Fan Cong flailed his arms wildly, striking the lead doctor. His hand grazed something—he couldn't tell what—but it felt wet.
"Why are all these doctors' coats soaking wet?"
Tilting his head, Fan Cong caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye. Where his fingers had hit the doctor's collar, the fabric had caved inward and showed no sign of springing back.
"His neck…?"
The sight before him was terrifying. The doctor was wrapped head to toe in a uniform, yet a section of his neck had collapsed inward, creating a grotesque mismatch. It was as if the uniform didn't contain a person at all, but a clay sculpture.
The uniform dented further, the collar separating just enough to release a thick wave of formaldehyde fumes. The stench was so overpowering that Fan Cong's eyes burned shut.
"Elevated energy, disorganized speech, erratic behavior—these are classic precursors to mania. It seems your condition really is quite serious." The lead doctor's caved-in collar slowly returned to its original shape. He shot a glance at the two doctors flanking him. "Hold him. We'll give him a full examination."
"I'm not sick!" Fan Cong was in absolute despair. At other haunted houses, the worst that could happen was being scared unconscious. This place, on top of scaring you senseless, would also revive you afterward. What he couldn't wrap his head around was why people with such remarkable medical expertise would come to work as extras in a haunted house—what kind of twisted motivation drove that?
"I'm really not sick! Stay away from me!"
Hearing Fan Cong's desperate shrieks, the lead doctor shook his head. "Whether you're sick isn't for you to decide—it's for the doctor. If you don't believe me, go to the nearest hospital for a full evaluation."
……
Fan Cong's screams echoed through the underground set. Every visitor who heard them involuntarily shuddered, then cast a sympathetic glance toward the source of the sound.
"That voice sounds familiar." Xiao Li crouched on the ground, whispering to Bai Qiulin beside him.
"Looks like Fan Cong and Fan Dade have already run into trouble. No need for us to go save them." Bai Qiulin's tone remained as cold as ever, indifferent to everyone around him—like a lone wolf.
The wall sconces in the corridor flickered back on. The creature that had been perched on top of Huya's head had long since vanished.
"What the hell was that thing?" A'nan jogged over and helped Huya to his feet. "Did you get a good look just now?"
Huya shook his head. "It didn't seem to have a face. The head was hollow."
"Hollow head? Then it wasn't a stunt performer—could it be a robot?" A'nan craned his neck to look at the ceiling. White paint flaked from the top of the corridor, and water stains still lingered on the surface.
"Looks like a pretty cheap haunted house on the surface, but they've actually integrated all sorts of high-tech in here. The owner really doesn't mind spending big. Guess they're not afraid of throwing money down the drain." The speaker didn't mean anything by it, but Xiao Li took the remark to heart. He pulled out his phone and secretly noted down this important discovery, then hit send, transmitting the information out.
"Yeah, this haunted house owner is really something. I heard the props used in haunted houses are completely different from those in other industries—they can't be recycled. Basically nobody wants them except other haunted house operators." Lao Zhou and Duan Yue were standing very close to Xiao Li. Every move he'd just made had been witnessed by both of them.
Wearing a pleasant smile, Lao Zhou released his grip on Duan Yue's hand. The two of them took up positions on either side of Xiao Li, boxing him in.