Last Frame Standing

Rin and Jisoo climbed back up from the laundry's basement.Their boots made heavy sounds on the rusty stairs, and the buzzing voices saying, "Rin… Jisoo…," still bothered them.

The trapdoor closed behind them with a loud bang, the sound echoing in the air heavy with rot.

The buzzing sound was stronger now, a constant vibration that felt like something was waking up below—something that knew their names.

Rin held her metal pipe tightly. It felt cold and sticky, and her knuckles were white as she gripped it.

Jisoo held her chipped butcher's knife, her bandaged arm trembling a little but staying steady. Blood was still seeping through the torn apron tied around her cut.

They didn't speak because they didn't need to.

Whatever was lurking in that basement wasn't done with them. Its rough, gasping breaths still echoed in Rin's mind, like a warning.

Staying here wasn't an option, not with the mimics getting active.

They slipped out the laundry's back door.

The door hinges creaked softly as they stepped into a narrow street full of broken glass and burnt-out scooters.

The scooters' tires were melted into the ground.

The city's neon signs flickered weakly overhead, casting a sickly green glow that made the ruins look sharp and jagged—broken coverings, fallen streetlights, and a child's backpack lying open, with crayons spilled into a gutter.

The air smelled strongly of ash and rot, a sour smell that stung Rin's nose and throat.

It was even stronger than the fishy smell in the market.

Rin led the way, keeping low.

Her boots scraped against the broken pieces on the ground.

Every sound was a risk in this too-quiet city.

Jisoo followed, breathing hard from the pain.

Her knife shone a little as she looked at the shadows.

Even with her wounded arm, she seemed tense but determined.

A faint clattering sound broke the stillness—a tin can skittering across the pavement.

It was a sharp, sudden sound, like a pebble falling in a glass jar.

Rin froze, raising her pipe quickly.

Her dark eyes darted to a boarded-up café across the street.

Its windows were cracked, the broken glass glinting in the flickering light.

The café's sign—Bean & Beat—hung by a single hinge, swaying slightly.

A shadow moved inside.

It was small and quick, not moving with the jerky movements of a mimic.

It was human—maybe too human.

Rin gave Jisoo a sharp nod, signaling danger.

Her mind was full of thoughts of traps, ambushes, and betrayal.

Jisoo's eyes met hers, looking careful but determined.

She adjusted her grip on the knife, her wounded arm brushing against the wall.

They moved closer, staying in the shadows of a tipped-over vending machine.

The machine's screen was cracked and still flashing "Out of Service" in a repeating red message.

Inside, the café was like a graveyard of better times—tables overturned, their legs sticking out at odd angles; coffee mugs shattered on the floor, the broken pieces covered with mold; and the air smelled strongly of stale coffee grounds and damp rot.

The bitter scent coated Rin's tongue.

A boy was crouched behind the counter.

He was thin and wiry, and his small frame was lost in a ripped hoodie and dirty jeans.

He held a broken mop stick like a spear, its splintered end trembling in his grip.

His dark hair fell over wide, watchful eyes that darted between Rin and Jisoo.

He saw them and scrambled back, bumping into a shelf that spilled sugar packets across the counter.

"Stay away!" he hissed, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and defiance that didn't sound very convincing.

His stick swung wildly.

Rin lowered her pipe a little, just enough to try to calm him.

Her mind was on edge.

"Easy, kid. We're not them."

Her voice was sharp, without any warmth. She didn't do comforting, not for people she didn't know, not when survival was so difficult.

Her eyes quickly scanned him.

He was too young, too scared, and likely to slow them down.

Jisoo stepped forward, her knife lowered but her eyes sharp.

She looked at him carefully, like a vendor sizing up a potential customer.

"You alone?" she asked, her voice blunt and direct, cutting through the heavy atmosphere of the café with the practicality of someone who had haggled through years of tough markets.

The boy hesitated, his stick trembling in his bony hands.

He took a shaky breath as he tried to hold their gaze.

"Jihoon," he muttered, barely audible.

The word seemed to slip out like it cost him something.

"It's been… three days. They got my sister."

His voice broke on the last word, a raw sound that broke the quiet.

He looked away, his jaw tightening as if he was trying to hold back his grief.

Rin's chest tightened.

Hana's face flashed in her mind, her soft voice saying "Rin… where…" from the radio.

But she pushed the memory down, hard.

There was no time for ghosts, not hers, not his.

She saw Jisoo glance at him, a hint of something softer in her weathered face.

Rin didn't like it.

Pity was a luxury they couldn't afford.

A screech tore through the air—a mimic's twisted cry, sharp and sudden, echoing from the street outside.

Jihoon flinched, his stick slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor.

The sound was deafening in the cramped café.

Rin cursed quietly under her breath, grabbing Jihoon's arm as a mimic crashed through a boarded-up window.

Its waxy skin was splitting at the seams, and dark veins pulsed beneath, like a dark heartbeat.

Its claws scraped against the floor, gouging deep scratches in the tiles.

Its pale, unblinking eyes locked onto Jihoon, buzzing "Jihoon…" in a voice that sounded too much like a girl's, high and pleading, mixed with static that made the air feel foul.

Rin swung her pipe, hitting the mimic's arm with a crack that echoed off the walls.

At the same time, Jisoo drove her knife into its chest with a wet sound.

Her wounded arm shook, but her aim was precise.

The mimic shrieked and thrashed, its jagged teeth snapping inches from Jihoon's frozen face.

He stared, his eyes wide, as if he was seeing his sister in its sagging, twisted features.

"Move!" Rin snapped, yanking Jihoon toward a back door.

Her grip bruised his arm as she pulled him through the wreckage—overturned chairs and spilled coffee beans crunching under their feet.

Jisoo followed, slamming her shoulder against the door to force it open.

Her knife dripped black mimic blood.

They stumbled into a narrow alley.

The mimic's screeches faded behind them, but others were answering, their clicking sounds closing in like a tightening net.

Jisoo barred the door with a splintered plank, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Her wounded arm trembled as she leaned against the wall.

Jihoon clutched his broken stick, which was useless now.

His chest heaved with shallow, panicked breaths, and his eyes darted to the shadows as if he expected his sister to appear.

Jisoo straightened up, wiping her blade on her jeans.

Her gaze settled on Jihoon with a mix of firmness and reluctant warmth.

"You're with us now," she said, her voice steady but not unkind, showing the determination of someone who had survived many hardships.

"You can't stay alone—not with them hunting you."

Rin shot her a warning look—too soft, too fast.

Another person to protect meant another risk.

But she didn't argue.

Jihoon's name on that mimic's lips wasn't random, just like hers and Jisoo's weren't.

She tightened her grip on the pipe.

Its weight reminded her of how dangerous their situation was.

Jihoon nodded, barely moving his head.

His eyes were fixed on the ground, and he was still clutching the useless stick like it was a lifeline.

Its splintered end was smudged with dirt.

"Okay," he whispered, the word sounding fragile but final, a step towards something Rin didn't want to think about—trust, maybe, or just surviving together.

Her jaw tightened.

Her cynicism was like a shield against the burden of another life tied to hers.

The mimics were hunting names, weaving them into their buzzing chorus, and Jihoon's name was already on their list.

Whatever ECHO was, it wasn't just a lab experiment gone wrong.

It was a trap, and they were all caught in it.