In the blink of an eye, before the administrator could react, a dark shadow sliced through the air like a hurled javelin, striking with lethal precision.
It embedded itself in the creature’s skull with a sickening crunch.
The administrator raised a bony hand, wrenching the object free—a rusted iron rod, its surface pitted with decay.
Xu Dengming, the one who’d thrown it, didn’t pause to admire her handiwork.
The monster’s strength was overwhelming, and she knew better than to waste a single second.
She darted along her planned escape route, dodging with desperate agility.
The air, sharp with a stinging reek, flooded her lungs as she ran.
Her chest felt like it might burst, each breath a struggle against the burning strain of exertion.
In mere seconds, a violent gust of wind closed in from behind.
Her passive skill, [Intuition], faithfully warned her of the iron rod’s return trajectory—three seconds until it would pierce her heart.
Xu Dengming dropped low, rolling to the side to evade the attack from behind.
The rusted rod grazed her cheek, whistling past before embedding itself deep in the ground.
This chase was different from the last.
Fresh from shedding its human skin, the administrator moved nearly fifty percent faster, its motions now eerily fluid.
The only thing keeping it from overtaking Xu Dengming was the cluttered floor, strewn with debris that hindered both predator and prey.
A deafening “crash” echoed behind her.
Xu Dengming veered sharply, changing direction.
Unlike her, a non-combatant human forced to jump and slide from the obstacles, the administrator simply smashed through them.
It obliterated an old wooden cabinet in its path, sending splinters flying like rain.
Some struck Xu Dengming’s back, sharp and unforgiving.
Injuries were inevitable.
Though [Intuition] helped her dodge lethal threats, her stamina and reflexes couldn’t always keep up with its warnings.
Pain seared across her back, hot and relentless.
From the moment she’d thrown the rod to the first hit she took, only thirty seconds had passed.
At the spot where Xu Dengming had been dodging, Dong Shaodan had already leaped into action, sprinting toward the reception desk.
Her heart pounded from exertion and dread, her palms clammy with sweat.
She saw the administrator’s movements—Xu Dengming’s time was running out.
One misstep, and the skeletal creature’s wrath would claim her.
“JAJAJAJA…”
Dong Shaodan wasn’t the only one fleeing.
The chaotic clatter of interns’ footsteps reverberated through the empty first-floor hall, growing fainter as they scattered, their sounds fading into the distance.
Dong Shaodan, now at the reception desk, turned her head in shock, her gaze freezing for a moment.
She was among the first to reach the desk but now found herself one of the last three remaining.
The backs of her temporary allies vanished up the staircase, some moving with ruthless speed, their resolve unshaken, while others hesitated, torn between helping and fleeing.
The temptation to escape the first floor was overwhelming, especially as their mental states frayed under the relentless pressure.
Instinct often won out.
Dong Shaodan’s lips tightened, a flicker of struggle passing through her eyes.
“Clang!”
In the distance, another wooden cabinet was sent flying from a pile of debris.
Xu Dengming rolled across the floor, her body streaked with dirt, her clothes torn, blood seeping from her wounds.
After just a few exchanges, she was already battered, her endurance nearing its limit.
The skeletal administrator’s fleshless face twisted into something disturbingly akin to rage as Xu Dengming slipped away yet again.
It had come so close to seizing its prey multiple times, only for her to evade with an uncanny awareness, as if eyes watched from the back of her head.
Her escape routes grew ever more cunning.
Realizing the administrator’s strength surpassed her expectations, Xu Dengming began choosing larger, heavier objects as cover, forcing it to expend effort to clear its path.
The distance between Administrator and Xu Dengming shrank, then widened, then shrank again in a relentless dance.
From the reception desk’s doorway, Dong Shaodan tore her gaze from the staircase.
She took a deep breath and turned to the radio.
One glance confirmed her suspicions: the earlier chaos had not only loosened the plug but fried the internal wiring.
