The Cataclysm Sequence - Chapter 46
Chapter 46: The Call for Help
Translation by: Weebsread๐น
Lin Tan gripped the broken pipe, standing guard before Ye Yuan. Sweat slicked her palm, mingling with rust until the metal felt sticky beneath her grasp.
At her feet, the battered Military Broadcast receiver spat out static—now and then, a snatch of garbled human voices cut through.
“...Rescue Team Two...”
“...western outskirts...”
“...maintain formation...”
The voices were faint. So faint, it was as if they drifted in from the far side of the wasteland.
Lin Tan paid them no mind. Her gaze never left the darkness at the end of the Abandoned Utility Corridor.
That arm—still half-lost in shadow—remained outstretched. Its skin had shriveled to a sickly gray-white, knuckles jutting, nails split and caked with blackened grime. Rust flakes wedged deep between the fingers.
It didn’t lunge like the Infected outside, didn’t attack. It simply hugged the floor, inching forward at a sluggish crawl. Then, the bony fingers tapped gently against a nearby iron pipe.
Thunk.
So soft.
Two heartbeats later, another tap.
Thunk.
Lin Tan’s back tensed, muscle by muscle.
That sound—she recognized it.
Before everything fell apart, whenever pipes clogged in the old dormitory or the radiators needed fixing, the maintenance workers would always rap the pipes with a wrench, listening for echoes—telling which sections were empty, which were blocked.
But no one should be knocking in this corridor now.
The hand twitched again.
From the darkness, a figure crept out, pressed low against the wall.
It wore a faded blue-gray jumpsuit, a cracked plastic badge dangling from its chest. The badge was smeared with filth; only the faint word “Maintenance” remained legible. The hardhat was long gone. Sparse, greasy hair clung to a skull with sunken cheeks and lips chapped like parched, split earth.
It was so thin. Emaciated—nothing like the ravenous Infected outside. No deep, guttural howling from its throat, only a dry, rasping wheeze, like a broken bellows struggling to force air through a blocked seam.
It raised its hand and tapped the pipe again.
Thunk. Thunk.
As if still calling for help.
Lin Tan’s grip tightened until her knuckles ached.
For a dizzying moment, she couldn’t tell if this thing was wholly lost to infection, or just a person trapped and dying.
But when its eyes lifted, all doubt froze inside her.
Murky. Ashen-gray.
Pupils blown wide, not a trace of human clarity left.
It heard the broadcast’s static. It smelled blood—Ye Yuan’s blood.
The maintenance worker Infected’s head turned, slow and deliberate, fixing on Ye Yuan.
In that instant, Lin Tan understood with chilling clarity: it wasn’t calling for help. That tapping was just a ghost of its former life.
Maybe, when it was still trapped underground, it had rapped on the pipes, waiting for rescue. But then the water ran out, the food ran out, and it died here, only to become this.
The instinct to call for help lingered in its body, but hunger had devoured everything else.
It crawled forward, slow and jerky.
Each movement seemed to drag its bones dangerously close to tearing through the threadbare jumpsuit.
But its path never wavered.
Ye Yuan was right behind her.
Lin Tan brought the broken pipe up across her chest, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Don’t come any closer.”
The Infected didn’t react.
It tapped the pipe again.
Thunk.
Then, suddenly, it sped up.
Not running—it was too weak for that. But the way it dragged its wasted body forward, scraping nails over concrete, the hem of its uniform trailing in the grime, the dry, cracked mouth opening to reveal yellow, bloodied teeth—
A chill crawled up Lin Tan’s spine.
She stepped back half a pace. Pain shot up her injured ankle like a hot knife, nearly knocking her off balance.
Ye Yuan was right behind her. She couldn’t give ground.
The Infected lunged.
Lin Tan jammed the pipe against its shoulder.
Only then did she realize—this thing, for all its frailty, was still far tougher than any normal human. It didn’t feel pain, didn’t flinch. It pressed its weight forward, jaws snapping at the pipe, teeth clacking hard against the rusted metal.
Her arms buckled, shoulder slamming into the wall.
The broadcast beside her foot shrieked with a burst of static.
