Nikke, something’s seriously wrong with this evacuation point! Chapter 49 49: So I Really Was Going in Circles

Perfect Apartnt… he had finally arrived.

Charon lay on the ground for quite a while before finally sitting up again.

He was now in the apartnt's reception hall. Judging by the interior, this was a high-end apartnt complex. Fully equipped, luxurious–without a certain level of wealth, you simply wouldn't qualify to live here.

The floor was covered in expensive soundproof carpet. A faint fragrance lingered in the air. The golden warning text that had been on the wall earlier had disappeared, replaced by a polite greeting:

"We wish you a pleasant stay."

There was even a smiling emoticon at the end.

As he stood up holding the package, he noticed what seed to be a figure behind the reception desk. But when he looked closer, he realized–

it wasn't a person.

It was a receptionist uniform floating in midair, as if worn by an invisible human.

Charon walked over with the package. His gaze was quickly drawn to a thick leather-bound book.

On the cover were the words:

"Resident Registration Ledger"

At that mont, it was as if sothing seized control of him, he felt an overwhelming urge to rush forward, grab the elegant golden pen beside it, and sign his na.

Just as he was about to move–

his body froze in place.

The force restraining him ca from the courier uniform he was wearing.

When he realized this, cold sweat broke out across his body.

Clearly, if he hadn't co here as a courier, if he had entered by accident, he would have signed it.

And then… he would have truly beco a "resident" of this place.

The consequences would likely be far worse than he could imagine.

Noticing his reaction, the receptionist's invisible gaze seed to evaluate him…

–or rather, his uniform.

Then, the invisible receptionist put away the resident ledger and took out another book.

This one looked old and worn, along with a cheap ballpoint pen.

"Temporary Visitor Register"

This ti, there was no strange compulsion.

Charon let out a breath of relief and stepped forward to open it.

Inside, there was only one entry:

Courier (na blacked out)

He had seen the courier outside.

That ant, as long as he maintained that identity, the apartnt wouldn't forcibly assimilate him.

This place… was far more dangerous than he thought.

Even if he couldn't truly die, the sheer strangeness left him ntally shaken.

After signing his na, he handed the notebook back.

At that mont, the invisible receptionist spoke for the first ti:

"You have thirty minutes."

The voice was distorted, heavy, nothing like sothing a human could produce.

But Charon had no choice but to ignore it.

As if disappearing into thin air, the uniform floated away into a nearby cloakroom and hung itself up, becoming completely motionless.

Like a dead object.

Charon checked the mission interface–

and, as expected, a 30-minute countdown had appeared.

He took a deep breath.

Now was not the ti to rush blindly upward.

Like that previous courier, he could wander in circles forever and never find Room 404.

And he definitely didn't want to find out what would happen after thirty minutes.

He needed information about this apartnt.

He searched the reception desk.

As expected, besides the two ledgers, there was a locked glass cabinet containing:

a bunch of keys

a severed hand

and a notebook titled "Complaint Records"

The cabinet was locked.

But Charon had sothing capable of dealing with locks—

the "physical holy sword" (crowbar).

Normally, he would need to search for a key.

But if he could skip that step–why not?

With a harsh tallic screech, the lock was easily destroyed.

He opened the cabinet.

Most of the contents were aningless neighbor complaints–argunts and petty conflicts from different floors.

But there was nothing about the fourth floor.

Still, a few entries stood out:

...

Note: "The resident on the 3rd floor with neurasthenia filed another complaint. He says soone is hamring nails inside his wall, always in a rhythm of 'two heavy, one light.' Could this be so kind of code? Check the surveillance."

...

Joint Complaint Letter: "Property Manager: Please explain the noise underground! Every night, we hear heavy breathing beneath the floor. According to the building layout, there is no basent. We demand a reasonable explanation!"

...

The third floor… and a nonexistent basent.

He morized both.

He explored the first floor a bit more.

There were no stairs leading underground.

There was an elevator–it looked operational–but no matter how many tis he pressed the button, it didn't respond.

Clearly, it wasn't ant for him.

He hadn't intended to use it anyway.

In a place like this–no one in their right mind would trust an elevator.

...

[Ti Remaining: 24:45]

Ti was short.

He couldn't afford to dwell on it.

He found the stairwell and began climbing.

He had expected sothing strange to happen there–

but nothing did.

In less than ten seconds, he went from the first floor to the third.

He pushed open the fire door and entered the hallway.

...

The atmosphere on the third floor was completely different.

Beige wallpaper.

A thermoter on the wall read 24°C (75,2°F).

A faint floral scent lingered in the air.

But most importantly–

the hallway was circular.

It didn't match the building's exterior shape at all.

Now he finally understood what the previous courier ant by walking in circles.

He really was going in circles.

In front of him, the door was labeled 315.

Across from it–316.

Next to 315–317.

Each door faced a wall, preventing any awkward face-to-face alignnt.

As for why he didn't go to the fourth floor–

simple.

There was no fourth floor.

The third floor was the highest level.

The stairwell ended here.

...

Now, his only clues were:

the delivery note

the knocking pattern ntioned in the complaint

He needed to find where that "neurasthenic resident" lived.

For the next ten minutes, Charon walked along the corridor.

And during that ti, he noticed many abnormalities.

The peepholes on the doors were strange.

Standing outside, he could see inside the rooms through them.

Most were completely dark.

But occasionally, he would see a clean, tidy room–

completely empty.

As he continued walking, faint whispers began to erge.

They ca from behind the doors.

From reflections on the floor, he could even see the "residents" inside.

There were even suggestive, seductive sounds, designed to lure him into opening the doors.

Clearly–

if he opened one,

the outco would no longer be his choice.