Chapter 2: Suspicions and Revelations

I forced myself to calm down and didn’t send the message to 302.

Instead, I hurried back to the group-buy chat, scrolling up to see who had posted that gruesome product.

But the link was gone.

I hadn’t noticed who posted it at first—had someone deleted it?

My head throbbed. Maybe I was too slow, or maybe someone was covering their tracks. In my mind’s eye, every neighbor’s face twisted with suspicion.

After racking my brain, I decided I needed real help: the police.

After all, this is a new apartment complex in Maple Heights. Only two buildings are open, everyone just moved in. The only group chats are for buying home appliances—nobody really knows anyone yet.

It was like living in a hotel, full of strangers. I trusted the police more than any neighbor.

So I typed in the group: "Is anyone still awake? I want to call the police. Later, please help confirm that I received a group-buy death threat too."

Apartment 101 downstairs replied right away: "The cops just left my place. They’ll probably come to you soon."

Right then, the doorbell rang.

My pulse skipped. I pressed my eye to the peephole, heart hammering. The hallway was empty except for a single figure in blue.

I opened the door. Before I could say anything, he barked, "Police are handling a case nearby. Lock your doors and windows. Don’t go out."

But I couldn’t hold back: "Is it about the murder in Building A? Haven’t caught the killer yet?"

He glared at me, voice cold: "Don’t go spreading rumors. You stir up trouble, you’ll answer to us."

With that, he turned and headed up to the third floor.

His boots thudded on the stairs, heavy and impatient. I stared after him, uneasy.

First: the murder in Building A must be real.

Second: a question nagged at me—

Don’t cops usually work in pairs?

Why was he alone?

A knot formed in my gut. I’d watched enough Dateline and Law & Order to know cops never work alone on a murder. As soon as I realized this, a new suspicion took hold—

Maybe even the police aren’t entirely trustworthy?

The thought left me shivering, despite the fact that the heat was still on from earlier. I double-checked the deadbolt, my hand trembling.

I quickly shut my door.

This is a walk-up building, two apartments per floor, with a main entrance downstairs. If that door’s locked, there’s no way out.

I immediately called 911, explained everything to the dispatcher, who said they’d alert the patrol and told me to wait.

The dispatcher’s voice was calm, but I could hear other calls stacking up in the background—Maple Heights wasn’t used to this much excitement.

Just after I hung up, 302 messaged me again: "The police just came to my place too. Did you tell him about your situation?"

I hesitated, then replied cautiously: "Was that a real cop? Don’t police always work in pairs?"

302 replied: "Not always. For notifications, one officer is allowed."

I froze. Had I misunderstood?

I tried to recall every cop show I’d ever binged, but the details slipped through my fingers. Maybe 302 was right. Maybe.

302 sent another message: "Didn’t you notice all the community group chats are shut down? Only real police could lock them like that."

I checked Messenger. All the official building chats were locked down—except the weird group-buy thread, still blinking with unread messages.

Just then, my doorbell rang again. It was the same officer.

As soon as I opened the door, he snapped, "Can you stop making trouble? Why keep calling 911? All calls get routed to me. I told you—just stay home and sleep, we’re busy enough already."

He grumbled some more, then stormed off.

His boots thudded on the stairs, heavy and impatient.

But 302’s next message made my heart pound: "The police are a mess right now. Don’t provoke them. From what I heard, the body parts from Building A were picked up by the group-buy neighbors themselves."

I nearly gagged, picturing familiar faces at my door, arms outstretched for their ‘share’.

I stared at the screen, chills running through me.

Picked up by themselves?

I squeezed my phone tight, as if that would keep me safe from the insanity unfolding just outside my door.

I quickly asked 302: "What do you mean, picked up by themselves?"

He replied: "Six neighbors went and killed that person, then took the body parts home."

His words made my blood run cold.

I almost laughed in disbelief, but my throat was too tight. This sounded like something out of a horror podcast, not real life. How could something this insane happen?

But maybe this explained the police’s bad attitude—

They’re just as confused as everyone else.

I pictured the officers, faces drawn and sleepless, as lost as we were. It was too surreal: neighbors, ordinary people, suddenly turning into killers, rushing in, hacking someone up, and taking the pieces home?

What on earth is going on?

No—what I should really be worried about is—

Could I be next? Killed and dismembered by my own neighbors?

So, is there really a single killer at all?

Or do the group-buy participants become the murderers?

As I snapped out of my thoughts, a new message appeared in the group-buy chat: "Police have left. The main door on the first floor is locked. No one can get out."

It was from 101 downstairs.

At first glance, it looked like a status update.

But reading between the lines, I felt a chill—

Was he signaling to the others that it was time to come for me?

I shivered, imagining the hallway outside growing crowded with footsteps.

A cold sweat broke out on my back.

If 101 was right, then the whole building was a giant locked room.

And if what 302 said was true, the neighbors who claimed my body parts would be coming for me.

Right now, they must all be eyeing Apartment 202.

I had to escape.

But where could I go?

I glanced at my apartment’s layout—tiny kitchen, tiny bathroom, no fire escape. My window overlooked the alley, but the drop was too far. So far, only 302 seemed to be helping me.

But as I stared at our chat, I still didn’t dare ask to hide at his place.

Because I had no idea which six neighbors had claimed my body parts.

What if 302 was one of them?

After racking my brain, I could only think of one thing—

Call the police again. Cause a scene. Maybe if they took me to the station, I’d be safe there.