Gritting her teeth, she shoved the pipe forward.
The Infected’s head was knocked aside, but its nails raked out, slashing the outside of her wrist. Pain exploded, hot and bright, nearly making her lose her grip.
She couldn’t let go.
If she let go, it would go straight for Ye Yuan.
With a strangled snarl, Lin Tan jammed her knee against the pipe, forcing the Infected against a rack of abandoned valve wheels.
The metal frame rattled.
The Infected’s back thudded against it, letting out a hoarse, guttural cry. Its arms scrabbled along the pipe, nails digging into rusted iron, trying to wrench it from Lin Tan’s grasp.
Her arms went numb from the strain.
She knew she couldn’t hold out long.
She wasn’t Ye Yuan—didn’t have his reflexes, couldn’t cleave through an Infected’s skull with a single blow. She’d spent her life dismantling computers, rewiring circuits, fixing access control systems. Her hands were meant for screwdrivers, wire strippers, multimeters—not a pipe slick with blood and filth.
But now, Ye Yuan lay unconscious behind her.
The broadcast still crackled.
The rescue team had no idea where they were.
In this corridor, only she was still conscious.
Suddenly, the Infected let go of the pipe, collapsing to the floor and slipping out of her grasp.
Lin Tan’s heart dropped.
The next second, it lunged for Ye Yuan.
“Don’t touch him!”
She dove, her injured foot skidding on the ground, nearly sending her sprawling. The pipe struck the Infected’s back, knocking it off balance but not stopping its crawl.
It was less than half a meter from Ye Yuan’s arm.
Ye Yuan slumped in the corner, eyes closed, his longsword lying at his side.
The blade was a ruin—no longer sharp, the edge nicked and chipped, black blood dried along the spine like a stain that would never wash off.
Lin Tan dropped the pipe and grabbed the sword hilt.
It was heavy. So much heavier than she’d imagined.
Blood slicked the grip, nearly sending it slipping from her hands. She had to use both hands just to drag it up.
The Infected heard the movement, twisted its head.
Those gray, empty eyes fixed on her.
Lin Tan’s breath stuttered.
She’d seen Ye Yuan wield this sword. When he fought, it was as if he cast aside all fear, all distraction. The moment he raised the blade, the panic, the blood, the howling Horde—all of it seemed to fall silent.
But in her hands, the sword was only heavy.
So heavy that her wrists trembled, so heavy she could barely lift it.
The Infected crawled toward her.
Back pressed to the wall, Lin Tan forced the tip up, both hands gripping the hilt.
She didn’t retreat.
She couldn’t.
As the Infected lunged, she shut her eyes for a split second—then forced them open.
Fragments of Ye Yuan’s movements flashed through her mind.
Don’t swing wildly.
You have to stab.
Aim for the head.
Kill it.
The Infected lunged onto the blade.
The tip didn’t pierce the eye as she’d hoped, but jammed up under the cheekbone with a sickening crunch. The impact nearly dislocated her wrist, knocked her back into the wall.
The Infected didn’t die.
Its mouth gaped, only a hand’s breadth from her wrist.
The stench of rot hit her face.
Her stomach lurched.
She threw her entire weight onto the hilt, bracing with her feet, her shoulders, arms, and back all driving forward.
“Go in,” she gasped, voice shaking. “Go in!”
The battered blade forced its way through bone, inch by inch.
A faint pop—like stabbing through wet paper.
The Infected’s body went rigid.
But it still moved.
Its shriveled fingers clamped onto her sleeve, nails tearing the fabric, nearly scraping skin. Lin Tan’s eyes burned with tears, teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached, hands shaking from the strain, but she didn’t let go.
The sword finally slipped deeper.
With a soft, sickening squelch.
The Infected’s body jerked, then froze.
But its hand still gripped her sleeve, mouth still working, throat rasping brokenly.
Thunk.
Its other hand, limp at its side, tapped the pipe once more.
Thunk.
Like knocking on a door, one final time.
Tears rushed to Lin Tan’s eyes.
Fear, nausea, pain, and the absurd horror of killing—by her own hand—someone who might once have desperately called for help in this very darkness, all crashed over her at once.
