Shinkawa Shoichi was jolted awake by a sharp, urgent ringing.

He looked around, momentarily stunned.

Where was this place?

In his view—

(Refer to earlier chapters for continuity.)

Unlike the first time he arrived here, this time Shinkawa Shoichi clutched his forehead. His head throbbed with unbearable pain.

"Those bastards… Did they drug me with some kind of psychotropic? And then dump me here? Damn it! Don't they know drugs like that can cause neural damage? Fuck!"

Despite his frustration, there was nothing Shinkawa Shoichi could do.

He could only follow the instructions—

Repeat what he had done before.

Rethink what he had once thought.

But something was different...

"Ugh, tinnitus? I've never heard anyone describe it as a ringing phone before. Most likely a side effect of whatever those guys gave me. Damn it!"

Shinkawa Shoichi's family ran a hospital.

He himself had graduated from medical school.

Though not as prestigious as his younger brother's top university degree, he was still well-versed in basic pathology and pharmacology.

At the moment, he believed—

After entering the Foundation, the staff must have laced his water with neuroactive drugs when they transferred him somewhere.

That would explain the auditory hallucinations, the headaches, and…

…the bizarre red phone booth he saw in his dream last night—indescribably strange.

Dr. Muramure Reine's Observation Log:

Subject D-438 underwent Class B memory-cleansing.

Biometrics, particularly psychological indicators, showed marked improvement.

As with other test subjects, the memory-cleansing proved somewhat effective at alleviating cognitive contamination from this anomalous zone.

However, it could not completely purge it.

Further experiments are necessary to collect more data.

D-438 resumed duties.

Based on projections, his current mental state will not hold up until the next memory cleanse.

On the first day post-cleansing, D-438 encountered another anomaly.

His psychological data plummeted sharply.

Several physiological reactions also occurred.

Nevertheless, he completed his assigned tasks.

On his return to the site—

D-438 was caught in a sandstorm.

The Foundation's observational team confirmed:

A rare solar storm had occurred.

Due to electromagnetic pulses generated by the storm, D-438's desert vehicle short-circuited.

The auto-pilot was now unusable.

He had to drive manually.

He found a station.

Unfortunately, it wasn't his.

The anomaly zone was being ravaged by a massive sandstorm. The sand, kicked up by high winds, slashed like blades against everything.

Shinkawa Shoichi scrambled frantically back to the vehicle.

Just as he caught his breath—

The desert vehicle stalled again the moment it moved.

All dashboard monitors went dark.

"What the hell? Fuck!"

He checked the control panels.

Though he didn't fully understand Foundation tech, it was obvious something had short-circuited. He guessed it was due to the solar storm.

Cursing under his breath, Shinkawa Shoichi crawled into the cockpit and attempted manual control. Thankfully, the engine and related systems were mechanical.

They weren't affected by the EMP.

The desert vehicle rumbled back to life.

He drove aimlessly.

He considered using the chaos as a perfect opportunity—

To escape the desert and the Foundation's control altogether. He figured, with the EMP disabling systems, even the kill collar on his neck wouldn't function.

But that thought quickly faded.

The vehicle probably didn't have enough energy to get out.

And he had no map.

The digital map was lost with the powered-down screen. Previously, he'd only glanced at it during autopilot. He barely remembered the general direction of the sites.

Just that this was one vast desert.

Now, all he could do was pray—

For the storm to pass soon.

Or to stumble upon a site.

The storm outside grew fiercer.

If a tornado formed, it could lift both him and the vehicle into the sky.

There would be no surviving that.

After some time driving blindly—

Maybe prayer worked.

A shadow appeared ahead—it was a site!

Overjoyed, Shinkawa Shoichi raced toward it.

At the entrance—

He burst through the vehicle door and ran inside.

The door still worked.

That surprised him—why hadn't the electronics shorted here?

But there was no time to think about that.

He rushed to perform the sanity test.

"Fuck! What now?!"

The system displayed a failure message.

Under immense pressure, Shoichi became increasingly agitated.

But seeing the worsening storm outside—

He forced himself to calm down.

Tried again.

This time—he passed.

He stumbled into the site.

Completely unaware—

The facility above him read: "Site-17".

Inside, he descended the stairs.

But as he walked—

Something felt wrong.

Why did the place look so ruined?

The walls were scratched.

Dust was thick on the ground.

When he last left, this place was spotless.

The metal walls had shone like mirrors.

But now, as he descended—

His blood turned cold.

At the bottom, a corridor stretched forward. At the end were the residential rooms. Now, the floor, walls, and ceiling of the corridor—

Were all pierced and overrun by black cables.

Like vines, or roots, growing everywhere.

As soon as he stepped inside—

The nightmare-inducing phone ringing started again.

Riiing...

Riiing...

The sound was impossible to ignore—too loud for a hallucination.

With the ringing came incomprehensible whispers.

Disoriented, Shoichi stumbled forward.

Something ahead was calling him.

Drawing him in—he had to go.

As he walked—

The cables slithered, starting to wrap around his legs.

And when he finally reached the room—

His eyes went wide.

The room's blast door was open.

Inside was filled with black cables.

At the center—was a massive spool-like core wrapped in those cables.

Like a cocoon.

Identical to what he saw outside.

Except for one difference.

From that cocoon, a hand extended outward through the cables. It was rotted, decaying, reeking with foul stench.

At that moment, realization struck him.

The garbage the Foundation had him clean—

Was these cable cocoons.

And inside them—

Were people just like him, sent to "clean."

Terror jolted him back to his senses.

Shoichi tore himself free from the cables and ran. He crawled up the stairs with every ounce of strength.

Reached the entrance.

But—it was sealed.

To open it, another sanity test was required.

No matter how he tried to calm himself—

All three attempts failed.

It was a simple image test: select the photos with a car.

But he couldn't do it.

In a frenzy, he screamed and grabbed a nearby chair. He smashed the screen with all his might. The screen broke—static flooded the display.

And surprisingly—it worked.

The door slammed open.

Shoichi didn't stop to question it.

He dashed outside.

Somehow—the sandstorm had ceased.

But…

As he collapsed on the ground, thankful to be alive—

He saw a cable wriggling in the sand.

Riiing!

Riiing!

The phone was ringing—loud enough to shatter eardrums.

Shoichi slowly lifted his head.

The desert had changed.

Countless black cables snaked through the sands.

At the center—

A red telephone booth stood upright.

Inside, phones rang in a deafening chorus. More phones extended out on black cords, floating in mid-air.

Those were once the lines of the booth.

Shoichi rose slowly, entranced, walking toward it.

There was a call for him.

He had to answer the phone.