walls and lingering scent of burning adding to the sense of a tragedy frozen in time. Zhu Jianing's wild dash, his muscular frame barreling forward without pause, suggested an encounter far beyond the staged scares Chen Ge had anticipated, the underground's oppressive atmosphere making each footfall reverberate like a warning.
Chen Ge's brow furrowed as he watched Zhu Jianing's chaotic retreat, his mind racing to piece together what had triggered such panic. "What's going on? Based on his running direction, he probably ran into something scary inside the female dormitory, but there's nothing scary inside the female bedrooms," he mused, the realization that Zhu Jianing was already terrified before any of his planned interventions adding a layer of helplessness to his curiosity. The dormitory rooms were designed to be deceptively mundane, a brief respite before the Pen Spirit game's intensity, yet Zhu Jianing's reaction suggested something far more potent had occurred, the spirits' energy tied to the name tags perhaps amplifying an unforeseen horror. Chen Ge recalled their earlier bravado, their calm confidence upon entering the scenario, and wondered what could have shattered it so thoroughly, the faint strains of Black Friday echoing through the corridors a haunting backdrop to Zhu Jianing's flight, urging Chen Ge to investigate further.
The contradiction puzzled Chen Ge, his analytical mind grappling with the visitors' unexpected breakdown. "Didn't they say they're not afraid of anything? Weren't they very calm when they entered the scenario? Why is he running amok like a rabid dog now?" he thought, the memory of Fei Youliang and Zhu Jianing's composed entry clashing with the latter's current state of terror, their mission to sabotage his Haunted House now seemingly derailed by an encounter he hadn't orchestrated. The underground's oppressive energy, amplified by the spirits tied to the name tags, pulsed through the corridors, the fire-scarred walls and creaking doors evoking the tragedy of Mu Yang High School, making Chen Ge question what secrets the female dormitory held. For safety's sake, he decided to intercept Zhu Jianing to uncover the details, his hand tightening around the paper box, the spirits' presence a subtle hum that urged him forward, their protective legacy ready to reveal the truth behind the visitor's panic.
Zhu Jianing, still reeling from his frantic escape from the female dormitory, barely had time to catch his breath when he glimpsed a shadow moving inside the Sealed Classroom as he raced past, his heart lurching with renewed terror. "The school uniform has come alive‽" The thought seared through his mind, the memory of the classroom's uniforms—draped over chairs with eerie precision, tied to the name tags' spectral energy—fueling his panic, their silent vigil now a haunting reality. His momentum carried him forward, too fast to stop, and as he reached the classroom door, a bloody shadow slid into view, its form coalescing into a figure with a face sewn together from countless others, each fragment twisted with fear, terror, and pain, the spirits' energy manifesting in a horrifying visage. Time seemed to slow, Zhu Jianing's gaze locked on the grotesque mask, his mind screaming that the classroom was a trap, the name tags' legacy amplifying the figure's dread, urging him to flee at all costs.
Unable to halt his charge, Zhu Jianing crashed into the corridor's wall with a bone-jarring thud, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his body, but the fear overpowering his senses drove him to push off and keep running, the bloody shadow's sewn face burned into his mind. "I knew the classroom was not safe!" he thought, his breath ragged as he stumbled forward, the spirits tied to the name tags pulsing with energy, their connection to Mu Yang High School's tragedy intensifying the corridor's oppressive atmosphere, the fire-scarred walls closing in like a trap. In his blind panic, he veered toward the first exit he saw, plunging into the corner toilet scenario without realizing his mistake, the dimness swallowing his flashlight beam as he entered, the spirits' presence a constant weight, their legacy a silent force guiding his desperate flight into yet another perilous space.
Chen Ge's curiosity deepened as he watched Zhu Jianing's reckless dash, the man's solitary flight raising questions about his missing partner. "Why would he trap himself? Also, why is he alone? Where is his friend?" he wondered, the absence of Fei Youliang adding a layer of mystery to the unfolding chaos, the spirits tied to the name tags pulsing with subtle anticipation, their energy amplifying the scenario's dread. The corner toilet, with its flickering lights and stained tiles, was a claustrophobic nightmare, and Zhu Jianing's choice to flee there suggested a mind clouded by fear, the Pen Spirit game's impact lingering in his frantic movements. Chen Ge touched the skin mask on his face, its grotesque features a deliberate tool to heighten terror, and followed, determined to extract answers directly from Zhu Jianing, the paper box in his hand humming with the spirits' energy, their protective legacy ready to confront the intruder in the toilet's confines.