But she didn’t let go.
She closed her eyes, then opened them again, using the last of her strength to twist the hilt sideways.
The Infected’s body finally slumped.
Silence settled over the corridor.
Only the static of the broadcast remained, and the distant, tearing sounds of the Horde above.
Lin Tan leaned against the wall, still gripping the sword, chest heaving.
It was several seconds before she managed to pull the blade free.
The Infected collapsed, the badge on its chest flipping over.
The name was obscured by mud and blood, only a blurred corner of a photo visible.
The man in the photo wore the same jumpsuit, a simple, honest smile on his face.
Lin Tan turned away.
She bent over, retched, but nothing came up—her stomach was already empty.
Wiping the sourness from her lips with her sleeve, she checked her wrist.
Scratches. No bite.
She stared at the bloody welts for a few breaths, making sure her skin was only torn by nails, not teeth, before finally letting out a shaky breath.
A low voice sounded behind her.
“Were you bitten?”
Lin Tan spun around.
Ye Yuan had woken at some point, eyes half-open, gaze unfocused but fixed on her injured wrist.
Her grip on the sword tightened.
“No.”
Ye Yuan watched her, as if weighing whether she was telling the truth.
She held her wrist up for him to see, voice still raspy.
“Just scratches. No bite.”
Only then did the tension in Ye Yuan’s eyes ease.
He tried to lift his hand, but only his fingers twitched.
“The sword...”
“I didn’t lose it,” Lin Tan said, dragging the blade back to his side and slumping against the wall.
The sword was battered, stained with fresh blood, looking as if it had been dragged from a pile of corpses.
Ye Yuan glanced at the sword, then at the fallen maintenance worker Infected.
“You killed it?”
Lin Tan’s throat bobbed.
“Yeah.”
Ye Yuan was silent for a moment.
“You did well.”
The words were soft, but they landed like a weight on Lin Tan’s nerves, stretched to the breaking point.
Suddenly, she felt herself unraveling, sliding down to sit against the wall, hands still trembling, her voice brittle with forced bravado:
“Thanks for the compliment. Next time, don’t leave me to fight these things alone.”
Ye Yuan’s lashes fluttered, as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t find the strength.
“I’ll try.”
“Is ‘I’ll try’ the only thing you know how to say?”
“I know something else.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Don’t go too far from me.”
Lin Tan blinked, caught off guard.
The cold seeped through the corridor walls, the broadcast’s static stuttering on at her feet. Above, the Horde still hadn’t dispersed, and the rescue team’s voices sounded as distant as if they came from another city.
But in that moment, the hollow ache in her chest finally stopped deepening.
She gave a quiet, “Okay.”
Ye Yuan closed his eyes again.
Cycle of Withering and Renewal was still grinding away inside him, locking down the last spark of vitality. His wounds hadn’t healed; his body was far from recovered. But at least he was no longer sliding toward death.
That alone was a miracle.
Lin Tan braced herself on the wall and stood, dragging the broadcast receiver to her side.
The earlier struggle had knocked its receiver loose, worsening the static. She fiddled with the dials, and finally, snatches of human voices returned.
“...Rescue Team Two...entering north side of Logistics Park...”
“...discovered high-tier Infected body...repeat, high-tier Infected body discovered...”
“...Horde size abnormal...holding off on advancing...”
Lin Tan looked up at the ceiling above.
The Charred Husk Colossus’ corpse was still blocking the Horde.
But the rescue team was trapped outside.
They could hear the rescue—rescue, however, might not make it in.
She popped open the back of the receiver, using her emergency flashlight to check the wiring. She hadn’t had a chance to look before, but now, on closer inspection, she found that while the transmitter was missing, the antenna interface was intact, and the audio line wasn’t completely severed.
There were abandoned wires running along the corridor wall.
If she could splice the broadcast into those old lines, using the pipes themselves as conductors, she might not be able to transmit clear speech, but she could create a burst of abnormal electrical noise.
The rescue team might not understand.
But the Military’s comms operator would notice the irregular signal spike.
