Han Jiang's lungs felt like they were on fire.
Gasoline had been poured straight down his throat, and someone had struck a match.
Every breath tore through him, raw and wet, ripping at his insides.
His sneakers slammed hard against the cracked concrete floor.
Pa—pa—pa—
The sharp echoes bounced off the high ceiling and the rows of silent, rusting machines, sounding like an entire crowd was chasing him.
But there was only one set of footsteps behind.
They never sped up.
They never slowed down.
Just that same steady, dragging rhythm, closing the distance inch by inch, heartbeat by heartbeat.
Eleven minutes.
Eleven long, ugly minutes since the Shift had thrown him here—straight into 1997, deep inside this rotting textile factory that reeked of old rust, stale oil, and something sweeter underneath that made his stomach twist into knots.
His legs no longer felt like his own.
They were heavy dead weight, screaming for rest he could not give.
Sweat stung his eyes.
His shirt stuck cold and damp to his back, like a second skin he could not peel off.
*Why won't it just stop?*
The thought spun uselessly in his head, frantic and helpless.
*It's supposed to be dead. It should be slow. It should—*
A low scrape sounded from the darkness to his left.
Closer now.
Way too close.
He risked one quick glance backward and immediately regretted it.
A shape slipped between two massive looms, caught for a split second in the weak flicker of the overhead fluorescent lights.
Blue uniform.
Shoulders held too stiff.
Head tilted at an angle no living neck could ever make.
He could not see the face clearly.
He did not need to.
He could feel it watching him—the way a blind man feels sunlight on his skin.
"Shit… shit… move!" he gasped.
His voice cracked, barely louder than the roar of blood in his ears.
"Just… a little longer… come on, you piece of shit, keep going…"
The thing behind him said nothing.
It never did.
It only followed.
His foot suddenly caught on a loose cable snaking across the floor.
He stumbled hard, arms flailing wildly, and barely caught himself on the cold metal side of a conveyor belt.
Pain shot through his wrist like a knife.
He shoved off anyway, teeth clenched tight, and forced himself forward again.
Eleven minutes.
How much longer until dawn?
Six hours?
Five?
He could not even last five more minutes, let alone that.
A sharp stitch stabbed under his ribs.
His stride broke.
The dragging footsteps grew louder.
Closer.
Now he could hear the faint, wet sound of fabric brushing against concrete—like damp overalls trailing behind a body that had forgotten how to lift its feet.
"Huff… huff…"
His chest heaved violently.
The edges of his vision began to blur.
"I… I can't… run anymore…"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Pathetic.
Weak.
Exactly the way he used to sound back in his old life when a teacher suddenly called his name and he had nothing prepared.
But this was not school.
This was a dead factory in a dead year.
And something that should have stayed buried was hunting him down like he owed it blood.
Up ahead, between the long rows of silent machines, a door finally appeared.
Rusted through in places, heavy as hell.
The kind of old industrial door that looked like it had given up on standing straight decades ago.
It hung slightly crooked in its frame, as if the whole building was too tired to hold it up anymore.
No window.
No card reader.
Just one dark keyhole staring back at him, almost mocking.
Han Jiang's heart jumped with a feeling dangerously close to hope.
"There—" he dragged in a ragged breath, legs moving on nothing but raw adrenaline now.
"That door. Has to be a service corridor or something. Please… just open—"
He threw everything he had left into those final twenty meters.
Calves screaming.
Knees ready to collapse.
But the door still drew closer.
Fifteen meters.
Ten.
Eight.
He could almost taste the stale air leaking out from underneath it.
*Just a little more. Come on. You're almost—*
Behind him, the thing made a sound.
Not a groan.
Not a sigh.
Something wet and hollow in between, like air bubbling out of lungs that had been underwater for far too long.
He did not look back.
He could not risk it.
Five meters.
He crashed into the door harder than he meant to.
Palms smacked against cold, peeling metal.
The jolt shot up both arms.
His shoulder throbbed.
"No window," he panted, voice raw, eyes scanning frantically.
"No card reader, nothing—just this stupid keyhole. What the hell? Who locks a door in the middle of a nightmare?"
He grabbed the knob anyway and twisted with all his strength.
It did not move.
Locked solid.
"Seriously? A key? What kind of fucked-up place needs a key right now?"
A broken laugh scraped out of him, half-crazy.
"Come on, universe. Give me one break. Just one. I didn't sign up to get dumped in 1997 with a corpse chasing me."
Above the door, a rectangular metal tag hung crooked—once white, now mostly rust and regret.
The remaining letters clung on stubbornly:
…VICE CORR…
Han Jiang squinted through the sweat burning his eyes.
"Vice Corr…? Service corridor? Maintenance? God, I hope so. Anything beats staying out here."
A smaller plate sat underneath, screws mismatched—one shiny and new, the other old and pitted.
MAINTENANCE ACCESS.
Below that, a faded stencil warning, barely readable:
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
From the other side came nothing—no sound, no footsteps.
Only a thin, cool draft slipping under the door, carrying the smell of mildew and long-forgotten time, as if whispering a quiet warning.
He pressed his ear right against the cold metal, barely breathing.
"If this actually leads somewhere safe… please. Just this once."