Inside the corner toilet, Zhu Jianing realized his error too late, the cramped space and flickering lights amplifying his panic as he yanked open the door to the fourth cubicle, squeezing his muscular frame beside the grimy toilet, his heart pounding so fiercely it felt like it might burst. He clamped a trembling hand over his mouth to stifle his ragged breaths, his pupils darting nervously across the stained walls, the spirits tied to the name tags pulsing with energy, their presence making the cubicle feel alive with unseen watchers. The memory of the Pen Spirit game haunted him—the hanging woman with her bloated face and bulging eyes materializing behind Fei Youliang, her spectral form a terrifying reality that shattered his rational defenses. The spirits' legacy from Mu Yang High School, tied to the name tags, amplified the cubicle's dread, the flickering light casting erratic shadows that seemed to mimic the woman's swaying form, driving Zhu Jianing to the edge of sanity as he cowered in the confined space.
Zhu Jianing's mind replayed the horrifying moment in the female dormitory, his fear so overwhelming that it felt like the air was being sucked from his lungs, the cubicle's stale odor mingling with the memory of the Pen Spirit's foul presence. "That wasn't an actor! This Haunted House is really haunted!" he thought, his large frame trembling as he recalled their thorough search of the bedroom before the game—no one had been hiding under the bed or in the corners, yet the woman had appeared out of thin air, her bloated face and angry eyes a spectral manifestation tied to the name tags' energy. The spirits' presence pulsed stronger, their connection to Mu Yang High School's tragedy making the cubicle feel like a trap, the flickering light and stained tiles evoking a space where the supernatural could thrive, the hanging woman's image burned into his mind, her swaying form a relentless vision that refused to fade.
The memory of the hanging woman standing on Fei Youliang's shoulders consumed Zhu Jianing, the impossibility of such a scene shattering his understanding of reality, the spirits' energy tied to the name tags amplifying the terror of her sudden appearance. "Youliang is still inside the room. The ghost was standing on his shoulders. A scene like that wouldn't appear in real life, would it?" he thought, taking several deep breaths to stave off lightheadedness, the cubicle's confines closing in as the flickering light cast shadows that seemed to writhe. His muscular arms trembled uncontrollably, the fear of being pursued by the spirits overwhelming his senses, the name tags' legacy a constant pressure that made him feel exposed, even in the cramped cubicle. The toilet's eerie silence was broken only by the faint drip of a leaking faucet, the sound echoing like a countdown, the spirits' presence urging him to act before the unseen forces found him.
Desperate to escape the Haunted House's horrors, Zhu Jianing fumbled in his backpack, his shaking hands searching frantically for his phone, the cubicle's dimness making the task feel endless, the spirits' energy tied to the name tags pulsing with anticipation. "I need to contact the people outside; this Haunted House is problematic," he thought, his voice trembling with unshed tears as he tried to steady himself, the hanging woman's bloated face flashing in his mind, her bulging eyes a haunting accusation. Finally grasping his phone, he dialed Brother Yuan, his fingers slipping on the screen, the flickering light casting erratic shadows that seemed to mimic the spirits' presence. The spirits tied to the name tags pulsed stronger, their connection to Mu Yang High School's tragedy amplifying the cubicle's dread, the cramped space a temporary refuge that felt increasingly like a trap, the unseen forces closing in.
"Xiao Zhu? Why are you calling me? Are you guys done with the video?" Brother Yuan's squat, middle-aged voice came through the phone, his casual tone a stark contrast to Zhu Jianing's panic, the spirits' energy tied to the name tags making the connection feel tenuous, as if the call itself could be severed by their influence. "Brother Yuan, please come in to help me! There are actual ghosts inside this Haunted House!" Zhu Jianing's voice trembled with tears, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush, the cubicle's flickering light and stained tiles amplifying his fear, the hanging woman's image a relentless specter in his mind. "I don't know how much longer I can hold on. There are god knows how many ghosts looking for me." His voice cracked, the spirits' presence pulsing stronger, their legacy from Mu Yang High School turning the cubicle into a claustrophobic nightmare, the unseen forces drawing closer with each passing second.
Brother Yuan's response was skeptical, his voice tinged with amusement. "Isn't it normal for a Haunted House to have ghosts?" he asked, assuming Zhu Jianing was exaggerating for effect, unaware of the supernatural terror tied to the name tags that pulsed through the scenario. "Not ghosts played by actors but actual ghosts!" Zhu Jianing hissed urgently, his voice low to avoid alerting the unseen forces he believed were hunting him, the cubicle's cramped confines and flickering light amplifying his terror, the spirits' energy making the air feel thick with menace. The hanging woman's bloated face loomed in his mind, her bulging eyes a constant reminder of the Pen Spirit's reality, the name tags' legacy a force that turned the toilet into a trap, the dripping faucet's rhythm a haunting countdown as Zhu Jianing cowered, his phone his only lifeline to the outside world.