But just then, another Messenger message popped up:

"You haven’t gone out, have you? Don’t go out. If you do, you’ll die for sure."

It was from 602, the neighbor on the top floor.

I scrolled through our old messages—there weren’t any. Not even a hello.

As far as I could remember, I’d never even met him.

Why would he suddenly message me?

I quickly replied: "What’s going on? Do you know something?"

He responded right away: "I know a little. But first, tell me—has any neighbor been urging you to leave home and escape?"

I froze.

That was exactly what 302 had been doing.

But I wasn’t sure if 602 wanted to help me or had some other motive, so I hesitated to answer.

He sent another message: "It’s 302, isn’t it? I have the chat log. He posted the group-buy, then deleted it after it ended."

He attached a screenshot.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

The screenshot clearly showed that the group-buy link was posted by 302.

My suspicion was right—he really was involved.

Thank goodness I hadn’t sent that message asking to hide at his place. I would have walked right into the lion’s den.

But what about 602? Did he have his own agenda?

I asked him: "Why did you save the chat log? You weren’t just curious, were you?"

He replied: "I moved into this building specifically to investigate what’s happening tonight."

What did that mean?

Did he know something would happen tonight?

I paced to my window, heart racing, peering into the night as if the darkness might offer up an answer.

I pressed further: "Did you know in advance someone would try to kill me?"

He sent several messages:

"No, but I knew something would happen today. Something happens every year on this date."

"I’m investigating my younger brother. He disappeared from this complex exactly a year ago today. He vanished without a trace—the police found nothing."

"The night before he disappeared—this very night last year—he sent me a message. It was a screenshot: he’d been made into a group-buy ‘prank’."

I was floored.

My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall, phone pressed to my chest. I’d had no idea such a terrifying thing had ever happened here. I’d never seen anything like it online, either.

Remembering his earlier warning, I asked: "Why can’t I escape? Why do you say I’ll definitely die if I go out?"

His answer was blunt: "Because it’s not safe outside."

He sent a video.

I opened it—and my mind went blank.

It was a shaky, zoomed-in shot, so the video was blurry. But I could make out the open area in our complex, lit by a bonfire.

Six neighbors, faces hidden in the firelight, spun around the flames. On their laundry poles, the body parts swung like grotesque parade floats.

They moved with frenzied abandon, as if performing some grotesque ritual…

What chilled me most was what stood nearby—

Several people in police uniforms, watching in silence.

They weren’t even pretending to intervene.

No, this wasn’t tacit approval—

They were maintaining the ritual’s order.

It was so surreal, I could barely believe my own eyes.

I covered my mouth, stifling a scream, my body frozen on the living room floor. The flickering light from the video cast terrible shadows on my walls.

602 messaged again:

"It’s already like this outside. Do you still think you can escape?"

I took a deep breath, realizing this video must have been shot from above—probably from 602’s balcony.

Which meant this was happening right now.

No wonder the officer who came earlier was so impatient, not caring about my safety at all.

Were they just waiting for me to be chopped up and paraded around the bonfire?

I was shaking uncontrollably.

I grabbed the can of La Croix on my coffee table, the condensation slick against my palm. The fizz burned my throat, grounding me for a second.

If I stayed home, wasn’t I just waiting to die?

602 messaged: "Don’t worry. They can’t break into your home by force. Trust me, I’ve studied this. Wait a bit—I might be able to find a way out."

For a moment, I didn’t know what to believe. 602’s logic made sense, and the video was terrifying proof.

But it was all so surreal—was that really happening outside?

I tried peering out the balcony and other windows, but from the second floor, the trees blocked my view. I couldn’t see the plaza below Building A at all.

Could 602 really find a way to escape?

I could only hope he was trying to save himself, too. He never did explain why he wanted to help me…

Just then, 302 messaged again:

"The main door is locked, but maybe you could try something else: call the police again. When they come, attack the officer. Assaulting a cop is a crime, but it’s better than dying here, right?"

I was stunned.

That was exactly the plan I’d considered earlier.

But 602 had warned me I’d die for sure if I went outside, so I’d abandoned the idea.

If 302 really wanted to harm me, why suggest something that might save my life?

Could it be that he actually wanted me to survive?

I stared at the conversation threads, my mind racing through possible scenarios like an over-caffeinated detective.

With these doubts swirling, I decided to confront 302 directly:

"You posted the group-buy, didn’t you? I already know."

But 302 replied, all innocence: "What? That definitely wasn’t me."

I was expecting that. I sent him the screenshot from 602 and pressed again: "Still denying it?"

At the same time, I tried to throw him off: "I’ve already figured out your plot, and I have a way to survive. Give up."

Unexpectedly, 302 shot back: "Who sent you that? That screenshot’s been doctored. That person wants to harm you."

I didn’t have any real evidence, so of course I didn’t trust 302.

At least 602 had shown me the chaos outside—and I really was terrified of being killed if I went out.

302 quickly sent more messages: "I know you don’t trust me now, but I wouldn’t trust anyone, either. The person who started the group-buy isn’t even in the group."

His words were full of implications.

How could someone not in the group post a group-buy link?

I quickly asked him: "How do you know all this?"

My fingers trembled so hard I nearly dropped the phone. What if I’d just tipped him off?

He shot back: "You tell me first—"

My phone vibrated again. This time, the message wasn’t from 302 or 602. It was from an unknown number: “Ready to claim your part, 202?”