Lin Tan tapped the conduit open with her wrench.
Her movements were soft.
The maintenance worker Infected’s tapping echoed in her ears—again and again, like a plea for help that refused to fade, even in death.
She pressed her lips together, forced down the intrusive thoughts, and yanked out a few blackened wires.
Suddenly, the broadcast spat out a clearer snippet:
“...Team Two, note: underground corridor structure detected nearby...”
“...repeat, heavy thermal interference, possible underground cavity...”
Lin Tan’s fingers stilled for a second.
Then she worked even faster.
The insulation tape was stiff and wouldn’t tear; she bit it open with her teeth, twisting the bare wires together. Her wrist throbbed with pain, her palms were slick with blood and rust, but she didn’t stop.
Ye Yuan, half-conscious in the corner, could hear her breathing, the sound of tape tearing, wires twisting, the casing of the broadcast being pressed shut. He could hear the Military’s channel growing clearer in the battered receiver.
Sword Heart, Clarity Unveiled made those sounds stand out through his haze.
He could even trace those noises, roughly judging Lin Tan’s position.
No more than three meters away.
Not too far.
He sank back into the dark.
Lin Tan pressed the last wire into place. The static from the broadcast spiked, a sharp hiss.
Zzz—
The sound traveled along the corridor wall, a needle of noise stabbing into the further darkness.
She quickly lowered the volume, twiddling the dials.
A few seconds later, a new, unfamiliar voice came through.
“...Detected abnormal current echo just now.”
Lin Tan held her breath.
A brief pause.
Then the voice sharpened.
“Signal direction appears to originate from the underground corridor.”
“Repeat: anomalous echo detected in underground structure beneath Logistics Park, west outskirts.”
“Rescue Team Two, mark coordinates. Prepare to send a recon team down.”
Lin Tan’s fingers curled tight.
She glanced at Ye Yuan, still unconscious, then at the dead maintenance worker Infected.
The corridor was still cold, the darkness undiminished.
But this time, something in the blackness finally answered back.
She set the broadcast next to Ye Yuan, gripping the battered sword once more.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered. “They’ve found us.”
Translation by: Weebsread๐น
Lin Tan gripped the broken pipe, standing guard before Ye Yuan. Sweat slicked her palm, mingling with rust until the metal felt sticky beneath her grasp.
At her feet, the battered Military Broadcast receiver spat out static—now and then, a snatch of garbled human voices cut through.
“...Rescue Team Two...”
“...western outskirts...”
“...maintain formation...”
The voices were faint. So faint, it was as if they drifted in from the far side of the wasteland.
Lin Tan paid them no mind. Her gaze never left the darkness at the end of the Abandoned Utility Corridor.
That arm—still half-lost in shadow—remained outstretched. Its skin had shriveled to a sickly gray-white, knuckles jutting, nails split and caked with blackened grime. Rust flakes wedged deep between the fingers.
It didn’t lunge like the Infected outside, didn’t attack. It simply hugged the floor, inching forward at a sluggish crawl. Then, the bony fingers tapped gently against a nearby iron pipe.
Thunk.
So soft.
Two heartbeats later, another tap.
Thunk.
Lin Tan’s back tensed, muscle by muscle.
That sound—she recognized it.
Before everything fell apart, whenever pipes clogged in the old dormitory or the radiators needed fixing, the maintenance workers would always rap the pipes with a wrench, listening for echoes—telling which sections were empty, which were blocked.
But no one should be knocking in this corridor now.
The hand twitched again.
From the darkness, a figure crept out, pressed low against the wall.
It wore a faded blue-gray jumpsuit, a cracked plastic badge dangling from its chest. The badge was smeared with filth; only the faint word “Maintenance” remained legible. The hardhat was long gone. Sparse, greasy hair clung to a skull with sunken cheeks and lips chapped like parched, split earth.
It was so thin. Emaciated—nothing like the ravenous Infected outside. No deep, guttural howling from its throat, only a dry, rasping wheeze, like a broken bellows struggling to force air through a blocked seam.
It raised its hand and tapped the pipe again.
Thunk. Thunk.
As if still calling for help.
