Before reaching the emergency exit on the second floor, Jiang Hai let out a long breath and slowly looked around.
Compared to the complete darkness of the third floor, the second floor… well, it was somehow even worse.
Flickering lights hung overhead, many broken, with small lamps spaced far apart, casting dim patches across the hall. In a mental hospital, there was no telling if a patient lurked in the shadows. Even with Jiang Hai's sharp eyesight, the uneven lighting made navigation difficult.
He considered disguising himself as a patient, a doctor, a nurse, or even a security guard—but there was a problem: from the staff to the patients, he hadn't seen a single person of Asian descent. Impersonating anyone carried too high a risk of exposure. The thought gave him a headache.
Going in blind like this, with enemies and allies indistinguishable, was unnerving—but he had come too far to turn back empty-handed. Gritting his teeth, Jiang Hai pushed forward.
Slowly opening the door to the second floor, he stepped inside. Instantly, the overpowering stench of blood and disinfectant hit him. Based on the layout, the second floor housed doctors' offices, nurses' stations, the operating room, monitoring room, and the security guard's rest area. The smell suggested that many had died here.
Cautiously, he proceeded, unsure if any mentally ill patients lurked nearby.
Suddenly, a slightly withered hand reached out from the shadows. Jiang Hai froze. Closer inspection revealed a middle-aged man in a wheelchair, probably in his sixties or seventies, with a receding hairline and graying temples. He sat thin and still, staring directly at Jiang Hai. Only his cloudy eyes betrayed life. Jiang Hai's intuition told him the man posed no threat, so he exhaled slowly, circled him, and continued.
Soon, he reached the nurses' station. Anyone familiar with hospitals knows that doctors have offices, but nurses do not. Their stations are open spaces between corridors, stocked with medicine and supplies, sometimes with a television for entertainment during night shifts. Here, the TV flickered with static. Two bald men in patient gowns sat silently, staring at it.
The eerie scene sent a chill down Jiang Hai's spine. He could handle ordinary humans—even special forces—but these mentally ill patients were unpredictable. Their thoughts, their actions… the unknown was humanity's greatest terror.
As he stepped closer, the two men noticed him immediately. Jiang Hai quickened his pace, expecting chaos—but they didn't react. Instead, they turned back to the TV, oblivious to his presence.
Confused, Jiang Hai waved in front of one.
"Hey, you're blocking my view of the TV," the man said plainly. Jiang Hai blinked in surprise, then laughed quietly. So much for the guards' warnings—these patients weren't mute.
"This is… different," Jiang Hai murmured to himself.
"Sorry, could you tell me what happened here?" he asked, stepping aside and addressing the two men.
"What happened? Isn't it the same as usual?" one replied, puzzled.
"It's different. Didn't you notice the nurse has changed? The chef changed too."
"Oh, right, the chef's new. The food's terrible… today, there was even poop in the intestines! Hehehe… poop too, hehe… Look, Sun Wukong is going to fight the White Bone Demon!" the other exclaimed, pointing at the TV.
"Don't talk nonsense—that's Er Kang," the first corrected.
"Oh, Er Kang… surname Fu?" the second asked seriously.
"Ziwei was captured by the Black Mountain Demon. Besides, his surname is Er…"
Jiang Hai waved his hand. "Do you know Bruce David?"
"Bruce David? The man-eating guy?" one asked, eyebrows raised.
"Yes. Do you know him?" Jiang Hai pressed.
"Heard of him, never met him. Probably eaten by the Black Mountain Demon, hehehe…"
Jiang Hai rubbed his temples. Talking to them was maddening. He decided to stop.
"Excuse me, where's the monitoring room?" he asked.
"That way," one pointed. "The fat guy in the monitoring room's been lying there for four days."
"Maybe he's just tired. I often see him watching movies at night instead of sleeping. Dozens of shows at once… I envy him," the other added.
Jiang Hai smiled faintly and walked to the monitoring room. Outside, the fat guard lay sprawled, kitchen knives strapped to his body. Slowly, Jiang Hai pushed open the door, confirming no one else was inside before slipping in.
The monitoring room was the brightest on the floor, dozens of cameras blinking, capturing everything clearly. Jiang Hai checked the fat guard's pulse—dead. With effort, he dragged him to an open area and took a seat, ready to review the footage from four days ago.
At that time, a hurricane had battered the castle. Guards had retreated indoors, and the castle's sturdy fifty-year-old walls absorbed the storm's wrath. Inside, everything appeared normal—until noon.
Lunchtime. Most guards had left to eat. On the third floor, ward 17: a guard carrying a stack of magazine-like items entered and didn't emerge for a long time. When he finally did, a patient in a hospital gown outside, wearing a guard's uniform, acted as if he were one of them. He used a key to open doors on the third floor, releasing multiple lunatics who rushed toward the stairwell.
The monitoring room received alerts. Guards from the first-floor restaurant rushed to suppress the chaos. Unbeknownst to them, the patient-turned-guard had infiltrated the second floor. After knocking out a nurse with a stun gun, he prepared a drug to incapacitate anyone in his path.
While the guards and patients clashed on the first floor, he returned to the third floor, lingering in rooms, preparing more drugs. Then he hid on the second floor.
The guards quickly regained control, subduing the lunatics with stun guns in about two hours. The outside signal tower had gone down. Prisoners were escorted to their rooms on the third floor, never to emerge. Most were dressed in guard uniforms, stunted by drugs when the doors closed.
Jiang Hai leaned back in the chair, absorbing the horror. This was only the beginning.