Chapter 1

I slowly opened my eyes, my mind as blank as if I'd been asleep for a century. It was probably a case of amnesia after experiencing significant trauma.

According to the prison wardens, my name was Ambrose Lionheart. My wife, child, and I had been a happy family of three.

But one night, I'd killed three people in a car crash, which had also taken my wife's life. It had happened under the influence, and I now faced capital punishment.

An old man sat across from me, smoking a cigar. He wore a suit that didn't go with his appearance at all. He called himself Martin Golde and claimed he was the captain for Occult Investigation Agency's Team 7.

"That's about all I have to say. Sign here if you don't have any objections," he said. Seeing me dazedly staring at the official document, he added, "It wasn't easy to get this special pardon, so I hope you appreciate it."

I didn't know what this so-called Occult Investigation Agency—or OIA—was, but he told me I would be free of the death sentence as long as I signed the document. It was a special pardon from the higher echelons of the government—it was legal and effective.

"Think about your daughter, even if you don't care about yourself. She's only five, and she's just lost her mother. If her father also ends up taking a bullet…" Martin trailed off.

In truth, after the accident, I remembered nothing about having a daughter. I didn't even remember her name or appearance.

I said, "I don't understand."

"Haven't I made it clear enough? You just need to join the OIA and complete seven missions. You'll be free after that," Martin said.

"No, I don't understand why you're recruiting me. I'm not the only death row inmate here, right?" I asked.

He chuckled. "There are two reasons for that. Firstly, you're physically fit. We at the OIA do one of the world's most dangerous jobs, so physical fitness is essential. Secondly, you broke the law with what you did, but it's not unforgivable from a humane perspective.

"You're not a drug dealer or a terrorist, and you didn't deliberately commit murder or arson, either. Having a conscience and basic morals is the second criterion you need to meet to join the OIA."

Protecting one's own was human nature. In the end, I decided to sign the official document.

After leaving prison, Martin brought me to an expensive restaurant, saying he wanted to rid me of my misfortune.

"Let's have a nice meal. I'll take you to see your daughter in the afternoon," he said.

He handed me a black card, saying I could use the money in it however I liked now that I was an OIA agent. He also assured me that my daughter would receive the best care at the orphanage to ensure I could focus on my work.

"Wait, there's 90 million dollars in here?" I exclaimed.

Martin ate his spaghetti, looking nonchalant as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I told you we do one of the world's most dangerous jobs, didn't I? That's why we get premium treatment. Aside from what happens with our work, nothing should burden us."

He ordered two bottles of wine costing 16 thousand dollars each. Then, he slapped a chair at the table beside ours. "We're eating, kiddos. Can you keep it down?"

The three young men at the table beside us had pulled up in a brand-new McLaren sports car. It was clear they were rich kids.

One of them snarled, "Do you know who I am, old coot?"

"Nope. I'm not interested, either," Martin said coolly.

"Damn. Pretty cocky, aren't you?" With that, he swung a fist at Martin.

Martin grabbed his fist and smashed the wine bottle on his head. This startled the young men.

The one who was assaulted shouted, "Just wait, old coot!"

One of the servers panicked and told us that the young man was the nephew of the city's police chief.

However, Martin merely said to me, "Sit and eat. Don't let them ruin the mood."

A while later, a group of people arrived at the restaurant. The police chief was in the lead. He wanted to arrest us for disturbing public order.

Martin didn't even look up as he asked, "Wha ha've you been keeping busy with lately, Dave?"

The police chief was taken aback. "Marty! Oh, it's you. Damn, look at what this has become…"

He turned and slapped his nephew. "You're blind as a bat, you imbecile!"

Once they were gone, I asked, "You know the police chief?"

"Yeah, David Oldman. Even if we didn't know each other, he wouldn't have dared pick on us once he saw this." Martin pulled out a blue card that showed he worked for the OIA.

As he'd said, OIA employees didn't need to be troubled by anything other than their work. I couldn't help feeling intrigued by the agency now.

When we paid for the meal after finishing, I saw that the total came up to 32 thousand dollars. If this was what our daily expenses were like, it didn't look like 90 million dollars was that much. Martin told me the limit would increase every time we achieved some merits.

"Why recruit death row inmates when the OIA can provide such amazing benefits? Countless people would kill to get a job there if you were to just put out a recruitment ad," I said.

Martin lit a cigarette. "Don't be so sure of that. Not everyone is capable of doing what we do. To put it simply, those who are capable aren't interested, and those who are interested aren't capable. We have no choice but to find people like you from prison."

…

I saw my daughter, Ally Lionheart, at the orphanage. However, just as I couldn't remember her, she kept her distance from me. She kept hiding behind one of the workers.

Martin smiled and said, "It's been a while since you two have seen each other. Besides, girls are always more shy. You two will get along swimmingly as long as you visit her more often."

He brought me to the OIA before the sky turned dark. He claimed he worked for the Occult Investigation Agency, but the plaque above the door said the department was the General Affairs Department.

"Don't be surprised—the agency is a secret organization established by the higher echelons of the government, so our work is private and confidential. The General Affairs Department is just our front—I assure you we're the OIA on the inside," Martin said.

