After the sisters departed, Bryan turned his gaze back to the lake. The breeze off the water carried a coolness that felt almost luxurious. No killing. No blood. No Infected. Just sitting here in the quiet — maybe that wasn't so bad.
His reasons for encouraging Andrea's group to stay weren't entirely selfless. Beyond not wanting to drag them into the QZ's toxic environment, there was a private calculation at work.
The Quarantine Zone was a powder keg. The Fireflies had been silent for an unsettlingly long time. Previously, they'd launched small-scale attacks every week or two — just enough to remind everyone they existed. Now, months had passed without so much as a whisper inside the walls. Only external operations continued.
Nobody believed they'd simply given up. Not the government, not the civilians. Things had gone too far for either side to back down. One of them was going to be destroyed.
Bryan's gut told him the Fireflies were planning something unprecedented — a single, decisive strike that could end the years-long conflict in one night.
If the QZ survived, the Fireflies would be annihilated. But if the Fireflies won... soldiers like Bryan would be the first ones marched to the gallows. He needed an escape route — a fallback position outside the walls.
This golf course was perfect.
"Squad Leader!"
Kim's voice pulled Bryan from his thoughts. He turned. "What is it?"
"There's a kid you need to see." Kim jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Just woke up from unconsciousness, babbling in a language I don't understand. Sounded like Mandarin. You're Chinese, right? Come take a look."
"Mandarin?"
Bryan raised an eyebrow. In nearly five years in this world, he could count the Chinese people he'd encountered on one hand — and they'd all spoken English. Someone actually speaking Mandarin was a first.
He stood and followed Kim back into the golf course's main building.
...
Chen Shi drifted awake as if surfacing from deep water. His eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling — not the sterile white hospital panels he was used to.
Something was wrong. He bolted upright, heart hammering, and stared at the decaying room around him. This wasn't his ward. This wasn't anywhere he recognized.
He rubbed his eyes. Still here. Still real.
Then realization crept in. He looked down at his hands — small, dirty, moving.
They were shaking. Not from disease. From shock. He could feel them. He could control them. His eyes went wide, and the words tumbled out in a whisper:
"I... I'm supposed to be dead."
Chen Shi had been diagnosed with ALS — amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Typically a disease of middle age, but his body had betrayed him before his twelfth birthday. His legs were the first to go.
His parents were practical people. When the diagnosis came, they'd made their decision quickly. They placed him in a care facility, hired nurses, and moved on. They'd even had another child — a healthy one. A family of three, living happily.
Chen Shi didn't blame them. He'd researched his condition. He knew there was no cure. He'd accepted their choice and tried not to burden them, even after learning about his replacement.
The forgotten boy spent his remaining mobile days doing everything he could — watching anime, playing games, reading novels — until his body refused to cooperate.
A year of total paralysis. Then one night, a stabbing pain in his chest. He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't call for help. With his last ounce of strength, he'd pried his eyelids apart and thought he glimpsed his parents standing over him, weeping.
Then nothing.
"Did I... transmigrate?"
The thought came almost naturally. He was young, yes, but every web novel he'd ever read featured transmigration. It was the first explanation his mind reached for.
He spotted a mirror on a desk in the corner. Without thinking, he threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
His feet hit the floor and immediately buckled — muscles that hadn't walked in years, in a body that clearly hadn't been walking much either. He grabbed the bed frame just in time.
A rueful laugh. He was getting ahead of himself. The brain hadn't fully synced with this body yet. And what a body — stick-thin limbs, drastically shorter. A child's frame.
He steadied himself and began testing his range of motion, one careful step at a time.
Hiss—
A jolt of pain shot through him. He lifted the ragged shirt and found his torso covered in bruises and welts — some fresh, some faded. Clearly inflicted by human hands.
"Was this kid being abused?"
His fingers traced the marks, old and new, and a creeping dread settled in. Had he landed in some psychopath's basement?
He shook the thought away and made his way to the desk.
The simple act of walking filled him with an almost overwhelming joy. He wanted to run outside and sprint until his lungs burned — just because he could.
But Chen Shi was more mature than his years. The excitement was real, but so was the need for answers. Where was he? What had happened to this body?
He picked up the small mirror, wiped the dust from its surface, and looked.
The reflection froze him solid.
Staring back was a child — maybe four or five years old. Yellow skin beneath layers of grime. Matted, filthy hair. And a face that was unmistakably, impossibly... his own.
The same face. Just younger. Much, much younger.
"Where am I?"
"Why is this my body?"
"Why am I so small?"
The mirror slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the desk. Chen Shi stood there, mind blank, mouth open.
"You're awake!"
The damaged door swung open. A gaunt woman stood in the doorway, face lighting up at the sight of him. She hurried forward to check on him.
"Stay back!" The sudden intrusion snapped Chen Shi out of his stupor. Remembering the marks on his body, he snatched up the fallen mirror and brandished it like a weapon.
The woman halted, hands raised. She couldn't understand his words, but the meaning was clear. "Easy now — I'm not going to hurt you."
Chen Shi stared at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman speaking rapid English — none of which he understood.
More people appeared behind her. White faces, Black faces, all peering curiously through the doorway.
Chen Shi's jaw went slack. "What the... am I in a foreign country?"
"What's going on here?"
A commanding voice echoed down the corridor. The gawkers scattered instantly. Then a young man with Asian features appeared in the doorway, and Chen Shi's spirits soared.
"Are you Chinese?" he called out eagerly.
The man blinked, looked at him oddly, then turned to speak with the woman.
"Annyeonghaseyo—"
Then, turning back to Chen Shi, the man spoke — but not in English. And definitely not in Mandarin.
"Korean?" Chen Shi recognized it immediately, and his heart sank. Of all the places to end up.
The Korean man — seeing that communication was impossible — frowned, spoke briefly to the woman, and left the room, apparently to find someone who could help.
Chen Shi watched him go, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He had no idea what came next, or what was waiting for him.
...
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