The soft tap-tap of keys echoed through the dim, cluttered room.
Rin Nakamura sat hunched over her aging laptop, blue light flickering across her sharp cheekbones and tired eyes. Her short, dark hair-tied back into a messy bunch-brushed her neck as she typed. Her fingers moved with quiet precision, fast and practiced from years of slipping past firewalls.
Lines of code vanished. The security defenses of another soulless corporation-one that bled money from Seoul's working-class families-crumbled like wet cardboard.
Rin's lips curled into a small, humorless smile. Just another night. Just another target. It wouldn't make her rich, but it kept the power on and the noodles coming.
The scent of old broth and soy clung to the air. Empty takeout boxes were stacked beside the sink, which groaned under a mountain of dirty bowls. Her worn leather jacket hung from the back of her chair like a tired sentry.
On the table beside her, a sketchbook lay open. A simple pencil drawing of Hana smiled up at her-gentle curves, bright eyes, a memory caught in graphite. Rin's chest tightened.
Hana had given her that book years ago, back when things felt lighter.
"For when you need to see something real, Reel,"
Hana had said, with that soft grin Rin couldn't forget.
The sketchbook was all she had left now.
A burst of static cracked through the silence.
The old radio on the windowsill coughed, its voice warped and strangled by noise. Rin turned the knob, frowning.
"ECHO tests... leak... something broke containment..."
The message was fractured, buried in static. Another tinfoil-hat broadcast? Seoul had no shortage of conspiracy theories these days-Project ECHO, secret labs, people vanishing.
She pushed the worry aside. Paranoia didn't pay rent.
Outside, the city pulsed with life: the rumble of buses, the flicker of neon, distant K-pop beats drifting from Gangnam. Usually, the noise comforted her. It kept the silence away.
But tonight felt... different.
Like the city was holding its breath.
Her eyes fell back to the sketchbook. The smile in the drawing warmed her for a moment, before the ache returned. They used to spend hours drawing, laughing, sharing cheap noodles and late-night playlists. Then Hana moved to Busan. The calls stopped. Maybe Rin had pulled away too much.
Too guarded. Too closed off.
Her laptop dinged-access granted.
She leaned back, started the download.
"They won't know what hit them,"
she muttered.
Then the radio screamed.
A sound like metal tearing-and something wet being dragged-filled the room. Her hands froze. The knob wouldn't turn. The signal was gone.
Then-
A scream. Raw. Outside.
Rin jumped and ran to the window. She wiped the fog from the glass with her sleeve.
Below, the street looked wrong. Tilted. Dreamlike.
A man staggered under a streetlamp, limbs jerking like a puppet on broken strings. His head lolled. His skin sagged-waxy, stretched too thin.
More figures joined him, moving stiffly. Their eyes glowed faintly, like coins under water.
Rin backed away from the glass.
"What the hell..."
The radio buzzed again.
"ECHO... louder than voices... changing patterns..."
Then silence.
Her heart thumped. Her skin prickled. She reached for the lead pipe behind the fridge-a leftover from a bad job in Itaewon. Cold. Solid. Familiar.
Her hand trembled before she forced it still.
She flipped open the sketchbook. Pencil met paper. She sketched fast-shambling figures, hollow eyes, the tension clawing at her chest. Drawing steadied her. It always had.
Another scream.
Closer.
The building shook. Lights flickered-then died.
The laptop's glow blinked out.
"Damn it," she whispered.
Heavy, uneven footsteps echoed from the hallway. A soft dragging sound. A clicking noise.
She cracked the door open.
Mr. Kim stood outside. Or what was left of him.
His mouth hung open too wide. His eyes glowed a sickly yellow. Something squirmed beneath his skin. When he spoke, the sound crawled from his throat:
"Rin..."
She slammed the door, chest heaving.
The radio buzzed one last time:
"Lab... Seoul... broken containment... mimics..."
Her brain connected the dots. The rumors. The broken people. The signal.
They weren't just sick.
They were changed.
Twisted into human shapes-but hollow. Hungry.
Echoes of who they used to be.
She had to go.
Now.
Rin shoved her laptop into her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and grabbed her old . She tucked the sketchbook inside. The pipe felt heavy in her grip.
The hallway outside was darker now.
The walls made a soft, clicking sound.
They were here.
jacket
And they knew her name.