Then, he introduced me to my four colleagues. The first was a young woman in her early 20s called Candace Lindel, who was responsible for gathering intel. The second was an older woman in a white lab coat—Olivia Chance, the forensic doctor.

The third was Eugene Stone, a young man in a suit. He was an accountant and was in charge of the team's finances. The last was a bespectacled guy named Michael Shaw—he handled communications.

After the introductions, Martin took me to a smaller room deeper inside the building. "These are your 'former teammates'. You guys might just meet each other in the future, so pay your respects."

The walls were lined with countless wooden plaques representing each teammate.

Martin smiled and said, "Don't bother counting them. There are 108 of them, and they're all good people. Including you, this team has only seven living, breathing people."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Michael answered a call. After he hung up, he said, "There are six now. Monkey's gone."

It turned out an agent codenamed Monkey just lost his life. I noticed that my teammates were calm about it. It was almost as if they were already used to losing people.

Martin said, "Well, you have another former teammate now. You sure are lucky, aren't you? Running into trouble on your first day."

…

I followed Martin and the others to the crime scene—an art academy. Monkey was covered by a white sheet that was stained crimson from his blood.

Martin lifted the sheet and took a look at Monkey. He'd met a terrible end—his neck had been sliced clean in half by something sharp.

Martin said Monkey used to be a spy. He'd stolen some confidential documents from the authorities and had been charged with treason. Martin had saved the guy from prison just three months ago.

I was confused. "He would've had to be agile and quick on his feet if he was an international spy. Who could've beheaded him?"

Martin snorted. "This case would be under the police if a human was behind this."

We brought Monkey's body back to the OIA. Olivia examined him, and Candace assisted her. They were beautiful, dainty-looking women, yet they dealt with the corpse like it was nothing. Olivia, especially, seemed to enjoy the bloody process. She winked and smiled at me when she saw me staring.

Candace found a strand of hair that was about 40 inches long around Monkey's neck. She confirmed that it was the weapon that had sliced his head off.

"Wait, a strand of hair can—" I started.

Before I could finish, Olivia tightened the hair around Monkey's wrist and easily sliced it off.

I was dumbfounded. On one hand, I was stunned by how resilient the hair was. On the other hand, I couldn't believe how disrespectful she was of her teammate's corpse.

The others didn't seem to care, though. They said that Monkey should've died three months ago because of the crimes he'd committed. He had to thank the OIA that he'd lived this much longer.

I could already imagine how Olivia would have fun with my body after my death.

Martin lit a cigar and said, "Two months ago, three young women from that art academy tied their hair together and jumped off the roof. Funny things have been happening there since then. For instance, the dean died in his office after being beheaded. We suspect he might have sexually assaulted the three women."

I frowned. "What do you mean by that? Are you saying the women turned into ghosts after their deaths and used their hair to get revenge on him?"

Olivia asked, "Didn't your mother ever tell you there aren't any ghosts in this world?"

Candace said, "An Earthbound spirit is behind this."

I was even more confused. Martin told me that an Earthbound spirit was similar to my understanding of a ghost. It was a spirit formed by the resentment—or anything else—of a human, animal, or even plant after its death.

Scientifically speaking, it was believed to be a unique magnetic field that could subtly affect a person's brainwaves and make them form hallucinations. In more severe cases, it could generate a force field, directly affecting physical objects in reality.

These entities were generally confined to a specific area and were thus referred to as "Earthbound spirits".

Chapter 2

These entities did objectively exist, but they had to be kept a secret from the rest of the world. Otherwise, it would lead to unrest in society.

99% of the world's supernatural events and phenomena had to do with Earthbound spirits. That was where the OIA came in—they investigated the spirits and dealt with them in secret in order to maintain peace in society.

Michael said, "According to the intel Monkey managed to send back to us, the dean didn't seem to have anything to do with the three women. They all came from wealthy families, so they weren't vulnerable victims a mere dean could take advantage of."

As he spoke, he printed something from his computer and handed it to the rest for us to see.

"What is…"

"Among the three young women who killed themselves, the richest was called Tina Johnson. She had a kidney transplant half a year ago."

Eugene commented, "What a way to waste a life. Think about how short hospitals are on organs nowadays—dozens of people could be waiting in line for one organ. Death is the only thing in their future if they can't wait that long."

"That's where the problem lies. According to our intel, the kidney should've gone to another young woman named Farrah Lane, who had uremia," Michael said. "Tina's father had money and connections, so he used those to secure the kidney for Tina instead.

"Farrah came from a single-parent family. The kidney gave her and her mother hope, but their hopes were dashed after a six-month wait. Farrah's mother couldn't handle how things turned out and jumped off a building, ending her life. Farrah died shortly after due to uremia."

Everyone looked at the photo that had been printed out.

"Why is she bald?"

"Come on, don't you have any basic medical knowledge? That's what people always look like when they're in the terminal stages of their illnesses. Think about it—a young woman Farrah's age would've wanted to look their best, yet she lost all her hair because of her illness. Maybe that's why she murders with her hair."

I couldn't really understand this. "Are you saying that Farrah turned into an Earthbound spirit because she died while filled with resentment? Did she then get revenge on Tina for stealing her kidney?"

"Isn't it obvious? The dean was partial to Tina, and the two other women were her best friends."

