"Bro, wake up!"
Fan Cong shook Fan Dade's shoulders. It took a long while before Fan Dade finally came to.
"Where… are we?" His eyes finally found focus. The tall, broad-lying Fan Dade was lying on his side on the ground, looking utterly drained.
Seeing his brother in this state, Fan Cong's lips moved, but he couldn't bring himself to continue.
"Have the staff already… sent us out of the haunted house?"
Fan Cong hadn't said a word for ages, his expression eerily blank, like someone who'd been possessed. Fan Dade sensed something was wrong and struggled to his feet, looking around.
Iron doors, morgue cabinets, and the sound of wheels grinding in his ears — that familiar, déjà-vu feeling left Fan Dade momentarily stunned.
"This scene… haven't we been through this before?"
The sound of fingernails scraping against cabinet doors grew louder and louder. Low, ragged breathing leaked from inside the cabinets. No answer from Fan Cong was needed — Fan Dade already knew.
The sound of wheels came roaring in, stopping right at the room's entrance. One cabinet door after another burst open. Blood sprayed in every direction, and even more monsters than before came spilling out.
His legs went slack. Fan Dade collapsed against the door of Storage Unit Two, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
Behind him, something slammed into the room's door. His body trembled in sync with each impact. Fan Dade felt like every bone in his body was about to shatter.
"Cut it out! You're hitting way too fast! I just woke up! I literally just woke up!"
Fan Dade was so miserable he wanted to cry. Compared to him, Fan Cong appeared far more composed.
For a smart man, making the same mistake twice was out of the question.
Fan Cong wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. His calves seized up as if cramping, and he plopped down onto the ground, letting himself topple right behind Fan Dade.
"Bro, if you wake up from passing out before I do, whatever you do, don't shake me awake. Just let me stay unconscious a little longer." After those final words, his eyes rolled back and he went stiff, "fainting" on the spot.
Before Fan Dade could even process what had happened, the lights in the room went out.
"Little bro? Xiao Cong? Fan Cong?!"
The storage door was smashed open. Fan Dade was surrounded by a flurry of shadows. His screams echoed through the entire underground scene.
…
Half a minute later, the wall sconces flickered back on. The corridor fell silent once more.
The shadows had dissipated. Fan Dade lay propped against the corner, his body twitching. He'd already retched up all the white foam he had in him.
Slowly, with his face pressed to the floor, Fan Cong — lying right beside Fan Dade — opened his eyes. He felt a chill of fear, but beneath it, a flicker of excitement.
"As long as I play dead, the ghosts won't attack me? No, wait — maybe my bro just drew all the aggro." The mere memory of what had just happened made his scalp tingle.
"I need to get out of here. Anywhere is better than this place."
He forced himself upright and shook Fan Dade's shoulders. "Bro, wake up! Come on!"
After a frantic few minutes with no improvement, Fan Cong grew desperate. He grabbed Fan Dade under the arms, trying to haul him onto his back.
The moment he pulled Fan Dade up, a sigh drifted from the far end of the corridor.