Do you believe in fate?
I didn't before. Honestly, I'd have called it all bullshit to trick honest people. What kind of bad shit haven't I heard in my half-century of life? Fate? If fate could put food on the table, would I have spent two years in jail? Would I be in my forties, squeezing into my cousin's basement with a broken fluorescent tube?
But now I believe.
Not because I won the lottery, or met some wise man.
It's because I'm trapped in a fucking glass bubble. Deep in the mountains. There's something—something I can't even name—staring at me through that hazy glass, not moving an inch.
It's been staring for three hours.
And that's just the beginning.
---
Before I go on, let me make one thing clear. I'm just an ordinary guy. Not a scientist, not in IT. Just a middle-aged bachelor short on cash, so I needed a job.
That's the gist of it.
I had a record. Nothing serious like murder or arson, but bad enough that any decent employer would toss my resume straight in the trash. So I sent out applications to every shithole I could think of—dive bars, restaurants, hotels. Most of them went nowhere.
But after about a week, one got back.
That's where I am now.
The company's called "Gray Ark." Stupid name, but the pay was twice as much as any of those other crap jobs. 800 yuan a day, plus a night shift bonus.
Honestly, I'm not ashamed to say my hands were shaking when I saw that number. 800 yuan a day. I've never made that kind of money in my life.
I agreed immediately.
They sent a text with an address, a date, and a time.
I live in Mengla County, Xishuangbanna, Yunnan—right on the border. Gray Ark's office is in the Wuliang Mountains.
In other words, it's in the middle of nowhere.
It wasn't far from me—about a forty-minute drive. But here's the weird thing: I grew up around there, and even when we went hunting, we never went into that part. It's all trees, so dense they're like walls.
That day, I drove northwest for about forty minutes. The road got worse and worse until it was just a dirt track, trees pressing in low on both sides, headlights barely cutting through the dark.
Then I saw an electronic gate.
The gate was sci-fi, completely out of place with the surroundings. The chain-link fence was covered in vines, but the gate itself was brand new, stainless steel posts glinting in the light. It lifted automatically as soon as my car got close.
The toll booth was empty. Totally empty.
I didn't think too hard. Or rather, I didn't let myself think the worst. 800 yuan a day—you'd have to pay me to crawl through a doggy door, and I'd do it.
I drove in for a few more minutes and saw a tunnel. The tunnel was carved straight through the mountain, a black opening like a mouth about to swallow me. This area used to have tin mines—tunnels and mine shafts are everywhere here, nothing unusual.
But honestly, even then, I felt something was off.
The tunnel walls were wet, water dripping down them, headlights catching the glint like some animal's digestive tract. When I drove through, I felt like the water was about to drip on my face.
When I came out the other side, my jaw dropped.
It was a valley. Surrounded on all sides by tall mountains covered in impenetrable trees. Right there in the valley, five huge glass domes sat in perfect order.
Five.
Each one was as big as a football field. Five or six stories high. The sun hit the glass, reflecting green or red light, because you could faintly see plants growing inside. Some domes were green, some red like they were on fire.
There was a smaller one next to them, near the entrance.
All these domes were connected by transparent pipes, one after another, like a giant string of glass beads. Honestly, it looked kind of pretty. Like those huge birdcages you see at zoos, just a few hundred times bigger.
I parked my car outside. The parking lot was completely empty.
I pulled out my phone. No signal. But the address was right.
I got out and walked towards the gate.
The gate looked expensive. Double-sealed, metal doors with big characters printed on them: "GRAY ARK PROJECT."
I walked up, and the first glass door opened.
And in that moment, my gut screamed: don't go in. Leave. Now.
But I didn't listen.
I walked in, and the first glass door closed behind me.
I was standing between two doors, a space about the size of an elevator car. Before I could react, white mist started spraying from above.
The mist was warm, itchy on my skin. But that smell—Jesus Christ, it reeked. Chemicals, like hospital disinfectant mixed with formaldehyde, so strong it made my eyes water.