The middle-aged man on the other end of the phone, Brother Yuan, finally registered the raw panic in Zhu Jianing's trembling voice, his casual tone shifting to one of concern as the gravity of the situation sank in. "Give the phone to Youliang, let me talk to him," he demanded, his voice tinged with urgency, expecting Fei Youliang's rational perspective to clarify the chaos, unaware of the supernatural terror tied to the twenty-four name tags pulsing through the Mu Yang High School scenario. The spirits' energy, carried by Chen Ge in his Doctor Skull-cracker outfit somewhere above, amplified the oppressive atmosphere of the corner toilet, the flickering lights and stained tiles evoking a space where the supernatural thrived. Zhu Jianing's fear was palpable, his breath ragged as he cowered in the fourth cubicle, the memory of the hanging woman's bloated face and bulging eyes haunting him, her spectral form a manifestation of the name tags' legacy, making the cramped space feel like a trap closing in around him.
Zhu Jianing's voice cracked with desperation as he clutched the phone, his words tumbling out in a frantic whisper. "Brother Liang was possessed by the ghost; he is still trapped inside that cursed bedroom," he said, his heart pounding as he recalled the horrifying sight of the Pen Spirit materializing behind Fei Youliang, its presence undeniable in the bedroom's preserved crime scene aesthetic. The spirits tied to the name tags pulsed stronger, their connection to Mu Yang High School's tragedy intensifying the cubicle's dread, the flickering light casting erratic shadows that seemed to mimic the hanging woman's swaying form. The memory of her purplish-white face, her eyes bulging with rage, burned in his mind, the name tags' energy weaving a web of terror that shattered his earlier bravado, leaving him trembling in the toilet's confines, the stained walls closing in like a grave.
"Possessed?" Brother Yuan's voice rose with disbelief, the concept of supernatural possession clashing with his rational assumptions about the Haunted House, his mind struggling to process Zhu Jianing's claim. "I saw it with my own eyes; the ghost was standing on his shoulders. It was a hanging ghost, the face was purplish white, and her eyes were popping out from their sockets!" Zhu Jianing hissed, his voice barely audible, his fear of the spirits tied to the name tags making him keep his tone low, as if the spectral forces could hear him through the phone. The cubicle's flickering light dimmed further, the dripping faucet's rhythm echoing like a countdown, the spirits' energy amplifying the toilet's oppressive atmosphere, their legacy from Mu Yang High School turning the space into a claustrophobic nightmare where the hanging woman's image lingered, her bulging eyes a relentless accusation in Zhu Jianing's mind.
Brother Yuan's tone hardened, misinterpreting Zhu Jianing's panic as an overreaction to a staged scare. "Standing on his shoulders? You guys were assaulted by the workers? Okay! We're going in now!" he declared, assuming the "ghost" was a costumed actor, unaware of the supernatural forces tied to the name tags that pulsed through the scenario, their energy manifesting in ways no actor could replicate. "Not the workers, it's a real ghost; there are no workers inside this Haunted House…" Zhu Jianing began, his voice trembling with urgency, but before he could finish, the sound of footsteps echoed from the toilet entrance, each step reverberating off the stained tiles, sending a jolt of terror through him. "Has the ghost entered‽" he whispered, his heart lurching as the spirits' presence intensified, the cubicle's confines amplifying the sound, the name tags' legacy turning the approaching footsteps into a harbinger of dread.
"What are you talking about? Hello?" Brother Yuan's confused voice crackled through the phone, but Zhu Jianing, paralyzed by fear of attracting the unseen entity, quickly ended the call, his fingers trembling as he silenced the device, the cubicle's flickering light casting his shadow in jagged patterns across the stained walls. "Hopefully, it doesn't hear me. Please don't let it discover me, and I won't ever visit this place again," he prayed silently, his muscular frame hunched beside the toilet, his breath shallow as he turned off the phone, plunging the cubicle into near darkness save for the faint flicker of the overhead light. The spirits tied to the name tags pulsed with malevolent energy, their connection to Mu Yang High School's tragedy making the toilet feel alive with unseen watchers, the hanging woman's bloated face flashing in his mind, her bulging eyes a constant reminder of the terror he had fled, urging him to remain silent in the cramped space.
