Later that night.
The laughter didn't sound human.
It was choppy, off-beat — like a child learning to mimic adults but getting the rhythm wrong. It echoed through the forest around the outpost, weaving between the rustling trees and damp, blood-soaked ground.
Chen Yu stood guard with a makeshift spear, every now and then glancing at the solar lamp flickering beside the gate.
"I swear to God, if a zombie hyena shows up, I'm running first and screaming later."
Li Wei stood further out on patrol, body still, listening.
There were no birds now. No insects. Just the wet wind and that broken, mechanical laugh fading into the night.
From the upper floor of the outpost, Rui watched the forest with a small mirror. She wasn't looking at the trees — she was watching the shadows between the trees. The places the light never quite touched.
Something was moving in those cracks.
The next morning.
It didn't rain. But everything was damp. Tense.
The solar panels refused to charge. The food, though sealed, had begun to rot. Mold crept along the edge of their sleeping mats. The walls themselves felt… sweaty.
Li Wei checked the filters. Clean.
Chen Yu stared at his reflection in a tin cup. "I've been funny for two years straight. You know how hard that is?"
Li Wei didn't look up. "You're still not funny."
"That's slander."
"It's true."
Chen Yu grinned. "Fair."
He looked toward Rui, who was crouched beside the wall drawing something with ash and water.
"What're you making, little storm cloud?"
She didn't answer. But the symbols she drew weren't childish. They were precise. Angular. Remembered.
Li Wei walked over. "That's from the Ascendancy, isn't it?"
Rui nodded slowly. "They marked the doors with it. The cells. The failures. The ones who couldn't be controlled."
Chen Yu frowned. "And you're drawing it here why?"
"To warn them away," she said, eyes distant. "The ones who remember. Like me."
By evening, they realized they were not alone.
A silhouette appeared at the edge of the forest. It didn't move. It just stood.
Too tall. Its limbs hung wrong. Its neck was too long, head tilted like it was listening.
Rui stood slowly. "I know him."
Li Wei stepped between her and the figure. "Who is it?"
She shook her head. "He wasn't in a file. He was the file. Project Zero-One-Zero-Three."
"Another Ghost Batch?" Chen Yu asked.
"Worse," Rui whispered. "He wasn't made to obey. He was made to watch."
Flashback – 6 years ago
Rui sat in a cold metal cell. Her legs barely touched the ground.
Across the room, behind mirrored glass, the scientists whispered and tapped on tablets.
She didn't know her name. Just a number: 0107.
They tested her pain response. Her memory. Her ability to mimic empathy.
One day, they brought in a boy.
Taller than her. Silent. Face pale, eyes grey like old smoke.
He never spoke. But he watched. Always.
Dr. Shan whispered, "This one's different. He learns from them."
Later that week, Rui saw the boy strapped to a table, wires in his skull.
He was smiling.
Now.
Li Wei aimed his rifle at the figure. "If it moves, I shoot."
Rui said softly, "That won't stop him."
The figure began to step forward. Slow. Deliberate.
Chen Yu gritted his teeth. "I hate this part."
Then the figure stopped.
Spoke.
"Ten… Seven…"
Its voice was broken, like an old speaker playing back a recording.
"Are you… still… dreaming?"
Rui's lips trembled. She took one step back. "No. Not anymore."
"Liar."
The thing lunged.
The trio fled into the tunnels beneath the outpost — old storm drains filled with roots and bones.
Li Wei took point, rifle raised.
Chen Yu covered the rear with a crowbar.
Rui kept whispering something over and over.
"What's she saying?" Chen Yu shouted.
Li Wei's eyes narrowed. "Coordinates. I think."
"For what?"
"I don't know yet."
They emerged from the other side of the outpost grounds, dirty and blood-splattered.
The figure didn't follow. But it watched.
From every tree. Every shadow. Every dream.
And then, Rui said something that made both men stop.
"I think the Ascendancy left him behind on purpose."
Li Wei frowned. "To track you?"
She shook her head. "To remind me."
"Of what?"
"That I was never supposed to get out."