I turned to leave. The door was locked.
Couldn't push it open. Pressed the buttons—nothing happened.
I was covering my mouth, a million terrible thoughts flashing through my head, when the second door opened.
In front of me was a lobby.
Empty. A huge reception desk with no one behind it. The walls were covered in maps and those informational boards you see at zoo entrances—"Welcome to So-and-So Park," "Do Not Feed the Animals," that kind of thing.
But the lobby was too clean. Unnaturally clean.
The floors were polished, the tables spotless, the computer on the reception desk was off but perfectly clean—no fingerprints anywhere. And yet you could feel it: this place had been empty for a long time.
How do I describe it?… Like walking into a freshly cleaned morgue.
I stood there, frozen, for about five minutes.
Then I started trying to figure out what this place was.
From what I could see, this was some kind of biosphere.
You might have heard of Biosphere 2. That big glass house in Arizona, USA—they covered it in the news back in the day. My dad was a biology teacher, so I knew about it.
If you've never seen a biosphere, just imagine a bunch of huge greenhouses connected by concrete pipes. Except each greenhouse represents a different part of the world.
One is a rainforest. One a desert. One frozen over, like a tundra. They grow plants in there, have bugs, animals—water systems, soil. All sealed up inside these big glass domes.
Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. For scientific research.
So this was probably a simulated biosphere project? But different operators? Called the "Gray Ark Project"?
The maps on the lobby walls confirmed my guess. They labeled each dome: Rainforest Zone, Tundra Zone, Desert Zone, Ocean Zone… and a few unnamed areas.
I was in the entrance lobby now. To my right was the door to the Rainforest Zone, and the whole route was a circle—you went through every dome, and finally there was an "exit" by the Tundra Zone.
But I didn't believe that exit would open for a second. If the front door wouldn't open, why would that one?
Oh right, let me be clear: there were only two doors in the lobby now. One was the front door I came in through (locked), the other was the door to the Rainforest Zone.
Through the glass of the Rainforest Zone door, I could see inside.
Something was moving.
Through the glass, I could see the rainforest was foggy, green plants growing tall and thick. Some shadows were moving around behind the trees.
At first I thought they were animals. But the shapes of those shadows were wrong.
And every hour or so, there was another one.
Right now, the closest shadow was standing less than ten meters behind the glass door.
It wasn't moving.
Just standing there.
Next to the Rainforest Zone entrance, there was a metal shelf with a bunch of stuff on it—looked like equipment you were supposed to take inside.
Rubber boots. Gloves. A raincoat. A hiking pack. A flashlight. A gas mask or respirator.
And a machete.
When I picked up the machete, I noticed some deep scratches on the blade. Those weren't from chopping wood—wood doesn't leave shiny scratches like that on metal.
Like something's nails.
All that happened three hours ago.
Now you're caught up.
The reason I'm able to send this message is because I hacked the front desk computer.
I admit it, I'm not stupid. My grades were shit back in school, but I was pretty good at cracking systems. Honestly, that's why I went to jail, but that's another story.
The computer looked pretty new and could go online, but everything on it was old. Web pages, news—all had that 90s style. I couldn't open any modern websites, only connect to a weird old forum.
I don't know if this message will get through. The forum looks like no one's used it in years, there are a few old posts, but the content is all messed up, can't understand any of it.
But I don't have any other options. No cell signal, door's locked, and—
There it is again.
Behind the Rainforest Zone door, another shadow.
This time, it's not walking around.
It's just standing there, motionless, staring at me through the glass.
Can anyone see this message?
I had just sent it when a notification popped up in the bottom right corner of the screen.
"You have 1 new message."
I froze, my palms sweating. There wasn't a damn soul in this place—who would message me?
I clicked on it. The sender was an account named "Operator." The content was just one line:
"Do not enter the Rainforest Zone. Repeat, do not enter the Rainforest Zone."
