“Room 101! The key!!!”
Chen Mo’s roar tore through the corridor like a mortally wounded beast’s final cry, thick with the metallic tang of blood. He charged like a maddened bull towards the heavy iron door at the corridor’s end, marked with the icy numerals “101.” His mind reeled with the bloody etchings Zheng Tai had left on the restroom wall, the putrid meat chunks from Xu Na’s satchel, and Xiaoyu’s deathly pale face. Fear and fury fused into a volatile accelerant, searing his very core!
“Chen Mo! Wait!” Wen Ying’s sharp command sliced through the air behind him, her footsteps pounding in pursuit.
Chen Mo was deaf to her call. He reached the door—a slab of sickly green paint, its handle bitingly cold. A massive, rust-scabbed padlock hung from it, an unyielding sentinel.
“Damn it!
