NoveLight ™
Attempt 3
[User: Han Kain (Wisdom)
Date: Day 22
Location: Floor 1, Room 101 (Room of Curses – Media of Distorted Logic)
Sage's Advice: 3]
Exploring the Basement
I considered heading upstairs. Surely, there would be more to discover there, but the risk was too high.
The upper floors were office spaces, likely teeming with people. While the Administration Bureau badge functioned like a magical pass, it could only push people away—it couldn’t remove them entirely. Navigating a crowded space alone would be dangerous.
Instead, I decided to explore the basement. It seemed safer for now, and I could return with the team to conduct a more thorough search during the next attempt.
---Click. Click.---
The sound of my footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. There wasn’t a single person around. The absence of cursed individuals brought welcome relief from the headaches and tinnitus.
But the silence itself felt unnatural.
This was the parking garage, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t there be people moving between their cars and the main building?
The emptiness only heightened the feeling that I was heading in the right direction.
The deeper I went, the eerier it felt. Despite all the horrors I’d faced in the hotel, the unease of being completely alone in this setting crept over me.
Eventually, I reached the underground parking lot. I spotted a security booth near the entrance.
I inhaled deeply, ready to rely on the badge again—
And immediately recoiled, clutching my nose.
The Stench
The air reeked of rot and decay, so putrid it rivaled the foulest of public restrooms or decomposing garbage dumps.
It was unbearable.
The nauseating odor wafted from the parking lot itself.
The logical part of me wanted to turn back, but the investigator in me whispered otherwise. If something this abnormal existed here, it had to be significant.
I forced myself to push through, bracing against the urge to vomit.
As I got closer to the source, I realized the stench wasn’t coming from the parking lot itself—it was emanating from the security booth.
The Security Booth
I approached cautiously, noting the lack of any cursed presence. My ability to sense infected individuals gave no indication of danger.
But the closer I got, the more overwhelming the stench became.
Bracing myself, I flung open the booth door—
And witnessed hell.
Hell Inside the Booth
The small space was a horrific tableau of human degradation:
Yet, among the filth, something even more horrifying caught my attention.
The Guard
A figure moved within the booth—a human, or what was left of one.
The man’s gaunt frame was reduced to skin and bones, his sunken eyes staring blankly as he staggered toward me.
His body was covered in scars, as if he’d gouged out his own eyes and torn apart his ears to block out the world. His left arm and right leg hung limp, almost useless.
"Y-you... Bureau... Why did it take you so long to come?"
"..."
"Ahh! Doesn't it smell lovely?"
"..."
"The food ran out a month ago. Guess what I’ve been eating?"
"..."
The skeletal figure dragged himself across the floor, gesturing weakly toward a single piece of paper.
Among the filth and despair, this paper stood out: clean, laminated, and eerily pristine.
I picked it up, and as I did, the man collapsed into the excrement and refuse.
"Would you... like to leave with me?"
"Please... have mercy. The item to your right... Use it."
...
---Bang!
I closed the booth door behind me.
Reflection
The man had found peace in death, freed from the torment of his existence.
He had not been cursed.
Perhaps he was lucky enough to recognize the abnormalities early and avoided being infected. His isolated post in the underground garage may have kept him safe from contact with others.
But even without the curse, he was not spared from the world’s descent into madness. Trapped and alone, he devolved into a shell of a human being.
The Laminated Paper
The paper was pristine, a stark contrast to the horrors of the booth. It bore three simple warnings:
The instructions were straightforward. I memorized them before discarding the paper—it still reeked of the booth.
Following the guidance, I continued my exploration.
Deeper Into the Basement
I ignored the cars in the parking lot and made my way across it, heading for the stairs to the second basement level.
Do not turn around, the paper had said.
I kept my eyes forward, descending to the second floor without incident.
The second basement was a maze of utility rooms, offices, and machine rooms. Like the upper level, it was deserted.
Eventually, I found the staircase leading to the third basement level—the storage room mentioned on the paper.
The Descent
As I began descending to the third basement, the sound of metal scraping against the floor echoed behind me.
...
The warning came back to me: Do not turn around.
I ignored the sound and continued downward.
A faint headache began to set in.
Finally, I reached the hallway of the third basement. I turned to look behind me—
Nothing.
The Storage Room
At the end of the hallway was a massive door. A flashlight hung on the wall nearby.
The paper’s instructions were clear: Do not use the light switch. Use the flashlight.
I opened the door and switched on the flashlight, sweeping it across the room.
Inside, the storage room was unremarkable—stacks of paper, office supplies, spare chairs and tables. It resembled any other supply closet.
I spent nearly 20 minutes combing through every corner, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
Reflection
So far, I’d found little of value in the basement:
Had I misunderstood something?
A Realization
Why had I come to the basement in the first place? For survival? No.
I came here to gather information.
But by following the warnings so carefully, I was prioritizing survival.
That wasn’t my role.
Breaking the Rules
To uncover the truth, I would need to break the warnings.
If I ended up dying, so be it. Seungyub would ensure our survival.
It was time for me to risk everything for answers.
The Cars
I returned to the parking lot. The stench was still overwhelming, and the rows of parked cars seemed eerily out of place.
There were so many vehicles—where were their owners?
I approached one of the heavily tinted cars and peered inside.
My heart stopped.
There was a person inside.
I hadn’t sensed them with my ability, which could only mean one thing: They weren’t cursed.
A Prison Inside the Car
What I saw defied explanation.
The car’s interior was not a car.
It revealed a different space altogether: a cold, metallic bed equipped with handcuffs.
A frail figure lay restrained, drooling, their body covered in filth.
I tapped the window. No response.
Something about the car felt... disconnected, as if the interior belonged to a completely separate dimension.
I smashed the window.
The person stirred, their hollow eyes meeting mine.
"Are you okay? Where is this? Who are you?"
"Student... Get the teacher. Please, get the teacher."
"What teacher? Who do you mean?"
"The teacher... the teacher... the teacher... the teacher..."
The voice trailed off as a metallic scraping sound echoed again.
The man’s expression changed to one of abject terror.
"They’re coming... The nurse is coming. Please, get me out of here. Save me."
This man wasn’t cursed. He was just... broken.
I stepped back as the shattered window repaired itself, leaving no trace of my intrusion.
The same scene repeated in two other cars. Each contained a restrained, incoherent individual, begging for a teacher or warning of an approaching nurse.
Next, I would test the second warning: turning around on the stairs.
But first, I loaded my gun with fresh ammunition.