Behind him, deeper in the factory, something clanged against metal.
One footstep.
Then another.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming straight for him.
Han Jiang's hand flew back to the knob, fingers clamping down—
Ding!
A bright, golden chime sliced through the thick air—way too clean and cheerful for this place.
It rang straight into his skull like someone had struck a bell right beside his ear.
[Congratulations, Host.]
The Unseen System's voice slid in, calm and almost friendly in its flat, mechanical tone.
[Your Newbie Gift Pack has arrived. Would you like to claim it now? This package contains essential starter resources tailored to your first Shift. Claiming is highly recommended under current pursuit conditions.]
[Y / N]
Han Jiang blinked hard, chest still heaving.
"What the—? A newbie gift pack? Right now? Of all the fucking times—"
Tud. Tud. Tud.
The footsteps behind him grew heavier.
No more dragging.
They had weight now.
Purpose.
"Why the hell did it wait until I'm about to get eaten?" he hissed, voice cracking.
"Is this thing screwing with me on purpose? Playing games while I'm running for my life? Screw your timing!"
The steps were so close he could feel the vibrations through the floor.
"No time to stand here yelling at floating text!"
He swallowed, throat burning.
"Yes! Accept! Claim it! Now!"
The moment the words left his mouth, everything inside him changed.
A rush of warmth started low in his spine and shot upward, like liquid sunlight flooding his veins.
His scalp tingled violently.
Strands of his black hair lightened fast—the roots shifting to a bright golden-blonde that caught the weak fluorescent light and threw it back sharper, almost metallic.
The color raced through every strand, soaking in like dye in water, until his whole head gleamed—sweat-soaked and messy, shining like polished gold under the dying factory lights.
His pupils tightened, then flared wide.
The dark brown drained away, replaced by a vivid, glowing gold that made the whites of his eyes look unnaturally bright.
He did not see any of it.
He could not.
All he cared about was staying alive.
His muscles shook hard—not from tiredness anymore, but from whatever was rewriting him from the inside.
Fibers pulled tighter, stronger, twitching with power that did not feel human.
His heart pounded faster, pushing something hotter than blood through his veins.
He still noticed none of it.
The footsteps were right there.
Han Jiang grabbed the knob again and twisted with everything he had left.
Click.
Nothing.
Still locked tight.
The keyhole just stared back, empty and useless.
"Dammit!"
He slammed his fist into the metal.
The bang echoed sharp and pointless.
"You've got to be kidding me. After all that?"
He stepped back once, then again, eyeing the door.
It looked solid enough, but the hinges were eaten through with rust and the frame had warped over the years.
Maybe… just maybe.
A tired, crooked grin pulled at his mouth anyway.
"Alright. Hard way it is."
He sucked in what felt like his last real breath.
"One… two… three—now!"
He exploded forward, shoulder down, body lined up, every bit of that strange new strength driving the charge.
He hit the door like a truck.
The crash was brutal.
Metal shrieked.
The rusted lock snapped clean off with a loud crack.
The whole door caved inward, hinges tearing free in a spray of orange flakes and dust.
Momentum carried him straight through.
He stumbled over the threshold, shoulder first.
The wrecked door clanged and skidded across whatever waited on the other side.
Darkness swallowed him.
Not the weak, flickering kind from the factory—this was total.
Pitch black so thick it felt like wet velvet pressing against his face.
He could not see his own hand when he raised it.
He could not see the floor.
There was no floor.
He was falling.
Cold wind roared past his ears, endless.
His stomach flipped.
The broken door tumbled somewhere below, clanging faintly as it disappeared into nothing.
Han Jiang flailed wildly, mouth open in a scream that never quite came out.
The faint golden glow from his new hair and eyes was the only light left—small and lonely in all that emptiness.
His consciousness started to drift.
Limbs turned to lead.
Thoughts broke apart, sluggish and jagged.
*What… is this…? No corridor anymore. Just… nothing. Falling…*
The system chimed once more, quieter this time, almost kind.
[Ghost Controller Contract Established.]
Those words settled over him like warm chains.
[Transformation Sequence Initiated. Integrating starter essence…]
His body jerked hard in the darkness.
The golden tone in his hair grew richer.
Strands rose on their own as if tugged by some unseen breeze.
His golden pupils flared wide, pulling in the black even while his sight dimmed.
[Progress: 21%… 29%… 44%…]
A weird calm crept in over the panic.
The falling feeling faded—or maybe he was just learning to ride it.
His muscles stopped shaking.
They thrummed now, charged with something that definitely was not human anymore.
[Progress: 70%…]
Memories that did not belong to him flickered at the edges—blue uniforms, the sharp stink of dye vats, a rough shove between the shoulder blades, then the icy slap of liquid swallowing him whole.
A voice, far off and hollow, kept repeating the same thing.
*I didn't fall. I was pushed.*
Han Jiang's lips twitched, forming the words with no sound.
[Progress: 99%…]
The last stubborn scrap of who he used to be held on tight—scared, yes, but carrying this quiet, unexpected thread of hope.
The void drew nearer.
Warmer.
Almost inviting.
And then—
The chapter hung there in the dark, waiting for whatever would come when the transformation finally finished its work.