I typed back immediately: "Who are you? What the hell is this place? Let me out!"
After sending it, the other side went silent for a long time.
Long enough that I thought it was just an auto-reply system.
Then another message came:
"That thing you saw isn't an animal. It's been watching every new security guard. The last one who didn't listen went in and never came out."
A chill went down my spine, my fingers shaking, but I still typed two words: "How long?"
"Three years ago."
I stared at those two words, my head buzzing.
Three years ago. The last security guard went in. Never came out.
Where was he now?
Before I could ask, the computer screen suddenly went black. Not off—completely black, like someone had cut the power. But the CPU fan was still spinning, humming.
Then the screen came back on.
But this time, it wasn't showing that old forum. It was a surveillance feed.
The footage was night vision mode, green-tinted, showing a dense forest. Probably some corner inside the Rainforest Zone dome.
At first, there was nothing on screen.
Then I saw footprints.
They were human-shaped, but huge—each one sunk half an inch into the dirt. The distance between footprints was long, like that thing could take steps of two or three meters.
At the end of the footprints was a huge banyan tree.
Something was hanging from the branches.
In the night vision footage, it was dark green, a little reflective. I squinted for a while before I could make out what it was.
A security uniform.
Gray shirt, dark blue pants, a pair of boots. All hanging from the branches like someone had put them there on purpose.
The uniform was covered in dried dark stains.
The wind blew, and the uniform swayed a little.
Then, in the bottom right corner of the screen, white text appeared:
"LIVE FEED - RAINFOREST ZONE CAMERA 3 - CURRENT LOCATION 20 METERS FROM YOU"
Twenty minutes.
That tree was only twenty meters away.
Through a glass door.
I whipped my head around to look at the Rainforest Zone door.
Nothing on the glass except my own reflection.
But I noticed something, a detail I hadn't seen before.
Along the edge of the door's seal, there were several deep scratch marks.
From the inside, scratching out.
I stared at those scratches for a full thirty seconds, then made a decision—I was going to check the other side of the lobby.
That computer was hacked, I couldn't use it to send messages anymore. But I noticed another small door on the other side of the lobby with a sign that said "EQUIPMENT ROOM."
I walked over and pushed it. The door wasn't locked.
The equipment room was small, filled with cleaning supplies and junk. At the very back was a window, looking out at the valley.
I leaned over to look outside, and my whole body went rigid.
It was dark outside.
I came in at two PM. Even with all the messing around, it couldn't have been more than four or five hours. But now the window outside was pitch black—not a single star.
I looked down at my phone.
11:47 PM.
I stared at those numbers, something stuck in my brain.
That's not right. From when I went in until now, it was three, four hours max. How could almost ten hours have passed?
Just when I was stuck on that, something outside the window glinted.
Not a light. A reflection.
Like something's eyes, reflecting my phone screen in the dark.
That thing was right outside the window.
But outside this building was an open area—nothing to hide behind.
I didn't see any physical form. No shadow, no outline. Just two reflective eyes, hovering half a person's height outside the window.
Those eyes stared at me for a few seconds, then vanished into the dark.
I ran back to the lobby, my legs like jelly.
The front desk computer was still on, but it wasn't showing the surveillance feed anymore. It was back to that old forum interface.
I saw a new post.
The poster was an ID I'd never seen before, called "EX-SECURITY." The content was just one line:
"Don't look back at that glass door. It's learning how you walk."
I instinctively wanted to look back.
But a voice in my head said, don't.
I stared at the computer screen, my peripheral vision aware of the glass door behind me. That greenish glow was coming from behind, casting a faint shadow on the keyboard.
I heard a sound.
Very soft.
Like something scratching on glass.
Fingernails on glass.
Once.
Paused for about two seconds.
Again.
Then I heard footsteps.
Those footsteps were weird—one light, one heavy, like something was imitating a person walking but hadn't quite learned yet.
One step.
Paused.
Another step.
From the reflection on the computer screen, I saw the glass door behind me.