Zhu Jianing's eyes locked onto the wooden door of the fourth cubicle, his heart pounding as he imagined it being yanked open at any moment, the spirits' energy tied to the name tags amplifying his fear of what might lie beyond. His mind raced with horrifying visions—the hanging woman's purplish-white face appearing behind the door, her bulging eyes glaring with rage, or a school uniform, animated by the name tags' spectral power, fluttering into the cubicle on its own, its empty sleeves reaching for him. The toilet's oppressive silence was broken only by the faint drip of the leaking faucet, each drop echoing like a heartbeat, the spirits' presence making the cubicle feel like a trap, the stained tiles and flickering light evoking a space where the supernatural thrived. Zhu Jianing's breath hitched, his muscular frame trembling as he pressed himself against the wall, the name tags' legacy intensifying his dread, the hanging woman's image a relentless specter that refused to fade.
"What should I do? Brother Yuan, please come soon!" Zhu Jianing prayed silently, his voice a mere thought as the sound of footsteps grew louder, each step reverberating through the toilet's confines, the spirits tied to the name tags pulsing with anticipation, their energy amplifying the approaching threat. The flickering light dimmed further, casting erratic shadows that seemed to writhe, the stained tiles reflecting the cubicle's claustrophobic dread, the hanging woman's bloated face looming in his mind. The footsteps paused, then resumed, their deliberate pace sending a chill through Zhu Jianing, his heart pounding as he braced for the inevitable, the name tags' legacy turning the toilet into a stage for the supernatural forces he had unwittingly awakened, the cubicle's door a fragile barrier between him and the terror beyond.
The creak of the first cubicle door being pushed open shattered the silence, the old wooden frame groaning audibly, the sound piercing Zhu Jianing's nerves like a blade, causing him to hold his breath in terror, his muscular frame tensing against the toilet's cold surface. The spirits' energy tied to the name tags pulsed stronger, their connection to Mu Yang High School's tragedy amplifying the sound, making the toilet feel alive with unseen watchers. After a brief pause, the second cubicle door creaked open, the sound closer now, each groan of wood tightening the knot of fear in Zhu Jianing's chest, the flickering light casting shadows that seemed to mimic the hanging woman's swaying form. The name tags' legacy intensified the dread, the stained tiles reflecting the cubicle's oppressive atmosphere, Zhu Jianing's mind racing with images of the spectral woman appearing behind the door, her bulging eyes locking onto him with unrelenting rage.
"It's getting closer!" Zhu Jianing thought, his breath shallow as the third cubicle door was pushed open after another agonizing pause, the sound so close it felt like a physical blow, the spirits tied to the name tags pulsing with malevolent intent, their energy turning the toilet into a trap. "It's right next to me! It'll open this door soon!" His muscles tensed to the point of pain, fear and terror shredding his sanity as he braced for the fourth door to swing open, the flickering light dimming further, the stained tiles seeming to pulse with the name tags' energy. Time crawled, each second an eternity, but strangely, the door to his cubicle remained untouched, the silence stretching taut, the spirits' presence a constant pressure that made Zhu Jianing question whether the entity had moved on or was toying with him, the hanging woman's image a relentless specter in his mind.
"It left?" Zhu Jianing whispered to himself, summoning every ounce of courage to crack open the cubicle door a sliver, his trembling fingers grazing the worn wood, the spirits tied to the name tags pulsing with subtle anticipation. Peering out, he saw nothing but the toilet's dim, flickering expanse, the stained tiles and empty cubicles eerily still, the name tags' energy making the silence feel deceptive. "It really left?" he thought, pushing the door open further, the creak of the hinges echoing in the oppressive space, his flashlight beam trembling across the walls, revealing no trace of the entity he feared. Relief flooded him, his breath exhaling in a shaky sigh, but the spirits' presence lingered, their connection to Mu Yang High School's tragedy amplifying the toilet's dread, the flickering light casting shadows that seemed to shift, urging caution as Zhu Jianing stepped out, believing he had escaped the unseen threat.
After sighing in relief, Zhu Jianing fumbled for his phone, his hands still trembling as he dialed Brother Yuan's number again, the flickering light reflecting off the screen, the spirits tied to the name tags pulsing with subtle menace, their energy making the cubicle feel alive with unseen watchers. As the phone's glow illuminated his face, a chilling reflection caught his eye on the screen—a disjointed face staring silently from atop the third cubicle door, its features a grotesque patchwork of fear and pain, the name tags' legacy manifesting in a horrifying visage that mirrored the bloody shadow he had seen at the classroom. His heart stopped, his gaze snapping behind him, the flickering light casting the face in stark relief, its eyes locking onto his with unrelenting malice, the spirits' energy amplifying the terror, the toilet's stained tiles and dim confines a stage for the supernatural forces that now confronted Zhu Jianing, their wrath a direct consequence of the Pen Spirit game's reckless invocation.