Chapter 1687: Dead dead

As quietness deafened both Atlas and Dean, the latter started grumbling again. Dean had checked all corners for a signal. He even crawled and stood on the counter for a higher reach, but to no avail.

In the end, Dean slumped on the floor with a deep sigh.

"We’re dead, Atlas," he grumbled. "Like real... dead. Dead dead. Do you hear me?"

Atlas didn’t answer.

Dean snapped his eyes at the man, cocking his head to the side. "We’re going to die, and you’re putting your faith in your sister’s mood."

Atlas still ignored him, keeping his eyes ahead, his mind drifting elsewhere. After a second, he finally spoke.

"We are," Atlas muttered. "We’re dead."

"..." Dean’s face soured as his heart felt utterly bitter. He looked away and hissed, letting out another profanity. "If I end up as a ghost, I’ll haunt that Jonathan — no, I’ll haunt the ghost of you. I’ll follow you in the ghost world, and even once we cross over — be it heaven or hell."

"Did you hear me?" he placed a hand on his chest. "I’ll haunt you... forever."

Even before they die, that did sound haunting.

Atlas remained unfazed, closing his eyes. His back was pressed against the counter, arms resting over his knees, his hand playing with the keycard.

"Tsk!" Dean clicked his tongue irritably, his eyes sharp.

A part of him was already exhausted, pushing him to the brink of giving up. But the other part of him simply didn’t want to, and that part was slowly getting filled with rage that he could carry on when he died.

"If you die..." Atlas, after a long time, finally spoke. He slowly opened his eyes, sliding them to where Dean was seated. "...you’ll become a vengeful spirit. I don’t think you’d be able to cross over like that."

Dean’s breath hitched, not by shock, but rather because he couldn’t believe even in this situation, Atlas still had time for nonsense.

"Is that what you’ve been thinking while you were quiet here?" he asked, his face blank, as if he was on the brink of snapping. "Say another word and I’ll kill you right here and now. We’re dying anyway."

Atlas just stared at him and looked away. ’Then, I will not answer.’

Dean, the person who had told Atlas not to answer, scrunched up his nose when the latter seemed to ignore him.

"Damn it —!" he stopped when he heard a sharp yet faint noise. "What?"

He and Atlas turned their heads to the door, furrowing their brows.

"What is going on there?" Dean mumbled, pushing himself up and approaching the door. The whirring of something rang in his ears, albeit faintly.

He touched the surface of the vault, feeling a vibration as if someone was breaking the door. Whether cutting it open or burning it, he didn’t know. But what was certain was that someone outside was trying to open this vault.

"Atlas, do you think that’s Penny?" Dean asked, looking back at Atlas, who was already standing on his feet.

Atlas kept silent, approaching Dean and stopping several steps from the man. He stared at the door, listening to the faint sound coming from outside.

"Can you hear her?" he asked, shifting his eyes back to Dean. "If that’s Penny, she would’ve been yelling to let us know she’s here to save the day."

Clang...

Dean gulped and gazed back at the door. It wasn’t like he didn’t know Penny’s personality. That woman liked to brag about everything, especially if that meant making Atlas owe her. No, actually, to make Dean owe her as well.

Why would Dean even brag about Penny if not for that woman doing it to him, rubbing it in his face about her contributions to everything she participated in with Dean—be it writing his own paper or solving a problem?

Yet, they couldn’t hear Penny.

"If it’s Penny, then we’re saved," Atlas’ quiet voice remarked, eyes sharp as he glared at the door. "But if it’s not her, then remember why Jonathan is in critical condition after almost getting stabbed to death."

A moment of silence fell on their shoulders because now, the two of them leaned more toward the second idea.

"We’re screwed," Dean muttered. "Someone who stabbed that guy would surely not let us off if they find us here."

Atlas nodded, turning to Dean, who was also looking back at him. They didn’t say anything; they just stared at each other. After a beat, the two of them walked away from the door and intuitively searched for another way.

They had already checked, even exhausted themselves in breaking this wall. However, they couldn’t just stand there and wait for whoever was outside to break the door and find them there.

Getting killed here was clean, and no one would find them for sure.

"God..." Dean breathed out, checking each drawer for anything. "If there’s no secret door, then we have no choice but to force our way out of here."

"We’ve got some time," Atlas remarked, checking the laboratory counter for anything as well.

But then again, both of them knew forcing their way out of the people coming in here was futile. If there were just one or two, perhaps they had a chance. But they were certain there were more trying to open this door. Moreover, it was stupid to think that the people outside weren’t armed.

For sure, they were armed.

Dean once again went through the closets in this place, his palm feeling every inch just in case. He had already done this the first time, but nothing. Even so, there was no harm in checking again.

Unfortunately, the closet—or to be exact, a locker—was just a normal locker. It contained just one pair of shirts and jeans, and a lab coat.

Dean shook his head and moved on to the next drawer beside it. He had gone through this as well, but his desperation was pushing him to check again.

Meanwhile, Atlas focused on the other side of the place. Just like Dean, he checked even more carefully. He even knelt and checked underneath the counter, but there was nothing.

The two of them didn’t talk, didn’t even complain. They just moved, checked, beads of sweat forming on their foreheads and backs. But even after minutes of relentless searching, there was nothing.

"We’re trapped," Dean admitted, his face pale as he gazed up at Atlas.

Atlas, standing near the investigation board, raised his hand to the wall. His fingers from the pink held the keycard as he rested, panting for air.

Their hearts began sinking until suddenly, they heard a mechanical beep.

Tut... tut...

"Hmm?" Their brows rose, lifting their eyes where the sound was coming from.

Their gaze eventually landed on Atlas’s hand, which was pressing on the broken tile wall. The keycard was clipped in Atlas’s hand.