Without tools, repairing it would take five or six minutes—far too long.
The administrator could clear the first floor and don its favored human skin at leisure in that time.
If knowledge couldn’t solve this, Dong Shaodan had only one option left.
Her hand trembled as she placed it gently on the radio.
An invisible force flowed from her touch into the device.
With a faint “sizzle”, the internal circuits stirred, as if infused with life.
They writhed like tangled worms, stretching and mending themselves.
At the 63rd second of Xu Dengming’s distraction, the radio was repaired.
When power returned, a soft, flowing melody drifted from the reception desk.
Dong Shaodan released the radio, slumping against the wall, her legs trembling as if unable to bear her weight any longer.
She looked terrible—pale, her gaze unfocused.
Had Xu Dengming seen certain Special Affairs Bureau files, she’d recognize the signs of ability overexertion.
As Dong Shaodan began to slide to the floor, a hand caught her arm.
It was Xu Dengming, looking no better.
Her once-clean jacket was stained with blood, her mobility owed entirely to a basic healing agent.
Her voice was low but firm.
“We leave together.”
The hypothesis, unproven until now, was confirmed: as the music played, the skeletal administrator slowed, its movements rusty and uncertain.
It stood motionless for a moment, then shuffled back toward the reception desk.
Its human skin was ruined, but it retrieved its coat, draping it over its frame once more.
Before it returned, Xu Dengming had already helped Dong Shaodan away, also pulling along Fang Jialing, who’d been stranded with a leg injury.
Xu Dengming glanced back.
For a fleeting moment, she considered attacking the administrator outright, but with no evidence to confirm whether the music’s calming effect extended to “never striking back,” she held off.
The three were the last interns to leave the first floor.
Abandoning comrades likely doomed to die was immoral, yet it was a choice many made in the face of such terror.
***
Zhao Yuni was an ordinary resident of the outer city, fortunate enough to land a job offer from the Administration.
Four days ago, he’d moved into the designated dorms for new hires.
He often daydreamed about his career prospects, but today, those hopes had vanished.
As he fled toward the second floor, his mind held only the raw fear of death.
Zhao Yuni ran faster than he ever had in his life, but as he neared a corner, his right foot slipped.
His body pitched forward, and he crashed to the ground, his elbow slamming into a step.
Pain blackened his vision, and the chaotic stampede of footsteps roared past.
Other interns raced by, none stopping, one even stepping on his hand in their haste.
Fear eroded reason, and the mental corrosion stripped away human restraint.
When Zhao Yuni finally dragged himself up, the other interns were gone.
He stared at his hand, swollen and red from being trampled, each movement sending sharp pain through him.
His finger bones were twisted—broken, perhaps?
He tried moving them, wincing not just at the pain but at the greasy sensation on his fingertips, like unwashed hands after a meal.
He stood frozen for two seconds, then looked down at the floor.
Only then did he realize his fall wasn’t due to reckless speed.
A layer of grease coated the stair corner, likely spilled from the second floor, now dried and visible only at certain angles.
Zhao Yuni sniffed the air, catching a faint, meaty aroma.
The colleague lost in the rain, the administrator shedding its skin—these were warnings not to assume the second floor was safe.
But turning back wasn’t an option.
Upward lay unknown dangers; downward, certain doom.
Zhao Yuni took a tentative step toward the unknown.
In the silence, he crept onto the second floor.
He’d intended to head straight for the third-floor dorms, but at the corner, he couldn’t resist glancing down the hallway.
It wasn’t mealtime, yet the preparation room’s door—usually locked tight—was slightly ajar.
A strange, meaty scent wafted out.
He tried to look away but found himself drawn to the gap.
Fifteen minutes earlier, Qin Lingge had rushed back to the second floor with the crowd, his mind still reeling.
Terror and a strange exhilaration pulsed through the group.
A cold breeze swept the hallway, and Qin Lingge sneezed twice in quick succession.
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