"Even so, shouldn't Farrah have gone after Tina's parents first?" I asked.

Candace said, "All I can say is that you don't understand women too well. When we eat cake, we generally leave the best part for last. Farrah obviously wants to kill everyone who has anything to do with Tina, and she's starting from those who were furthest from her before getting to those who were closest."

"Who will be the next, then?"

"No idea. It could be a boyfriend or something. I don't think her parents will come next."

Martin gave me Monkey's work badge and had me take over his job. "Monkey and Candace were the ones handling this case. This is your chance to achieve a merit, Ambrose."

I was a little lost, but I could only go along with his arrangements so that I could finish my seven missions and leave the team.

…

As expected, another person was beheaded the following day. The victim was Wayne Penn, Tina's ex-boyfriend.

Candace said to me, "This makes everything clear, doesn't it? Since Tina's ex is dead, the next should be her current boyfriend."

Michael soon found out who Tina's last boyfriend prior to her death was—Lee Wendell.

Candace and I hurried to his house to lie in wait there. She pulled some of the OIA's weapons and tools from her bag—a latch hook, a pistol, and some ammo clips. However, nothing happened despite us waiting there for a night.

The following day, Michael received news that someone who wasn't Lee had died. The victim was Samuel Atkinson—Tina's ex. It turned out Wayne was the guy she'd been seeing before she'd started dating Samuel.

I asked in resignation, "How many boyfriends did she have?"

Michael chuckled. "Well, it's understandable that an heiress would be a bit of a player, right? These three guys are her most recent boyfriends, so I think you'll catch Farrah if you guys head to Lee's place again tonight."

And so, Candace and I waited at Lee's balcony again. When night fell, Lee brought a young woman home with him. They started getting down and dirty in the bedroom and seemed like they were about to get it on soon.

That put us in an awkward situation. Just then, the young woman's expression shifted drastically. I saw a vague human figure appear in her body—it belonged to a bald woman in a hospital gown.

I couldn't help shouting, "She's been possessed by a ghost!"

Candace shot me a disdainful look. "Stop shouting. Also, I already told you that's an Earthbound spirit, not a ghost."

Our voices startled Lee. He seemed to notice something was wrong with the young woman and shoved her aside.

Candace told me that Farrah's Earthbound spirit's resentment would grow stronger with every person she killed. In turn, she would also grow more powerful. We couldn't let her get away tonight.

Candace swiftly broke into the apartment through the window. She was about to shoot the young woman when the latter shoved Lee at us. He crashed into Candace, making her drop her gun.

"Ambrose!" she cried.

I'd lost my memories because of the car crash, but using a gun seemed to be like muscle memory to me. According to what Martin had told me, I used to be a sharpshooter.

I quickly aimed the gun at the young woman and shot her right in the forehead. I thought that was it, but Candace suddenly pounced on me and tried to strangle me. "You—"

She looked malevolent, and a bald head faded in and out of view—the Earthbound spirit had taken advantage of our distraction to possess Candace.

Meanwhile, a few strands of hair started coiling around my neck. I didn't want to have my head sliced off, so I had no choice but to shoot Candace in the chest.

Martin had told me that working for the OIA was perilous—I could shoot my teammates if the situation called for it. Still, I was stunned when I saw the blood spread across Candace's white shirt.

I prayed I hadn't gotten her in the heart and hurriedly tried to undo her shirt so I could stop the bleeding. To my surprise, she slapped me hard and glared at me like I'd been trying to take advantage of her.

It was only later that I learned the OIA's guns were loaded with specially crafted blank cartridges that contained blood. These blank cartridges could severely injure or even kill Earthbound spirits but wouldn't harm humans.

Still, I was mad that I'd been slapped when my only intention had been to save Candace. I cried, "I'm a man with a daughter—do you think I'd be interested in taking advantage of a young woman like you?"

She snorted and turned away. "Whatever. Is Farrah dead?"

Just then, Lee stirred from his state of unconsciousness—he'd been knocked out after crashing into Candace earlier. "Melanie? Where's Melanie?"

It looked like the Earthbound spirit had escaped after possessing his new girlfriend.

…

After returning to the OIA, Candace reported what had happened to Martin.

"Based on preliminary assessment, Farrah should be a C."

I protested, "C? I doubt that. She's a B at most."

Eugene and Olivia burst into laughter at my words.

Martin said, "As expected of someone who comes from a military background—you notice all the small things. It's too bad we're not talking about her bra size. The OIA has roughly categorized Earthbound spirits into different tiers based on their power.

"We have Tiers C, B, A, and S. Of course, those who can be ranked aren't considered regular Earthbound spirits anymore. We have to pay special attention to them. It seems Farrah's resentment has increased quite a lot after she murdered a few people."

Candace said, "Her next targets should be Tina's parents. Still, she probably won't do anything too soon since she's been injured."

And so, Candace and I secretly observed Tina's parents, Frank Johnson and Lisa Green, for the next few days.

One day, I went to the orphanage to visit Ally again. She still kept her distance from me and refused to address me as her father. I didn't feel anything for her, either. I even doubted whether she really was my daughter. As for my late wife, I couldn't remember a single thing about her.