Something was standing outside.
It stood there in a weird pose—body tilted, head cocked to one side, like someone who hadn't learned how to stand up straight yet.
Its shadow fell on the lobby floor, stretched long by the computer screen's light.
That shadow's shape—I'd seen it before.
Yeah.
Right under my own feet.
It was copying my standing position.
I immediately squatted down.
The footsteps stopped.
Then, from behind the glass door, a voice came.
That voice sounded like someone talking with their throat submerged in water—muffled, deep, every word squeezed out between their teeth.
"Turn… around…"
I didn't move.
"Turn… around…"
The voice repeated, then started laughing in fits and starts.
That laugh didn't sound human. More like a cassette tape stuck, playing the same syllable over and over.
Right then, the computer screen flickered.
Another new post on the forum.
This time from the "Operator" account:
"It smells your fear. Now run—run to the Tundra Zone. That door can open. You have three hours."
I stared at that line, my mind racing.
Three hours. Run to the Tundra Zone. Door can open.
But I'd have to go through the Rainforest Zone first.
To get through the Rainforest Zone, I'd have to walk past it.
Wait, no—not it. Them.
Because right then, from the screen's reflection, I saw that behind the Rainforest Zone's glass door, there wasn't just one shadow anymore.
Three.
Three crooked human-shaped shadows, standing side by side outside the door, all their heads tilted in the same direction—towards me.
Their mouths were moving.
I could see those shadows' chins opening and closing, like they were talking.
But I couldn't hear their voices.
Because right then, outside the equipment room window, something was starting to knock.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Knocking rhythmically, one after another.
I gripped that machete tight.
The handle had a layer of old, callus-like stains—I didn't know if that was from the last security guard.
I took a deep breath and walked to the Rainforest Zone door.
That door was motion-activated—before I even got close, it opened on its own.
A damp, rotten, sickly sweet smell hit me.
Hot air wrapped in fog surged out from the gap, sticking to my face.
Inside the door was pitch black, only a faint moonlight-like glow seeping down from the top of the dome far away.
Those shadows were gone.
Behind the glass door was empty—only a few drag marks in the dirt.
I took my first step.
My boot sank into the soft mud with a dull "plop."
Right then, a faint sound came from behind me.
It was that glass door, slowly closing.
I turned around, and from the door's reflection, I saw it—behind me in the lobby, in front of that computer screen—there was a blurry, glowing humanoid outline.
It was sitting in the chair.
In the exact same pose I'd been in a second before.
Its back was to the glass door, hunched over, head slightly tilted to one side, staring at the computer screen.
One leg was propped up.
The same leg I'd had propped up.
The moment I stared at it, that thing's head slowly, slowly turned around.
Its neck seemed to have no bones—when it turned, it made a series of small cracking sounds.
I couldn't see its face, but I could see its mouth moving.
It was saying something silently.
I jolted, turned, and sprinted into the Rainforest Zone.
The door clicked shut behind me, locking.
My breathing echoed inside the dome—damp, stuffy air filling my lungs like I was drinking water. I turned on the flashlight, the beam sweeping across dense trees and vines everywhere, roots hanging down from above, tangling together like a big net.
The machete was hot in my hand.
I walked about ten steps, and when the flashlight beam swept across a big tree, I stopped.
Words were carved into the trunk.
"Don't look back."
A few centimeters down, another line, different handwriting:
"Don't stop."
Further down, a huge block of dense text, like the same person had written it over and over, just one sentence repeated countless times:
"Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry."
I swallowed hard and kept going.
I'd barely taken two steps when I heard a rustling sound coming from the bushes about ten meters to my left.
I immediately shone the flashlight there.
Nothing.
But the bush was still moving—like something had just burrowed into it.
I took a step back.
Then I noticed something.
After I took that step back, the flashlight beam swept across something—a patch of flattened grass, shaped exactly like a footprint.
But that footprint wasn't facing forward.
It was facing backward.
