Rin guided Jisoo away from the ruined market.
The buzzing sound vibrated up through her boots, a constant pulse in the broken city.
The air smelled sharp with salt and ash.
The destroyed stalls blurred behind them.
Shadows moved strangely in the flickering lights above, looking like mimics ready to attack.
Rin looked around carefully, her metal pipe sticky with sweat and dried blood.
They needed a safe place to rest and think before the mimics got closer.
She could still faintly hear their clicking sounds.
She saw a small building ahead with a half-torn sign: Lucky Wash Laundry.
The door was slightly open, a dark space inside.
Rin nodded to Jisoo, who held her chipped knife. Blood was still dripping from her cut arm, making her apron darker red.
They went inside.
The air in the laundry was stale and damp, smelling of mildew and old soap.
Rows of washing machines stood like silent guards, their chipped paint shining under a single buzzing light that gave off a sickly green glow.
Rin pushed a metal chair against the door to close it.
The chair scraped on the cracked floor, the sound seeming too loud.
Jisoo leaned against a dryer, looking tired.
She winced as she touched her wound—a deep cut below her elbow, bleeding but not torn by mimic claws.
"Needs stitches," she said, her voice rough but calm.
She tore a strip from her apron with her good hand and wrapped it tightly around her arm.
Blood soaked through the cloth, and she tightened her jaw against the pain.
Rin stayed away from her, holding her pipe.
She looked around the room—narrow windows boarded up, a rusty sink dripping in the corner, a pile of moldy towels.
The buzzing sound was softer here, blocked by the thick walls, but she felt something else—a faint scratching sound, like nails on wood.
It was quiet but constant, coming from below.
Her stomach tightened with unease.
She crouched down and put her ear to the cold, dirty floor.
A low, wet sound came up, not quite human, not like the mimics' buzz—something worse, like air trying to get through a drowned throat.
She stood up, her breath shallow.
"You hear that?"
Jisoo stopped, her knife shining as she tilted her head, listening past the dripping sink and the buzzing light.
Her dark eyes looked at the floor, careful but not afraid.
"Yeah. Under us."
Her voice was steady, but she gripped her knife tighter, her knuckles white.
"This place isn't safe."
"Nowhere is," Rin replied sharply.
She took her sketchbook from her jacket and flipped to a blank page.
Her pencil moved quickly, drawing the laundry room's layout, the blocked door, the sink, and possible ways to escape.
Drawing calmed her, stopping the buzzing from going too deep into her head.
Jisoo watched, raising her eyebrow slightly, but she didn't say anything as she finished tying her bandage.
Rin ignored her look.
She didn't explain herself to strangers.
The scratching sound got louder, more constant.
A faint buzz joined it—"Jisoo…"—coming through the floor like a whispered threat.
Rin froze, her pencil breaking in her hand with a small crack.
Jisoo stood up, knife raised, her jaw tight.
Her hurt arm trembled but she held it steady.
"They're below," she whispered, her voice low and urgent.
"Basement, maybe—crawlspace."
Rin nodded, putting her sketchbook back in her jacket.
Her fingers brushed the radio on her belt, but she didn't touch it.
No time for Hana's voice right now.
She looked around the room and saw a hatch behind a rusty washing machine.
It was locked with an old, rusty padlock.
No time to pick it, not with the floorboards creaking now, bending slightly as if something was pushing up from below.
"We need to move," she said, her voice low and quick, already walking towards the door.
Jisoo grabbed a crowbar from a messy shelf.
It looked heavy in her good hand, and her hurt arm shook.
"Or we check it," she argued, her stubbornness annoying Rin.
"They're hunting us—we might as well know why."
Her eyes met Rin's, firm, like a seller who had argued her way through tough times.
Rin's gut feeling was to run, but Jisoo's logic made sense.
Mimics didn't just whisper names for no reason.
They wanted something, and hiding wouldn't tell them what it was.
"Fine," Rin muttered, sounding annoyed.
"But if we die, it's your fault."
She went to the hatch, and Jisoo followed.
They stepped carefully on the creaking floor.
They used the crowbar to open the trapdoor, the padlock breaking with a dull crack that sounded loud in the quiet.
A damp, sour smell came up, like mold and something worse—decay, but not quite dead.
The rasping sound was clearer now, wet and heavy, like someone trying to breathe underwater.
Rin held her pipe tightly, its familiar weight steadying her fast heartbeat, and started down a narrow, rusty staircase.
Jisoo followed, her knife shining in the faint light from above.
Down below, pipes ran along the basement walls, dripping water onto the cracked concrete floor.
A single flickering light bulb swung from a torn wire, making shadows dance on the walls.
The rasping sound stopped suddenly, replaced by a silence that felt heavier than the buzzing, full of waiting.
Rin held her breath, the air cold and damp on her skin.
She looked at Jisoo, whose face was determined, the crowbar raised.
"Rin…"
A buzzing sound echoed from the dark, mixed with static.
It wasn't coming from one place, but many, a chorus saying her name and Jisoo's—"Jisoo… Rin…"—moving through the pipes like poison.
Jisoo tensed, her knife flashing as she turned.
Her hurt arm brushed the wall, and she winced.
Rin's heart pounded, louder than the buzzing, but she stepped forward, pipe ready, her doubt turning into determination.
Whatever was down here knew them—knew their names, their fears—and it wasn't waiting.
It was calling.