A phone call pulled me out of my reverie. It was from Candace—something was happening on her end.

I hurried to the Johnson residence to see Frank and Lisa having dinner. Candace said something was off about Lisa. To prevent her from hurting Frank, Candace and I barged inside the house and aimed our guns at her.

When her face became twisted, Candace and I pulled the trigger at the same time. She fell to the floor, her chest covered in blood from the blank cartridges.

Frank was scared out of his wits. He thought we were armed burglars and had the butler call the police. They arrived before we could clean up the scene.

After a preliminary assessment, the police concluded that Lisa hadn't died from the gunshots—she'd been poisoned.

Candace and I were baffled. Could it be Lisa's face had only become twisted because of the poison?

Frank refused to let the matter slide and insisted that we'd killed Lisa. He wanted us arrested.

Candace had no choice but to show the police her OIA work badge. However, our work was so classified that low-ranking police officers had no idea what the work badge represented. They looked conflicted.

Left with no choice, Candace and I agreed to head to the police station with them. Martin could always get us out later. However, I noticed something was wrong as soon as one of the police officers cuffed Candace.

"It's him!" I cried.

A bald ghostly figure faded in and out of sight around the police officer—it was too late by the time Candace realized what was happening.

The police officer shot Frank dead before pressing the gun to Candace's head. I swiftly whipped out my gun and aimed it at him.

He spoke, but the voice was a cold, feminine one. "Shoot me if you dare. You might not be able to kill me, but I guarantee I can kill her."

Chapter 3

I was stunned and at a loss for what to do. Candace forced out, "Shoot, Ambrose. Don't forget the OIA's protocol."

I still didn't dare move, though. This time wasn't the same as the last—Candace would die if I were to pull the trigger.

She continued, "Do you know why I joined the OIA, Ambrose? Unlike you, I wasn't a criminal, nor did I need to atone for any sins. I volunteered to join."

I remembered Martin telling me that those who wanted to join the OIA weren't capable, and those who were capable didn't want to join. That was why they'd resorted to recruiting death row inmates.

However, there were exceptions to that. Certain people could do the OIA's work and wanted to be a part of it—it turned out Candace was one of them.

She told me that her father used to be an OIA agent, but he'd died while carrying out a mission. She'd joined the OIA to carry on his legacy, so she had no regrets about dying.

I gnashed my teeth, still unable to pull the trigger. Just then, a gunshot rang out from the door. The police officer collapsed on the floor.

I looked up to see Eugene standing there. He smiled at us and explained, "Marty was a little worried and sent me here to check on things. Looks like I came in the nick of time."

…

That night, Martin threw a party to celebrate my first successful mission.

Michael asked, "Whoa, is Candace cooking for us?"

I heard Eugene had a crush on Candace. He looked disgruntled as he grumbled, "What the hell? I was the one who shot that bitch dead."

Olivia teased, "Jealous, You Stoner? You've never been on the receiving end of such treatment despite all the Earthbound spirits you've taken out, huh?"

"Shut up."

I was confused. "'You Stoner'?"

"Eugene Stone, 'You Stoner'. Get it?"

We exchanged looks and laughed.

Soon, Candace filled the table with delicious dishes.

"That's enough, Candace. Sit down and let's eat."

"Hold on—there's one last dish," she said.

Just then, a large, white cat ran in from inside. It hopped onto the table and stole a drumstick. I wondered where it came from and was about to chase it away when Martin stopped me.

"Don't panic, Ambrose. This is my cat—its name is Puppers."

I was baffled. "Why did you name a cat that?"

Eugene said, "Back in the day, you'd have people twisting the truth and calling an object something it isn't. Now, you have Marty calling a cat a dog. That's pure rebellion at its finest."

Martin lit his cigar. "Bullshit. I named the cat Puppers as a tribute to our work at OIA. We investigate spirits, yet we tell people not to be superstitious and not to believe that there are ghosts in this world."

Everyone fell silent at that, and a sense of unease settled over us. Martin was right—we lived in a materialistic world. I couldn't imagine what things would come to if Earthbound spirits became entangled in the economy, politics, and culture.

People's beliefs would be overturned, and the world would descend into chaos. There was a reason why the government had secretly established this organization and given us such amazing rewards for our hard work.

Candace brought the final dish to the table, and Olivia popped open the champagne. We all raised our glasses for a toast.

Michael was in a rush to dig in, but I grabbed his cutlery and stopped him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I pointed grimly at Puppers, who was underneath the table. It had just eaten a drumstick and currently looked like it was in agony. It frothed at the mouth as it rolled around on the floor.

This scared Martin. He'd raised Puppers like his own—they'd been each other's companions for over a decade. Before he could even attempt to rescue Puppers, it died.

We were sorry over its death, but at the same time, chills ran down our spines. The dishes were poisoned!

We all looked at Candace, who shot to her feet and backed away while shaking her head.

Martin said, "It looks like Farrah can possess anyone once she's come into contact with them."

I recalled when Candace had been held at gunpoint by the police officer. Farrah must've possessed her as soon as Eugene had shot the police officer.

Eugene snapped, "Fuck! She almost took us out in one go!"