Lin Tan’s grip tightened until her knuckles ached.
For a dizzying moment, she couldn’t tell if this thing was wholly lost to infection, or just a person trapped and dying.
But when its eyes lifted, all doubt froze inside her.
Murky. Ashen-gray.
Pupils blown wide, not a trace of human clarity left.
It heard the broadcast’s static. It smelled blood—Ye Yuan’s blood.
The maintenance worker Infected’s head turned, slow and deliberate, fixing on Ye Yuan.
In that instant, Lin Tan understood with chilling clarity: it wasn’t calling for help. That tapping was just a ghost of its former life.
Maybe, when it was still trapped underground, it had rapped on the pipes, waiting for rescue. But then the water ran out, the food ran out, and it died here, only to become this.
The instinct to call for help lingered in its body, but hunger had devoured everything else.
It crawled forward, slow and jerky.
Each movement seemed to drag its bones dangerously close to tearing through the threadbare jumpsuit.
But its path never wavered.
Ye Yuan was right behind her.
Lin Tan brought the broken pipe up across her chest, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Don’t come any closer.”
The Infected didn’t react.
It tapped the pipe again.
Thunk.
Then, suddenly, it sped up.
Not running—it was too weak for that. But the way it dragged its wasted body forward, scraping nails over concrete, the hem of its uniform trailing in the grime, the dry, cracked mouth opening to reveal yellow, bloodied teeth—
A chill crawled up Lin Tan’s spine.
She stepped back half a pace. Pain shot up her injured ankle like a hot knife, nearly knocking her off balance.
Ye Yuan was right behind her. She couldn’t give ground.
The Infected lunged.
Lin Tan jammed the pipe against its shoulder.
Only then did she realize—this thing, for all its frailty, was still far tougher than any normal human. It didn’t feel pain, didn’t flinch. It pressed its weight forward, jaws snapping at the pipe, teeth clacking hard against the rusted metal.
Her arms buckled, shoulder slamming into the wall.
The broadcast beside her foot shrieked with a burst of static.
Gritting her teeth, she shoved the pipe forward.
The Infected’s head was knocked aside, but its nails raked out, slashing the outside of her wrist. Pain exploded, hot and bright, nearly making her lose her grip.
She couldn’t let go.
If she let go, it would go straight for Ye Yuan.
With a strangled snarl, Lin Tan jammed her knee against the pipe, forcing the Infected against a rack of abandoned valve wheels.
The metal frame rattled.
The Infected’s back thudded against it, letting out a hoarse, guttural cry. Its arms scrabbled along the pipe, nails digging into rusted iron, trying to wrench it from Lin Tan’s grasp.
Her arms went numb from the strain.
She knew she couldn’t hold out long.
She wasn’t Ye Yuan—didn’t have his reflexes, couldn’t cleave through an Infected’s skull with a single blow. She’d spent her life dismantling computers, rewiring circuits, fixing access control systems. Her hands were meant for screwdrivers, wire strippers, multimeters—not a pipe slick with blood and filth.
But now, Ye Yuan lay unconscious behind her.
The broadcast still crackled.
The rescue team had no idea where they were.
In this corridor, only she was still conscious.
Suddenly, the Infected let go of the pipe, collapsing to the floor and slipping out of her grasp.
Lin Tan’s heart dropped.
The next second, it lunged for Ye Yuan.
“Don’t touch him!”
She dove, her injured foot skidding on the ground, nearly sending her sprawling. The pipe struck the Infected’s back, knocking it off balance but not stopping its crawl.
It was less than half a meter from Ye Yuan’s arm.
Ye Yuan slumped in the corner, eyes closed, his longsword lying at his side.
The blade was a ruin—no longer sharp, the edge nicked and chipped, black blood dried along the spine like a stain that would never wash off.
Lin Tan dropped the pipe and grabbed the sword hilt.
It was heavy. So much heavier than she’d imagined.
Blood slicked the grip, nearly sending it slipping from her hands. She had to use both hands just to drag it up.
The Infected heard the movement, twisted its head.
Those gray, empty eyes fixed on her.
