Defective?

I paused when I heard that word. The hotpot restaurant owner was a defective, just like me.

So, he wasn’t sick at all. His body was simply succumbing to natural degeneration.

I had researched information about defectives before. At birth, everyone undergoes comprehensive genetic screening, which identifies potential genetic defects. The downside of advanced technology is that it predicts your future with unnerving accuracy. Genetic diseases can be diagnosed at birth, and even one’s approximate lifespan can be estimated.

Artificial humans, cyborgs, and clones are all human-made species. Defective versions of these beings are often the result of production errors on the assembly line. With mass production comes the inevitability of some being substandard.

Defectives can improve their condition with gene therapy, but the results vary from person to person and rarely guarantee full recovery. Besides, gene therapy wasn’t as advanced thirty years ago as it is today.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll remember things clearly. Ever since I started working here, my memory has become erratic,” the man’s voice continued through the recording.

“Amanda told me to record my memories while I was still lucid. She’s been writing in her diary every day, but I live with Frank, so I couldn’t write anything down. All I could do was record this and hide it under the toilet lid. If someone hears this, don’t bother calling the police. You probably won’t make it out either.”

Amanda must have been the cashier, and the man recording was likely another employee.

Creeeak—

I pushed open the door and was met with a chaotic sight.

White plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling to the floor, creating a maze-like labyrinth. The breeze from the door rustled the sheets, making a sound like dry leaves scraping against each other.

I shut the door behind me with a soft click.

The room was large, with shelves lining the walls on both sides. The plastic sheets created a barrier, making it difficult to see clearly. Moving through them meant constant noise, a dead giveaway of my location.

Holding my gun at the ready, I proceeded cautiously while listening to the recording.

“None of us have ever seen the owner. It's Frank who oversees everything. One day, Frank told me to help move a massive medical pod into the basement. That’s when I saw him—the owner. He was already half-paralyzed, unable to stand.

“I remember thinking it was a shame. Such a young owner, and already a defective. Frank made me swear not to tell anyone. He said that if word got out, competitors would use it against us. With the restaurant’s popularity, envy was bound to follow, so I kept quiet. It's none of my business, after all.”

I lifted one of the sheets and peered through. The shadows cast by the overlapping plastic made it seem like figures flitted across the room.

“One night, I was resting in the dorm when I saw a silhouette standing by my bed. I jolted awake—it was the owner, staring at me with an expression I can only describe as predatory. He looked at me like I was a piece of meat.

“I called out to him, but he didn’t respond. He just shuffled away. It took me a moment to realize—wasn’t he supposed to be paralyzed? I later found out he was conducting some kind of experiment.”

Crunch—

My boot had stepped on something. A shattered glass vial. I picked up a piece and read the label: “Eternal Life Pharmaceuticals.”

This wasn’t the only vial in the room. It was a storage area for drugs.

Ssssh—

I carefully pushed aside another sheet. Rows of vials, syringes, and even a set of surgical tools lined the shelves. Next to them, a pink card read: “Welcome to Eternal Life Pharmaceuticals Clinical Trial Program.”

The man’s voice on the recording continued, now mixed with the sound of static.

“Things got worse. The meat in the kitchen grew stranger, the restaurant’s aroma more intoxicating. My mental state deteriorated daily. My memories grew muddled until one day—”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

His voice broke into a sob. “Amanda disappeared.

“I told Frank we should report her missing, but he didn’t care. He put up new hiring posters right away, looking for cashiers, cooks, servers. The restaurant didn’t even need that many employees.

“It felt like they were reserves. I had a gut feeling that if I died, there’d be someone ready to replace me.”

Bang—

I turned abruptly, bumping into something behind me.

In the dim light, a massive figure loomed, standing three meters tall and pressing against my back.

The plastic sheeting draped over it created a shrouded form, like a monstrous being looking down at me.

Every hair on the back of my neck stood up. My reflexes screamed for me to fire, but logic held me back. I aimed my gun at the shadow, finger tense on the trigger.

The shadow towered over me, casting darkness across the ceiling. It felt as if the entire room belonged to it.

Don’t engage. Never engage in a contamination zone unless absolutely necessary.

“I wanted to report everything and quit, but I felt eyes on me constantly. Frank, the other employees, even the customers—all of them were watching. I knew that if I moved, they’d kill me. I couldn’t even sleep in peace.