We restrained Candace, but the Earthbound spirit wasn't in her. Olivia smacked her head and said, "Shit! If the spirit can possess anyone who's ever come into contact with her, doesn't that mean we're all…"

Eugene said, "This means she could have possessed any of us. How are we gonna get her out?"

Michael said, "I have an idea—we can use the blank cartridges."

That made sense. The blank cartridges wouldn't harm humans, so all we had to do was shoot each other. That way, the Earthbound spirit wouldn't be able to escape, no matter which one of us she'd possessed.

Eugene said, "Good idea."

He held his gun to Candace's head—she was the biggest suspect, after all. However, I noticed something amiss right before he could pull the trigger.

"Wait, don't!" I shoved Candace aside, but it was too late—the trigger had been pulled. Fortunately, the bullet got her in the shoulder, not the head.

Everyone was confused by my actions but instantly understood what had happened when they heard Candace cry out in pain and saw the blood gushing from her shoulder.

Eugene's gun had been loaded with real bullets.

"It's you!" They pointed their guns at him.

I shouted, "Don't do anything! It might not be him!"

Soon, we realized that all our blank cartridges had been switched out for real ones. Even Martin, who'd weathered many more storms in life, couldn't help breaking out in a cold sweat.

This Earthbound spirit was nasty—she'd tried to get us to take each other out, yet we still had no idea whose body she was hiding in.

Everyone was on the verge of a breakdown, but I turned to aim my gun at Candace. "It's you."

She covered her injury, looking resigned. Eugene tried to talk sense into me. "Don't do anything rash. Regular bullets can't do anything to Earthbound spirits."

I said, "She secretly switched our ammo clips, but I always keep a spare bullet in the gun chamber. That's why my next bullet has to be a blank cartridge. It doesn't matter if my guess is wrong."

Everyone else was about to agree to me firing the bullet, but Candace objected. "How can we know whether you're telling the truth? What if you're possessed by the Earthbound spirit? You might be lying about the spare bullet so you can kill me before killing everyone else."

Eugene immediately aimed his gun at me. "Put the gun down, Ambrose! No one is firing anything from now on!"

I grew agitated. "I'm not possessed! I'm telling the truth!"

He added, "One more thing—none of the things we say right now can be trusted."

I gritted my teeth. I'd caught the odd look on Candace's face earlier—the Earthbound spirit had to be inside her. This was a rare opportunity.

Things were at an impasse. Martin suddenly stood up and turned the tide, saying, "Shoot, Ambrose. I trust you."

"Marty!"

"We'll all die here if we continue like this. I'm sure the true Candace wouldn't complain even if she had to sacrifice herself to keep the rest of us alive," Martin said.

Ultimately, Olivia and Michael also agreed to let me pull the trigger.

Just then, Candace's face twisted. A bald ghost shot out from her body and tried to escape, but I instantly pulled the trigger and got her in the back of the head.

She howled—I was sure she was destroyed this time.

…

One day, I headed to the orphanage to visit Ally again. I found her crying while curled up in a corner—she looked miserable. I asked one of the staff whether anyone had bullied her but was told that one of her friends had died.

"A friend?"

"I heard Ally talk about a pup or something—maybe it was a stray dog. You know how children love kittens and puppies. Don't worry about it, Mr. Lionheart. She'll forget about it in a day or two."

…

That afternoon, we visited Candace in the hospital. Eugene was apologetic over shooting her shoulder, so he'd bought various things for her. He stood by her bedside and tried to suck up to her, but she ignored him.

Instead, she asked me, "How did you know the Earthbound spirit had possessed me, Ambrose?"

I said, "You've always given me a deadpan look, but you smiled at me that day."

Olivia and Michael laughed at that. Candace immediately went back to giving me her usual deadpan look.

Wanting to ease the awkwardness, I asked Martin, "How could you tell that I wasn't possessed, Marty?"

He smiled and said, "By looking into your eyes. People lie through their lips, not their eyes."

Eugene said, "You could've just looked into each of our eyes, then. We wouldn't have had to go to such trouble."

"It's something that only works for certain people. Someone like you—with those rat-like, shifty eyes—would look suspicious, no matter what. How would I have been able to tell the difference?"

Just then, Michael returned with a box of odd videotapes. "We've got work again, guys."

We shuffled forward. "What the hell are these things?"

"This has been a big deal lately. I'm sure you guys must've heard a thing or two about this."

Eugene asked, "Are you talking about that weird videotape? The one where whoever watches it has to make ten copies and mail them out or they'll be in trouble?"

"That's the one," Michael said.

Chapter 4

"Are you kidding me? Do you think we're filming a horror film or something? This is obviously a prank by someone who has too much time on their hands. The police should be the ones to handle this," Eugene said.

Just then, Martin entered the room and said, "This is no prank. According to the police, there have already been 13 deaths among those who received the videotapes. They've stopped the spreading of the videos but can't confirm how many people have already received them."

"No way. Is it that creepy? Hurry up and play the tape, Michael. Show us what the big deal is," Eugene urged.

"We'll be in trouble if we don't send out copies after watching it, though," Michael said.

"Fuck that. We're OIA agents—we can't be scared of that stuff!"

Martin said, "It doesn't look like there's any use in sending copies out, anyway. Several victims copied and mailed the videotapes out."