Lin Tan’s breath stuttered.
She’d seen Ye Yuan wield this sword. When he fought, it was as if he cast aside all fear, all distraction. The moment he raised the blade, the panic, the blood, the howling Horde—all of it seemed to fall silent.
But in her hands, the sword was only heavy.
So heavy that her wrists trembled, so heavy she could barely lift it.
The Infected crawled toward her.
Back pressed to the wall, Lin Tan forced the tip up, both hands gripping the hilt.
She didn’t retreat.
She couldn’t.
As the Infected lunged, she shut her eyes for a split second—then forced them open.
Fragments of Ye Yuan’s movements flashed through her mind.
Don’t swing wildly.
You have to stab.
Aim for the head.
Kill it.
The Infected lunged onto the blade.
The tip didn’t pierce the eye as she’d hoped, but jammed up under the cheekbone with a sickening crunch. The impact nearly dislocated her wrist, knocked her back into the wall.
The Infected didn’t die.
Its mouth gaped, only a hand’s breadth from her wrist.
The stench of rot hit her face.
Her stomach lurched.
She threw her entire weight onto the hilt, bracing with her feet, her shoulders, arms, and back all driving forward.
“Go in,” she gasped, voice shaking. “Go in!”
The battered blade forced its way through bone, inch by inch.
A faint pop—like stabbing through wet paper.
The Infected’s body went rigid.
But it still moved.
Its shriveled fingers clamped onto her sleeve, nails tearing the fabric, nearly scraping skin. Lin Tan’s eyes burned with tears, teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached, hands shaking from the strain, but she didn’t let go.
The sword finally slipped deeper.
With a soft, sickening squelch.
The Infected’s body jerked, then froze.
But its hand still gripped her sleeve, mouth still working, throat rasping brokenly.
Thunk.
Its other hand, limp at its side, tapped the pipe once more.
Thunk.
Like knocking on a door, one final time.
Tears rushed to Lin Tan’s eyes.
Fear, nausea, pain, and the absurd horror of killing—by her own hand—someone who might once have desperately called for help in this very darkness, all crashed over her at once.
But she didn’t let go.
She closed her eyes, then opened them again, using the last of her strength to twist the hilt sideways.
The Infected’s body finally slumped.
Silence settled over the corridor.
Only the static of the broadcast remained, and the distant, tearing sounds of the Horde above.
Lin Tan leaned against the wall, still gripping the sword, chest heaving.
It was several seconds before she managed to pull the blade free.
The Infected collapsed, the badge on its chest flipping over.
The name was obscured by mud and blood, only a blurred corner of a photo visible.
The man in the photo wore the same jumpsuit, a simple, honest smile on his face.
Lin Tan turned away.
She bent over, retched, but nothing came up—her stomach was already empty.
Wiping the sourness from her lips with her sleeve, she checked her wrist.
Scratches. No bite.
She stared at the bloody welts for a few breaths, making sure her skin was only torn by nails, not teeth, before finally letting out a shaky breath.
A low voice sounded behind her.
“Were you bitten?”
Lin Tan spun around.
Ye Yuan had woken at some point, eyes half-open, gaze unfocused but fixed on her injured wrist.
Her grip on the sword tightened.
“No.”
Ye Yuan watched her, as if weighing whether she was telling the truth.
She held her wrist up for him to see, voice still raspy.
“Just scratches. No bite.”
Only then did the tension in Ye Yuan’s eyes ease.
He tried to lift his hand, but only his fingers twitched.
“The sword...”
“I didn’t lose it,” Lin Tan said, dragging the blade back to his side and slumping against the wall.
The sword was battered, stained with fresh blood, looking as if it had been dragged from a pile of corpses.
Ye Yuan glanced at the sword, then at the fallen maintenance worker Infected.
“You killed it?”
Lin Tan’s throat bobbed.
“Yeah.”
Ye Yuan was silent for a moment.
“You did well.”
The words were soft, but they landed like a weight on Lin Tan’s nerves, stretched to the breaking point.
Suddenly, she felt herself unraveling, sliding down to sit against the wall, hands still trembling, her voice brittle with forced bravado:
“Thanks for the compliment. Next time, don’t leave me to fight these things alone.”