Like something had been walking backward, following right behind me.
I spun around.
Nothing behind me except that already locked door.
But I noticed something—there were several fresh scratch marks on the door's inside handle, wood shavings still damp, like they'd just been made.
When I came in just now, those scratches weren't there.
Meaning in those few minutes after I walked in, something had been inside, trying to open that door.
From the inside.
But I was already inside.
So who had been scratching at the door just now?
I suddenly thought of something that made my scalp tingle—maybe that "Operator" account's "last security guard" had never gone in at all.
Maybe he had gone in.
Then came out.
But not in human form.
Right then, the moonlight from above the dome suddenly dimmed.
Something had passed overhead.
I looked up—only saw dense vines and leaves, nothing else.
But I could hear it.
Something crawling on the dome's steel framework—metal scraping against metal, sound coming down one after another.
It was crawling in the same direction I was walking.
It was following me overhead.
I picked up the pace, almost running.
Boots splashing in the mud, water going everywhere. Machete swinging in my hand, chopping through vines in my way.
Behind me, I heard the sounds of those things—not just one, all around me—branches breaking, dirt being churned up, and that muffled, underwater-sounding whispering.
They were around me.
Overhead.
Underfoot?
My foot suddenly stepped on something soft, and I stumbled, almost falling. Flashlight down—
A backpack.
Old backpack, green, exactly like the ones on that equipment shelf. Already half-buried in dirt, zipper open.
I used the machete to flip the zipper open, and inside was an ID badge.
The photo showed a man in his forties, scruffy beard, tired expression. The name field said: "LI JIANGUO, SECURITY, HIRE DATE MARCH 2019."
Three years ago.
He was that security guard from three years ago.
I flipped the ID over, and on the back was a line of text, messy handwriting like it was written right before dying:
"They're not creatures. They're echoes."
Echoes?
Echoes of what?
Before I could think about it, a huge sound came from overhead—like something had jumped from a high place, slamming into the ground about ten meters away.
I shone the flashlight there—only saw a patch of crushed bushes, and a deep hole in the dirt.
The shape of that hole was like someone had landed with both feet together.
But what person weighs enough to make a hole that deep?
I got up to run, but my foot caught on a vine, and I fell face-first into the mud.
The machete flew out of my hand, landing in the bushes next to me. The flashlight rolled on the ground, its beam tilted up towards the tree canopy.
I lay on the ground, covered in mud, ears full of my own heartbeat and gasping.
Then I heard a sound.
Right behind me.
That sound didn't come from a throat—it was more like something imitating a human's footsteps.
Each step had a weird rhythm, like it was counting beats.
I lay on the ground, not daring to move.
Those footsteps stopped about two meters behind me.
I could feel that thing's gaze, heavy on my back like a soaking wet quilt.
Then it spoke.
That muffled, underwater-sounding voice, each word popping out one by one:
"Don't… lie… there…"
"Get… up…"
"Run…"
It was guiding me.
No—it was playing with me.
Because right after, I heard another voice from the left, exactly the same voice, saying the same thing:
"Don't… lie… there…"
A third voice from the right:
"Get… up…"
A fourth voice from overhead:
"Run…"
They had me surrounded.
The flashlight's light flickered one last time, illuminating what was above.
Between the dense vines and leaves, hanging from the dome's steel framework, were four things.
Their bodies were human-shaped, but their limbs were twisted at impossible angles, hanging from the steel like broken puppets.
Their faces were down, looking right at me.
Those faces.
I couldn't say what they looked like. Because every single one was different—like facial features borrowed from different people, haphazardly stuck together.
But I recognized one face.
It was my face.
Wrong angle, wrong expression, wrong color—but the shape of the features, their position, their proportions—all matched.
Like looking in a warped mirror.
The flashlight died completely.
In the dark, those things all spoke at once.
Four voices, all saying the same thing at the same time:
"Don't… look… back…"
Voices layered together, like an out-of-tune choir.
Then they started laughing.