“The owner’s health seemed to improve, day by day. He was full of energy, almost normal. But the healthier he looked, the more terrified I felt. It was as if he wasn’t human anymore. Then he announced that the restaurant would close so he could focus on his treatment and that we’d receive a share of the profits as compensation.

“The mention of money made me hesitate. I guess I should take my fair share beforing leaving this place forever.

“The restaurant shut down, but guests kept coming late at night. Frank told us to serve them well—they were our VIPs.

“But those guests... something was wrong. One night, I saw a customer dip his index finger into the hotpot, scalding it beyond recognition. Yet, he kept smiling.

“I began to question what we were serving. Was I complicit? Was I... was I a murderer?”

“A...a killer?”

“Will!” another voice called out on the recording. “Where are you? Frank’s looking for you.”

There was the sound of panicked breathing before the recording abruptly ended.

Ding—

A system alert appeared: 【Mental value decreased by 5】.

I snapped back.

Will’s recording was another form of contamination. Listening to it had taken a toll on my mental state. For anyone below my level, it could have led to brain death.

I quickly shut off the recording and deleted the file.

I had been staring down the massive figure for a while, neither of us moving.

The mental contamination must have influenced me. This wasn’t a monster. The mind has a way of conjuring fears in the face of the unknown.

The greatest human fear is of the unknown, and that fear can kill you.

I bit down on my anxiety and yanked off the last sheet of plastic.

It wasn’t a monster at all. It was a giant incubation chamber.

Three meters tall, transparent, and shaped like a test tube. The glass was shattered and whatever had been inside it was gone.

What had been here? And where was it now?

Will’s recording had lasted two minutes.

Piecing together the diary and the recording, I had a theory.

The hotpot restaurant owner was a defective who participated in Eternal Life Pharmaceuticals' free clinical trial program. The experiment had clearly failed.

I guessed that the owner had transformed into a contaminant.

Amanda and Will had suffered varying degrees of mental contamination. As for Frank, he might have been initially motivated by money, but later became a host for parasitic spores.

Still, my theory wasn’t perfect. Both Amanda and Will had suffered severe mental contamination, making their accounts unreliable.

And there were other things left unexplained. Hiring new staff when they already had enough could be rationalized, but what about the strange bounties?

Bounties for organs and mutant genes—were those related to experiments?

The bell inside the restaurant was still ringing, now for at least six minutes. The contamination levels kept rising, and I had to act fast. If there were any survivors here, they were likely close to mental collapse

I examined the incubation chamber thoroughly, confirming that whatever had been inside had escaped.

A light source behind the chamber cast its shadow onto the ceiling, creating the illusion of a towering monster. This was meant to deceive, much like the rotting meat fingers or the tentacles in the trash bin. Simple tricks compared to the real horrors.

The light came from a palm-sized hole in the wall behind the chamber, allowing a glimpse into the basement.

Who had made this hole?

Peering through it, I saw an orange glow emanating from the basement. I squinted, adjusting to the dim light

All the employees, led by Frank, were gathered there, kneeling with an almost reverent order. Frank was at the front, the employees behind him, and the guests—those who were supposed to be in control—were at the back. The formation looked like a… a Wi-Fi signal.

At the center of it all, at the lowest point of the formation, was a bed.

Lying on the bed was a being I could barely describe.

A mass of decaying human flesh, constantly shifting and growing. It spilled over the sides of the bed and, at its current rate, would soon consume the entire basement and rise into the restaurant.

If my guess was right, this was the owner.

Frank and the others chanted prayers like worshippers facing a god. Lowering his pig head, Frank held a knife as he genuflected.

What was it?

An assasination mission masked as worshipping?

With a swift motion, Frank sliced a piece of flesh from the mass on the bed. The severed piece still writhed.

An employee respectfully held a black bag to catch it.

Each slice brought content smiles to the faces of the staff and guests.

I swallowed hard.

So that’s where the “special” meat came from.

Was the owner willingly sacrificing himself for the sake of the restaurant’s fame?

I had pieced together enough of the story. Now, I needed to escape this contamination zone before it consumed me.

Just as I began to move, I heard the distinct click of a gun being cocked.

A gun barrel pressed against the back of my head.

There was someone else in this room after all.