Ye Yuan’s lashes fluttered, as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t find the strength.
“I’ll try.”
“Is ‘I’ll try’ the only thing you know how to say?”
“I know something else.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Don’t go too far from me.”
Lin Tan blinked, caught off guard.
The cold seeped through the corridor walls, the broadcast’s static stuttering on at her feet. Above, the Horde still hadn’t dispersed, and the rescue team’s voices sounded as distant as if they came from another city.
But in that moment, the hollow ache in her chest finally stopped deepening.
She gave a quiet, “Okay.”
Ye Yuan closed his eyes again.
Cycle of Withering and Renewal was still grinding away inside him, locking down the last spark of vitality. His wounds hadn’t healed; his body was far from recovered. But at least he was no longer sliding toward death.
That alone was a miracle.
Lin Tan braced herself on the wall and stood, dragging the broadcast receiver to her side.
The earlier struggle had knocked its receiver loose, worsening the static. She fiddled with the dials, and finally, snatches of human voices returned.
“...Rescue Team Two...entering north side of Logistics Park...”
“...discovered high-tier Infected body...repeat, high-tier Infected body discovered...”
“...Horde size abnormal...holding off on advancing...”
Lin Tan looked up at the ceiling above.
The Charred Husk Colossus’ corpse was still blocking the Horde.
But the rescue team was trapped outside.
They could hear the rescue—rescue, however, might not make it in.
She popped open the back of the receiver, using her emergency flashlight to check the wiring. She hadn’t had a chance to look before, but now, on closer inspection, she found that while the transmitter was missing, the antenna interface was intact, and the audio line wasn’t completely severed.
There were abandoned wires running along the corridor wall.
If she could splice the broadcast into those old lines, using the pipes themselves as conductors, she might not be able to transmit clear speech, but she could create a burst of abnormal electrical noise.
The rescue team might not understand.
But the Military’s comms operator would notice the irregular signal spike.
Lin Tan tapped the conduit open with her wrench.
Her movements were soft.
The maintenance worker Infected’s tapping echoed in her ears—again and again, like a plea for help that refused to fade, even in death.
She pressed her lips together, forced down the intrusive thoughts, and yanked out a few blackened wires.
Suddenly, the broadcast spat out a clearer snippet:
“...Team Two, note: underground corridor structure detected nearby...”
“...repeat, heavy thermal interference, possible underground cavity...”
Lin Tan’s fingers stilled for a second.
Then she worked even faster.
The insulation tape was stiff and wouldn’t tear; she bit it open with her teeth, twisting the bare wires together. Her wrist throbbed with pain, her palms were slick with blood and rust, but she didn’t stop.
Ye Yuan, half-conscious in the corner, could hear her breathing, the sound of tape tearing, wires twisting, the casing of the broadcast being pressed shut. He could hear the Military’s channel growing clearer in the battered receiver.
Sword Heart, Clarity Unveiled made those sounds stand out through his haze.
He could even trace those noises, roughly judging Lin Tan’s position.
No more than three meters away.
Not too far.
He sank back into the dark.
Lin Tan pressed the last wire into place. The static from the broadcast spiked, a sharp hiss.
Zzz—
The sound traveled along the corridor wall, a needle of noise stabbing into the further darkness.
She quickly lowered the volume, twiddling the dials.
A few seconds later, a new, unfamiliar voice came through.
“...Detected abnormal current echo just now.”
Lin Tan held her breath.
A brief pause.
Then the voice sharpened.
“Signal direction appears to originate from the underground corridor.”
“Repeat: anomalous echo detected in underground structure beneath Logistics Park, west outskirts.”
“Rescue Team Two, mark coordinates. Prepare to send a recon team down.”
Lin Tan’s fingers curled tight.
She glanced at Ye Yuan, still unconscious, then at the dead maintenance worker Infected.
The corridor was still cold, the darkness undiminished.
But this time, something in the blackness finally answered back.
She set the broadcast next to Ye Yuan, gripping the battered sword once more.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered. “They’ve found us.”
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