That only piqued our curiosity more. Michael hurriedly played one of the tapes, and we crowded around the TV to watch it like children gathering round to watch a horror film together.

The tape was only three minutes long. The scene was of a long-haired woman in a red dress dancing underneath a spotlight in a dim room.

That was all the video was about. Her hair was so long that we couldn't see her face, and the video didn't have any audio.

"What the hell? And here I thought it would be scary. This woman won't crawl out of the screen like the ghost in that horror film, will it?"

Michael said, "It's written here that the woman's name is the Dancing Beauty."

Martin said, "Well, we'll have to wait for more news from the police. We won't need to do anything if the person behind this is a human."

That night, he picked Candace up after she was discharged from the hospital, and all six of us gathered for a meal. I had a few drinks, so I soon fell asleep after returning to the OIA.

I was half-conscious when I found myself looking at the Dancing Beauty. She was still in her red dress. Her face was ashen, and she had a chain around her neck. She held a fork in one hand and a knife in the other.

Unlike the video, I heard her voice this time. She was singing while dancing, and she sounded hauntingly sorrowful. I couldn't understand what she was singing.

More importantly, her overall style was more classical, yet she held a modern-looking fork and knife. It was a weird combination. One more thing that struck me as odd was the chain around her neck, which was eerily like a dog leash and collar.

Just then, she noticed me and slowly approached me.

I asked, "W-Who are you? Did you kill those people who received the videotapes?"

She didn't answer me. Instead, she suddenly sped up, her red heels clicking against the floor. The sound echoed around the empty room.

It was truly a frightening scene. Could it be that the Dancing Beauty really was like the ghost in that horror film?

Before I could think any further, she slashed her knife at me, getting me in the arm. I wanted to whip out my gun but found there was nothing around my waist. I had no choice but to grab her arms and engage her in a physical battle.

The Dancing Beauty was eerie, but she didn't seem any different from a regular woman. She wasn't physically strong, so she was no match for me.

After a brief struggle, she broke free of me and ran into the darkness that surrounded us. I wanted to go after her, but I abruptly jolted and opened my eyes—I'd only been dreaming.

I headed to the restroom to take a piss and stared dazedly at myself in the mirror. That was when I noticed a bleeding wound on my arm.

That stunned me. Hadn't I been dreaming earlier? Or would the Dancing Beauty appear in the dreams of anyone who'd watched the video?

The injuries she caused in the dream would happen in reality—that meant that if she killed the person in their dreams…

I couldn't help shuddering at the thought. After some consideration, I decided to tell everyone at the OIA about this matter the following day.

To my surprise, everyone told me they'd dreamed of the Dancing Beauty as well. It seemed their dream had been similar to mine.

Eugene smacked his head. "We're in trouble this time. This isn't someone to be trifled with."

Michael received a call. It seemed yet another person who'd received the videotape had died. We hurried to the crime scene and found that the victim was a young man who'd taken his own life.

That night, we gathered in the OIA's main hall. None of us dared to sleep, afraid that we would dream of the Dancing Beauty again.

However, we were swamped with work. None of us had slept well the night before, and we'd been busy during the day. We could barely keep our eyes open by the latter half of the night.

Michael made a few more mugs of strong coffee. "Do you guys know the longest a human can survive without sleep? Someone did an experiment on this before. They locked five prisoners in an enclosed space and released a gas called Nekolayof—a stimulant that kept them exhilarated and unable to sleep.

"By the ninth day, the prisoners had mental breakdowns and kept screaming. By the 15th day, they went quiet and started harming themselves. They peeled their skin off themselves…"

Eugene waved. "I've heard enough. We can't continue like this—we have to think of something."

Olivia said, "Candace is the only one among us who didn't watch the video. Here's an idea—how about all of us get sleeping bags and sleep in the main hall? Candace can watch over us. We're bound to have reactions if we're having nightmares; she can wake us up before anything happens."

"Doesn't she need to sleep, though?"

"We can do this in shifts. We rest at night, and she can catch up on sleep during the day."

The suggestion made sense to all of us, so we decided to sleep in that manner before getting to the bottom of the Dancing Beauty's mystery.

During the wee hours of the morning, Candace asked me, "Why aren't you resting? Are you scared?"

"Nah. I've always had trouble sleeping, so I'm not too tired," I answered.

Martin got up just then. "Old folks don't sleep much, either. I'm not like those two—look at them, snoring away like chainsaws. How about we play poker since we don't have anything to do?"

He got the poker cards as he spoke.

"I don't really get it, Marty. You said Earthbound spirits are resentful spirits that form after humans or animals die, right? They're supposed to be bound to a specific area. How can the Dancing Beauty enter other people's dreams, then?" I asked.

He sighed. "I think the key lies in the videotapes—think of them as mediums. The Dancing Beauty isn't the same as other Earthbound spirits. She probably can't move freely, so she's using this special way to kill.

"Just like Farrah Lane, her malevolent energy will increase with the number of people she kills. It's highly likely she'll soon overcome the obstacle of being bound. Things will only become more troublesome when that happens."

Candace asked, "So, you're saying that the Dancing Beauty who appears in the dreams has a physical body elsewhere, and finding that physical body is the key to taking her out?"