That laugh got louder and louder, bouncing around inside the dome, making my eardrums hurt.
In the dark, I found the machete, pushed myself up on my knees, and ran forward.
Didn't care if the direction was right.
Run.
Just run.
Behind me, the sounds of breaking branches, flying dirt, and those things crawling on the ground—they weren't running, they were crawling on all fours, terrifyingly fast.
I could feel them right behind me, less than a meter away—damp, rotten-smelling breath blowing on the back of my neck.
I chopped through vines in my way, jumped over a fallen tree trunk, stepped in a puddle—water splashing high.
Then I saw a light.
Not the flashlight's light.
A door.
That door was half-open, pale light seeping out from inside.
On the door, one character: "TUNDRA ZONE."
I threw myself at it, slamming the door open with all my strength, and rolled inside.
The door slammed shut behind me.
I lay on the cold concrete floor, gasping for breath, my whole body shaking.
Outside the door, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Unnaturally quiet.
I looked up and saw the Tundra Zone was white, cold air rising from the ground, making me shiver.
Then I saw that computer.
Right at the Tundra Zone entrance, on a crude table, sat a brand-new computer exactly like the one at the front desk.
The screen was showing that old forum.
There was a new message.
I clicked on it—sender was "EX-SECURITY." The content was just one line:
"You're finally here. Now turn around—how many scratch marks are on the Tundra Zone door?"
I slowly turned my head.
The inside of the door was covered, top to bottom, left to right, in scratch marks.
Like something had been behind that door, trying to charge out again and again.
I noticed that next to the deepest scratch, the door panel had been worn through—you could see outside.
Outside was the Rainforest Zone.
Something was leaning against that worn-through gap in the door—one cloudy, pupil-less eye, staring at me through that little hole, not blinking once.
It was smiling.
I could tell from the curve of its mouth.
Then I heard that voice.
Coming through that little hole, clear as anything:
"Welcome to Gray Ark."
"You'll never get out."
"Just like me."
The computer screen flickered, and another new post popped up on the forum.
Poster was "Operator."
Content was just four words:
"Do you understand?"
I stared at those four words, my blood running cold.
I understood.
I completely understood.
That "Operator" account—never any kind of manager.
It was the first person trapped here.
And that "EX-SECURITY"—was that security guard from three years ago.
They were all somewhere inside this dome.
Existing in that form.
I'd become like that too.
The moment I looked up, I saw it—in the reflection on the Tundra Zone's dome glass.
Behind me, dozens of blurry humanoid shapes stood.
They lined up in the dark, heads tilted, watching me silently.
The one in front was wearing exactly the same clothes as me.
Holding exactly the same machete as me.
In exactly the same pose as me.
Then it spoke.
In my voice:
"Can you feel it?"
"They're watching you."
"They've been watching you this whole time."
Outside the window, all the domes in the valley lit up in the dark.
On the inside of every dome's glass, faces were pressed up against it.
Countless faces.
All human.
Above the domes, something huge moved slowly.
That wasn't the shadow of the steel framework.
That was alive.
On the dome's glass, its outline was reflected.
Too big to see the end of.
It had been there the whole time.
From the very beginning.
It was waiting for us to become part of it.
The computer screen flickered one last time, showing a line of text:
"NEW MESSAGE - SENDER: OPERATOR - 'Don't look back. But you can only look back.'"
I stood there, holding the machete, staring at that scratch-covered door.
That thing outside was still smiling.
The Tundra Zone was freezing, those shadows getting closer and closer.
On the dome outside, that huge outline slowly turned around.
It didn't have eyes.
But I could feel it—watching me.
Everyone could feel it.
Inside this circle, inside these forgotten glass bubbles, it had been watching this whole time.
From the moment you stepped through that gate, it was watching.
I looked down at my phone.
2:13 AM.
A long, long time until dawn.
This was going to be a long night.
And I had a feeling—
After dawn.
No one was coming to open the door anyway.