I crouched low, feeling the weight of the gun pressed against the back of my head.

“You’re with the Cleaning Center?” A young girl’s voice broke the silence. She had recognized my uniform.

A survivor. This must be my target.

The girl seemed sharp, having used the room’s natural conditions to create a projection behind the incubation chamber, while hiding herself in the shadows. Anyone entering with even the slightest mental contamination would likely lose their grip on reality.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Did you come to save me?” Her voice was cautious, hopeful.

“Maybe,” I said flatly. I wasn’t entirely sure who she was, nor if she was the survivor I was supposed to rescue.

The girl hesitated, weighing her options. Time was running out; the bell’s echoes continued to ripple through the hallway.

“How do I know you’re not a contaminant?” she asked, raising an important question.

“Simple—” I began, but before she could react, I twisted her wrist sharply. She yelped in pain, and I deftly disarmed her, sending the gun flying. A single kick sent her sprawling backward into the shelves with a resounding crash. Glass vials tumbled down, smashing around her in a cascade of chaos.

Her cries confirmed it.

An amateur.

Before she could recover, I leveled my gun at her forehead, cocking it with a decisive click. My movements were ingrained, second nature. I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

“Wait! I’m human!” she yelled, hands raised in surrender.

Now that I could see her clearly, I noted her bizarre appearance. She was dressed in an immaculate white protective suit, adorned with cutesy cat designs—something straight out of a children’s park mascot wardrobe.

I recognized it immediately. It was a designer hazmat suit, something the ultra-wealthy kept at home in case of contamination emergencies. Functional yet fashion-forward. This particular suit must have cost at least 10 million credits.

In other words, she was rich. Very rich.

“Who are you?” I demanded, keeping my aim steady.

“Lillian Carter,” she answered quickly, speaking at lightning speed as if to avoid being shot. “I’m not here to hurt anyone! I’m on your side!”

The name didn’t ring a bell. I didn’t lower my weapon. Anyone in a contamination zone was suspect.

Lillian had doubted me moments ago; now it was my turn.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“I... I don’t know. Feels like days.” Her voice wavered.

“When did you enter?” I pressed.

“October 3rd, New Calendar Year 80, at 11:45 AM,” she replied.

The pieces clicked into place.

The mission window was six hours. According to the latest data, a normal person could only survive six hours in a contamination zone before succumbing to brain death.

Lillian must have triggered some mechanism upon entering, which caused her to appear on the Cleaning Center forum as a “ghost post.” She was definitely the survivor I was meant to save.

Her mental resilience seemed high—she’d lasted over an hour and still appeared lucid. Better than Daniel, at least.

But why was I assigned to rescue her?

I holstered my gun, tossing her weapon back to her. It was an air-powered firearm, the kind regular people couldn’t easily obtain. Her family must have been well-connected.

A spoiled heiress, I thought.

“I got here an hour after you,” I said.

“One hour?” Lillian’s face turned pale. “I’ve been here an hour? Oh no, oh no... my mind’s going to collapse.”

She began to panic. “If I start talking strange, don’t believe me. I might try to hurt you.”

She knew quite a bit about contamination zones, I realized. She understood the importance of full-body coverage and the dangers of prolonged exposure.

“Calm down,” I said sharply. The more unstable her emotions, the more vulnerable she’d be to contamination.

She took a deep breath, visibly trying to regain control. She checked her protective suit for any breaches. Thankfully, it was intact. If even a single spore latched onto her, she’d be as good as dead.

“You’re a Cleaner?” she asked. “Why would the Cleaning Center send a garbage collector to rescue someone?”

“….” I sighed inwardly. Even rescue operations weren’t immune to job discrimination.

Realizing her comment might have been rude, she added hastily, “Did you lose your team? Where’s your Demon Hunter? Aren’t they supposed to save us?”

“…” I remained silent. This girl was testing every ounce of my patience.

“What are you doing in a contamination zone?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Uh...” She hesitated, debating how much to share. “I’m looking for my aunt.”

“Your aunt?” I raised an eyebrow. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen. I’m a grad student. How old are you?”

“Same,” I replied curtly.

We were the same age.

In the post-apocalyptic world, everything was accelerated. Chickens took six hours from hatching to the dinner table. Human education was similarly compressed—college by 18, grad school soon after. If my family had been wealthy, I might have been pursuing my degree too.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Nina Chase,” I said. “Why are you looking for your aunt here? Did you not see the warning signs posted everywhere?”

Honestly, she looked too wealthy to come down to a hotpot restaurant in the half-basement. Let alone her aunt.

Lillian hesitated again, organizing her thoughts. “Well... she’s not really my aunt. She was our family gardener. I was lonely as a kid and spent a lot of time with her. She started acting strange before she disappeared—always muttering to herself. My parents warned me to stay away from her. I later learned she’d likely been mentally contaminated decades ago.”

“I found her diary. She used to love this hotpot restaurant. She even had a burn scar that covered her arm, neck, and part of her face. She said it happened while eating here. But she never hated the restaurant—she spoke fondly of it, said the food was amazing. I wanted to see what was so special.”

That completed the puzzle.

I had already pieced together the employees’ accounts through the diary and recording. Now, I had the customers’ side of the story.