"Yeah. The police are already looking into that. We should soon find out where the first videotape came from."

Just then, Eugene's expression became agonized. "Don't come any closer; I don't have money! Mom, I didn't mean to…"

I hurriedly woke him up. He jolted awake, drenched in a cold sweat. "Fuck, that scared me half to death!"

"What did you dream of?" I asked.

"I—" He started before abruptly stopping himself. It seemed he'd dreamed of something that was hard for him to talk about. "It's none of your business."

Candace said, "What else could it be? He must've dreamed of his mother and those loan sharks."

Only then did I learn that Eugene had grown up in a poor, single-parent family. His mother had put herself through the wringer to get him through college, hoping he would succeed and live a better life.

He hadn't disappointed her—he'd gotten into the top finance college in the country and scored a job at a bank after graduation.

He'd had a bright future, but his ambition had gotten the better of him. He'd secretly embezzled the bank's funds to make risky investments and later used more public funds to cover the losses. The cycle had continued until the hole had become too big for him to fill.

By the time his crimes had been exposed, he'd embezzled a total of 700 million dollars. Combined with other financial crimes, he'd been sentenced to life imprisonment. His mother had been so upset that she'd died of a heart attack.

This matter had later become Eugene's biggest regret—one he couldn't move past.

It seemed the Dancing Beauty could do more than just appear in someone's dream—she could also attack their most vulnerable points.

Even Eugene, who was usually outgoing and carefree, couldn't help looking ashen after the fright he'd faced in his dream.

Half an hour after he was roused from his sleep, Michael let out an agonized cry. This told me one thing—the Dancing Beauty could only appear in one person's dream at a time.

The following day, Michael received news from the police that they'd found the source of the first videotape. We arrived at a small studio apartment in the east of the city, which was occupied by Lucas Birch, a delivery worker.

"It's the police. Please cooperate with us."

Lucas was taken to the police station. He'd heard of the Dancing Beauty and knew exactly why he'd been taken in. As soon as a police officer started questioning him, he came clean about everything he knew.

"I didn't record the video. Someone else gave it to me," he said.

"Who?"

"My ex-girlfriend, Winnie White."

Chapter 5

Lucas told us he and Winnie had called it quits ten years ago. Back then, they'd moved to this city for work, wanting to earn a sum before returning to their hometown to get married.

However, Winnie had been young and pretty. She'd hooked up with an old artist behind Lucas' back, even becoming his sugar baby. Lucas had broken up with her upon learning the truth and had left the city afterward. They hadn't been in contact since.

Not long ago, Lucas had returned to this city for work. One night, he'd dreamed of Winnie. In the dream, Winnie had told him she was dead and that she'd met a terrible end.

She'd asked him to do her a favor and retrieve a videotape from a specific sewer. Then, she'd wanted him to make ten copies of the tape and spread it, or she wouldn't leave him alone.

Lucas had been incredulous after waking up. His girlfriend from ten years ago had died, yet she'd chosen to visit him in his dreams? Despite his doubts, he'd still gone to the sewer. Sure enough, he'd found a videotape there.

With that, he'd believed in the dream's authenticity. Frightened, he'd hurriedly made ten copies of the videotape and mailed them out per Winnie's instructions. That was how the videotapes of the Dancing Beauty had come to be.

"I'm telling the truth, officer," Lucas said.

Martin narrowed his eyes. "So, you're saying that the Dancing Beauty in the videotape is actually your ex-girlfriend, Winnie White, but she's dead now?"

"Yeah. I don't know how she died, though."

Martin sighed. "I fear my suspicions are correct. She's using the videotapes to spread her resentment and commit murder so that she can gather more resentment to grow stronger."

I asked, "Where's the sewer?"

"At Trinity Street, but that's the main sewer junction. The videotape must've been washed down from some building," Lucas answered.

"Wouldn't most buildings' pipes be too small for a videotape to pass through?"

Candace said, "It's likely to be from a private villa. Those have separate drainage systems."

Eugene said, "Trinity Street is surrounded by affluent neighborhoods, though. There's gotta be countless villas in the area. Who the heck would know which one the Dancing Beauty is hidden in?"

I said, "I'm guessing it's the home of that old artist, her sugar daddy. Do you know where he lives?"

Lucas shook his head. He'd been furious after finding out about Winnie's affair and had left the city without another look back. He knew nothing about the old artist.

That stumped us. We had no choice but to have Michael scour the villa neighborhoods in the area.

…

One day, before night fell, we received a phone call from the police—Lucas was dead. He'd started bleeding from all orifices and had dropped dead while taking a short nap.

A chill ran through all of us. At this rate, none of us would be able to sleep. The worst part was that the Dancing Beauty would grow stronger with every person she killed. Even if we had Candace stand guard over us while we slept, it was highly likely we'd die in our dreams before she'd be able to wake us up.

Eugene paced anxiously as his frustration boiled over. "I'm gonna lose my mind if we continue like this, damn it!"

Martin smoked a cigar. Then, he said slowly, "I have an idea that's worth a shot. I have an old friend who's a monk at the monastery on Mount Thistle. From what I know, he practices a form of deep meditation that's sort of like self-hypnosis. He can control his dreams to a certain extent.

