Rin stood frozen in the subway tunnel.
The mimics' buzzing voices—"Rin… Jisoo… Jihoon…"—closed in like a trap, their pale eyes gleaming in the flickering light.
Her metal pipe trembled in her grip. It was sticky with blood from her torn arm, and the shallow cut burned under her ripped jacket.
Kyung's fading static echoed in her ears, a reminder of answers slipping away. His silhouette had disappeared into the tunnel split.
The recorder in her pocket—with Hana's desperate voice, "Find me…"—felt like a hot coal, a lure she couldn't ignore, a ghost she couldn't trust.
Jisoo braced herself beside Rin, her chipped butcher's knife raised. Her bloody shoulder trembled but was determined, and fresh blood dripped from her torn bandage, staining the ground.
Jihoon held his broken mop stick. Tears streaked his pale, dirty face, and he gasped in short, panicked breaths as the mimics crawled closer.
Their claws scraped the concrete walls, a rhythmic screech that dug into Rin's mind.
The air was thick with rust and decay, and the humming sound roared louder, a living pulse that seemed to fuel the mimics' relentless advance.
"Back!" Rin shouted, her voice sharp, breaking the tunnel's heavy silence.
She swung her pipe at the nearest mimic, its pale skull splitting with a wet crunch.
Black blood sprayed across the graffiti—"AMPLIFY US"—that covered the walls.
Jisoo slashed another mimic, her knife sinking deep into its chest with a squelch.
Her wounded arm shook, but her aim was precise, and her grunt of effort echoed off the concrete.
More mimics surged forward, their buzz weaving their names into a constant, layered hum, a chorus that tightened around Rin's heart like a wire.
Jihoon swung his stick, barely hitting one's arm. His cry was raw and desperate—"Stop it!"—as a mimic buzzed his sister's voice, softer now, almost pleading, a high, lilting tone that didn't belong in its gaping, jagged mouth.
The mimics paused, their heads tilting in unison, a jerky, unnatural motion that sent a chill down Rin's spine.
Their eyes flickered—not the pale, cloudy stare she'd come to dread but something new, clouded like memories trapped in frosted glass, shimmering with a faint recognition.
One stepped forward, its pale form less hunched, its claws twitching but not raised.
It spoke—"Rin… help…"—in Hana's voice, not the buzzing distortion but clear, achingly real, a perfect echo of her laugh, the one Rin heard in late-night talks over cheap ramen.
Rin's heart lurched, her grip on the pipe faltering. Her breath caught as if the tunnel's air had turned to ice.
It wasn't possible—Hana was in Busan, or gone, or worse—but the mimic's face softened, its sagging skin shifting, almost forming her features, eyes pleading in a way mimics didn't do.
Jisoo grabbed Rin's arm, her fingers bruising. Her voice was a hiss—"It's a trick, Rin!"—her practical side cutting through, but her eyes showed a flicker of doubt, and her knife wavered.
Jihoon sobbed, his stick clattering to the ground. His voice broke—"That's her…"
His sister's mimic mirrored the change, its claws retracting, its eyes shimmering with a hint of recognition, its buzz softening into a whisper that carried her giggle, the one he'd mentioned in the café.
Rin's mind raced, fragments colliding—the ECHO flyer in her jacket, Kyung's confusing words about "voices trapped," her old hacking job decoding voice amplification for ECHO's servers.
Mimics didn't just steal voices—they were evolving, pulling memories from the names they buzzed, weaving something deeper, something that felt alive.
She raised her pipe, aiming for the Hana-mimic's head, but stopped short as it flinched, its eyes wide and pleading.
Its pale hand reached out—not clawing, but open, like Hana's when she'd passed Rin the sketchbook years ago.
Rin's chest tightened, guilt and doubt choking her tough attitude, her arm frozen in mid-swing.
"We can't stay," Jisoo growled, dragging Jihoon back.
Her knife slashed a path through a mimic that hadn't changed, its buzz still raw and hostile.
Black blood sprayed, splattering her apron, her wounded arm trembling as she shoved Jihoon toward a tunnel exit.
Rin hesitated, the Hana-mimic's face fading, its buzz returning, a low drone that snapped her back to reality.
She swung her pipe, barely hitting its shoulder, unable to deliver the killing blow, and ran after Jisoo, her boots pounding the ground.
The tunnel shook with the hum's rising roar.
Graffiti flashed past—"HER VOICE LIVES" scrawled in red, dripping like blood, "ECHO IS US" in black.
The words blurred as her vision swam with Hana's fading eyes.
The mimics followed, their buzz now layered with laughter, screams, fragments of stolen memories—Hana's laugh, Jihoon's sister's giggle, voices that weren't theirs anymore.
They reached a subway platform, its rusted tracks gleaming faintly below.
A faint light flickered ahead from a cracked emergency lamp.
Rin's recorder slipped from her pocket, hitting the ground with a clatter.
Hana's voice looped—"Find me… find me…"—its tinny echo cutting through the hum, drawing the mimics faster, their claws scraping closer.
Jihoon screamed, pointing to the tracks—a new mimic emerged, larger than the rest.
Its pale skin was stretched tight over a frame that seemed to writhe, its face shifting in a grotesque flicker between Hana's, Jihoon's sister's, and another's—a man's, unfamiliar, angular, eyes burning with recognition.
Its buzz was a deafening chorus, a cacophony of stolen voices weaving their names—"Rin… Jisoo… Jihoon…"—layered with laughter, sobs, screams that tore at Rin's nerves.
It lunged, faster than the others, its claws outstretched.
Rin froze, pipe raised, her breath catching as its shifting face locked on hers, its voice dropping to a whisper, clear and cutting—"You left me…"
The words hit like a blade, Hana's voice but heavier, accusatory, pulling guilt from a place Rin had buried—her last call with Hana, cut short, her promise to visit Busan never kept.
The mimic's eyes shimmered, holding hers, its claws inches away, and the platform shook, the hum roaring louder, the other mimics closing in.
Jisoo's knife flashed, Jihoon's stick swung uselessly, but Rin couldn't move, trapped by the mimic's gaze, its whisper echoing in her skull, a truth she couldn't face.