The diners had consumed contaminated meat and were themselves contaminated. But where had they gone afterward?

Now, I had a clue. They had likely reintegrated into society, functioning normally while performing strange, inexplicable actions. Blending in, yet fundamentally different.

Lillian’s curiosity was surprisingly strong. All it took was a gardener’s nostalgic comments to bring her here.

She probably didn’t want to reveal the full extent of her family’s wealth. Finding her aunt might have been secondary—this seemed more like a thrill-seeking escapade.

A bored rich girl looking for excitement.

“Did you find her?” I asked.

“No. I looked around, but none of the diners were her.”

“How did you get in?”

“I applied as an employee,” she said. “Frank asked what I could do, and I said dishwashing. Then I saw this room labeled ‘Do Not Enter’ and figured it was hiding something important.”

“This was the first room you entered?”

“Yeah. I only opened one door. Once inside, I saw Frank killing someone. I’ve been hiding here ever since.”

“….”

I didn’t know whether to call her lucky or foolish. This room was the boss’s medicine storage, a place Frank probably didn’t frequent.

“I’ve lost track of time since coming in,” Lillian continued. “They ring a bell every so often for a meeting. It lasts a while, and everyone heads to the basement. I found a hole in the wall and saw them kneeling before the boss. They cut pieces of his flesh, processed it in the kitchen, and added it to the hotpot.”

“At first, it was disgusting. Then... I stopped feeling disgusted. I just wanted to escape. The meetings are the best time to run.”

“I’ve watched them a few times, waiting for my chance. Then I heard you.”

Her tone hinted at both relief and suspicion. She had assumed I was a Cleaner sent to rescue her, but a part of her still feared I was a contaminant.

After hearing her story, I shared my own findings. There was no need for her to read the diary or listen to the recordings. My summary alone was chilling enough—a grotesque horror story come to life.

“So, the thing on the bed is the contamination source?” Lillian asked.

I opened my mouth to answer.

Buzz—

The bell abruptly stopped. The ritual was over. Like a well-oiled machine, the employees and diners dispersed and returned upstairs.

The sound of dragging footsteps echoed in the hallway. Frank was still trying to break into the women’s dormitory, now more enraged than ever. His axe had reduced the door to splinters. It wouldn’t be long before he searched this room.

Even worse, the other diners weren’t returning to the dining hall. They were patrolling the hallways, hunting for any outsiders.

They were looking for us.

Lillian’s face turned pale. “What do we do now?” she whispered.

I sighed.

Escaping alone was one thing; escaping with her was another.

“I’ll go kill the contamination source,” I said.

“How?” she asked, doubt written all over her face.

With Frank outside and the other diners acting as guards, it was impossible to reach the basement unscathed. She clearly didn’t trust my abilities. She would have wanted a Demon Hunter.

“Walking through the hallway is too much trouble,” I said.

She nodded cautiously, acknowledging the difficulty.

“Let’s find a shortcut,” I said. “This floor looks hollow underneath. Step back.”

“What?” Lillian blinked, clearly confused.

Ignoring her, I pulled a small device from my bag and slammed it onto the ground.

Boom!

The floor beneath us erupted in a controlled explosion, leaving a gaping hole where the ground used to be. Dust and debris filled the air, and a faint orange glow emanated from below.

Lillian stared, wide-eyed and speechless. “You… blew up the floor?!”

“Yes,” I replied matter-of-factly. “Now, let’s move.”

---

1:30 AM.

The Carter family estate was ablaze with lights, the tension palpable. Patrol teams scoured the grounds, their leaders pale with fear.

“We haven’t found her,” the leader reported, sweat beading on his forehead.

Across from him stood a man clad in a sharp black suit. His aura was icy, every inch of him exuding menace. He had no patience for excuses tonight—not when he was due to meet the board members of Eternal Life Pharmaceuticals at midnight.

“She’s fascinated by contaminants,” the man said coldly. “Do you think she…”

The guard hesitated. “Could she have entered a contamination zone?”

It was the most plausible explanation. The disappearance of a protective suit and a missing gun from the family’s arsenal all pointed to one conclusion: she had ventured into danger, seeking contaminants.

The problem was, they had no way of knowing which contamination zone she’d entered. Searching blindly was akin to finding a needle in a haystack. And with every passing second, the risk of her mental collapse increased. She had already been missing for over four hours.

The man’s voice dropped to a deadly tone. “Contact Noah Finn. Notify the Safety Bureau and the Cleaning Center. Have them assist.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard stammered.

“Post a bounty,” the man ordered. “But do not disclose her identity. One million credits to whoever finds her.”

“One million?” The guard hesitated, feeling the sum was oddly low for someone of her status. The rumors about the man’s indifference toward his niece seemed to hold some truth.

“You idiot,” the man snapped, the words biting like frost. It was unclear if he was cursing the missing girl or the guard.

Thirty seconds later, a sleek hovercar pulled up. The man entered without a word, and the vehicle sped off into the night.

It wasn’t until the car had disappeared that the guard realized the brilliance of the low bounty. A higher amount would have drawn too much attention—and those who learned too much might not live to spend their reward.