"Since the Dancing Beauty can murder people in their dreams, she probably won't be able to get to us if we can control our dreams through meditation."

It sounded far-fetched but was still worth a shot. That night, we headed to the monastery on Mount Thistle and sought out Martin's friend. He was the abbot there, and his monastic name was Elio. Everyone called him Abbot Elio.

Abbot Elio said, "Dreams don't come from nothing. As people always say, the more you think about something, the more likely it is to show up in your dreams. To be free of these nightmares, you need to open your hearts, untangle your inner conflicts, and face your weaknesses head-on."

He wanted us to be forthcoming with him so that he could guide us to clarity. Evidently, everyone in the OIA—except for me—had secrets that they found hard to voice. I didn't have any because I'd lost my memories after the accident.

Eugene was the first to speak up. He told Abbot Elio about his debts and his mother. Michael was next. He'd once been a regular delivery worker but had gotten into a fight with someone who'd falsely accused him of theft and had accidentally killed the guy.

Next were Olivia and Martin. They were uncomfortable having everyone know their secrets, so they went into a room with Abbot Elio for a private conversation.

Eugene and Michael were flabbergasted. "What the fuck? Doesn't that make us the only fools here?"

Abbot Elio came to a conclusion after listening to everyone's secrets—the Dancing Beauty was still relatively weak and couldn't kill people outright in their dreams. Instead, she manipulated their deepest fears and weaknesses, using their psychological vulnerabilities against them.

When facing someone like me who had lost his memories and had no weaknesses, she'd had no choice but to attack directly. It was clear she'd already failed once—she hadn't stood a chance against me when we'd faced off one-to-one in my dream.

Abbot Elio said I could rest without worries while the others had to meditate with him. Sure enough, everyone rested well that night; no one had nightmares.

At the same time, they also obtained more information on the Dancing Beauty by controlling their dreams through meditation.

The Dancing Beauty really was Winnie White. Ten years ago, she'd become a sugar baby to a wealthy old artist. The guy had been a freak, though. He'd locked her in his basement and chained her around the neck. Then, he'd had her put on a red dress and dance for him—she'd been his exclusive plaything.

He was the one who'd recorded the videotape. Not only was he wealthy, but he'd also been a fan of fine arts. He'd insisted on having steak for each meal.

Although the Dancing Beauty had been forbidden from leaving the basement, she'd gotten the same treatment as the old artist in everything else. That was why I'd dreamed of her in that red dress and the chain around her neck—it also explained why she'd been holding a fork and knife.

Not long ago, the old artist had passed away. He'd had a respectable reputation in public, so no one knew he'd locked Winnie in his basement. After his death, she'd been forgotten there.

She'd already been driven to insanity by the old artist's torment, and she'd died after having her food and water cut off. After her death, she'd become an Earthbound spirit.

It was likely her soul was trapped in the basement and that she couldn't leave. However, she could spread her resentment through the videotapes. She probably wanted to use this method to murder people and gather more resentment so she could ultimately break free of the basement's hold on her.

…

The following day, Eugene returned in a panic while holding a music box. "Look at this!"

It had a wooden figurine of a dancing woman in a red dress. When wound up, she spun gracefully, just like the Dancing Beauty in the videotape.

We were surprised. "Where did you get this from?"

"Tina Johnson's home."

It turned out Eugene had gone to the Johnson residence that morning to wrap up the investigation when he'd seen the music box. According to the housekeeper, it was a birthday gift from the art academy's former dean.

That was when we put two and two together—the deranged artist was George Leer, the dean of the art academy who'd been beheaded by Earthbound spirit. It looked like death was what he deserved.

We immediately got George's address and hurried there. As expected, it was a standalone villa. He didn't have a wife or kids, so the villa had been sealed after his death.

We entered the villa and soon found the door to the basement. Eugene grabbed a fire axe and said, "Get ready, guys. I'm gonna open the door—remember to shoot if she tries to do anything."

He swung the axe, breaking the rusted lock with a clang. We shone torches into the basement but didn't see anyone. The Dancing Beauty's body wasn't there, but there was a metal chain and cage. Photos of her dancing were also plastered on the walls. This was clearly where she'd been imprisoned.

"Could it be that she's accumulated enough resentment to break the barrier between dreams and reality and has already escaped?"

We'd made the trip there only to return with nothing. Back at the OIA, Martin suddenly received a call. His expression turned grim.

Candace asked, "What's wrong?"

Martin took a deep puff of his cigar before exhaling heavily. "Abbot Elio is dead. He died while meditating, and he was discovered with several knife injuries."

"What? How…"

"Isn't he supposed to be free of worldly desires? Even he couldn't escape the Dancing Beauty's clutches?"

Martin said, "Just because he's a monk doesn't mean he was free of worldly desires."

He told us that Abbot Elio had been a murderer in his youth. He'd later joined the OIA and left after completing seven missions.

He concluded, "It looks like he never truly let his past go. That gave the Dancing Beauty the opening she needed."

Eugene said, "He never watched the video, though."

I said, "That means the Dancing Beauty really has broken the barrier between dreams and reality. She doesn't need the videotapes to spread her resentment anymore. Who knows how things will turn out from here?"