The Forgotten Tunnel
In the mountainous borderlands near Paektu Mountain, whispered tales tell of an abandoned railway tunnel—the Mugeogui Gwang, or “Tunnel of Silence.” Official maps omit its existence, and locals refer to it only with uneasy glances and quiet mutterings.
Back in the 1980s, engineers began constructing an underground transport route for classified military missions. But during the excavation, the team vanished. No bodies. No distress calls. Just their equipment, strewn about as though dropped mid-motion. Authorities sealed the tunnel entrance with reinforced steel and erased it from records.
Years later, a defector named Jae-Hwa returned to document evidence of government disappearances. Guided by cryptic rumors and an old railway blueprint, she unearthed the hidden entrance. The air inside was stale—thick with decay and something... older.
As she ventured deeper, the flicker of her flashlight revealed murals etched into the walls—faces screaming in silence, hands reaching upward, eyes gouged out. Her recording device picked up faint humming: a lullaby sung by a child’s voice, distorted and echoing. Then the walls pulsed.
Jae-Hwa's last transmission came in fragmented whispers: “They’re not dead. Not alive either. They’re waiting... in the tracks.”
All attempts to retrieve her failed. Those who tried came back changed—silent, eyes sunken, unable to speak of what they saw. The government denies any knowledge. But sometimes, faint tremors ripple through Paektu’s fo
rests… as if something beneath the earth still moves.

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