《White Square》苏沐戚

6、The Missing Patients

　　Patient #6 entered Room 6.

　　He never came back out.

　　Time dragged. Ten minutes. Twenty. Half an hour. The door remained shut, and the silence grew heavier with every passing minute.

　　At first, no one dared to speak. But then the anxiety boiled over. One of the streamers, his face pale and twitching, raised his voice toward the nurses at the front desk.

　　"What's happening? Why isn't Patient Six coming out?"

　　For a heartbeat, the waiting room froze.

　　Then the nurses smiled.

　　Not polite smiles. Not human smiles. Their lips peeled back too wide, their teeth glistening faintly in the fluorescent light. The "patients" around them mirrored the expression—slack faces splitting into eerie grins, as if someone had tugged on invisible strings.

　　The air shifted. A stench unfurled—raw, metallic, unmistakably bloody. Somewhere in the room, someone burped. The sound was thick, wet, and the smell rolled out with it, clinging to the throat.

　　The call screen flickered:
　　[Room 6 — Patient #7, please enter.]

　　The streamer who had shouted wasn't holding #7. His slip had clearly been #24. But as he looked down in horror, the ink had changed. The paper in his hand now read 7.

　　Color drained from his face. "No—no, I'm not seven—I'm not—"

　　He stumbled back, shaking his head. But the nurses had already risen. Five women, all in starched white uniforms, moved in uncanny unison. Their hands clamped around his arms, shoulders, legs. He thrashed, screamed, begged—but their grip was iron.

　　They dragged him toward the door of Room 6.

　　The door shut behind them.

　　Ten minutes later, the burps began.

　　One after another, low and guttural, echoing through the waiting room. The same bloody reek spilled from each patient's mouth. It spread like a sickness, until the entire hall smelled of fresh kill and half-digested meat.

　　Xiao Jingyan's pulse hammered. He scanned the rows of bowed heads, the paper-thin skin, the wooden limbs, the hollow eyes now shining with wicked delight.

　　Are they even patients? The thought clawed at him. Or are they feeding?

　　He felt his stomach twist with nausea.

　　Beside him, Gu Qingchen laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. A soft pat, nothing more. But the weight of it was steady, deliberate. A wordless message: It's all right. Don't be afraid.

　　Xiao swallowed hard. For reasons he couldn't name, the touch steadied him—though his mind screamed otherwise.

　　Patient #7 never returned.

　　The screen called the next.

　　[Room 6 — Patient #8, please enter.]

　　A pale figure rose, shuffled inside. Ten minutes later, he reappeared, expression vacant, holding a slip for the blood-test room.

　　Xiao's gut tightened. Some went in and never came back. Some returned hollowed-out, half-souls walking toward their next task.

　　And then—

　　Room 2 opened.

　　No one saw the door swing. No sound, no shadow. Only the call screen flashing:
　　[Room 2 — Patient #1, please enter.]

　　Gu straightened his glasses. Patient #1 was him.

　　He moved forward, Xiao beside him. But before they could cross the threshold, a nurse stepped in their path.

　　"We're calling Patient One," she said, lips slicked with crimson. Her smile stretched too wide, hungrier than before.

　　Gu's tone was light, almost careless. "We're together."

　　The nurse's grin widened. "Together?" Her voice dripped with hunger. "You mean... two at once?"

　　Her teeth gleamed. Xiao felt the chill bite deep into his chest.

　　But Gu shook his head slowly. His voice was calm, certain. "No. Not two. We are a couple. Which means—we are one."

　　The nurse's smile faltered. Disappointment sank into her face like rot. She stepped back without another word.

　　Xiao didn't understand. But Gu's hand was already at his wrist, tugging him forward, pulling him through the doorway of Room 2.

　　The door shut behind them.

　　And the waiting room, with its bloody smiles and stinking breath, was gone.