Snake Venom Ch 122

Chapter 122

With both feet fully inside the shaft, Lee Yeonwoo faced forward. The faint trace of light vanished, leaving him sealed in darkness. Cold metal pressed against his skin; stagnant air weighed upon him as though intent on crushing every inch of flesh. The memory of Sodom rose instinctively—those suffocating days he had survived by scent alone—but instead of recoiling, Yeonwoo seized that faint repulsion as strength.

Those nights when he repeated only one sentence—If I get caught, I die—until madness gnawed at the edges of reason, when fingertips scraped raw against walls as he crawled blind for his life. Yet now, Cheon Wooshin stood behind him. Behind Wooshin, a team. Even if he could not see an inch ahead, this darkness felt as bright as noon.

Deprived of sight, stripped of typical senses—ironically, this was when Yeonwoo could be most himself. The thought sharpened his focus to a blade. He inhaled deeply. The acrid sting of synthetic narcotics invaded his nose. Bracing himself on elbows and thighs, he pulled his body forward.

As he moved deeper, the club’s music bled into a low tremor through the walls—muted, as though thunder filtered through earth. Yeonwoo reached forward and advanced further.

Soon, he reached a fork. His breath panted unevenly as he tried to pinpoint the core of the scent. Left? Right? The fragrance was nearly equal, its subtle variations almost imperceptible—yet that slight uncertainty told him he had arrived.

“The production plant is definitely here.”

Wooshin’s low voice echoed in his mind. The scent wavered from the left; Yeonwoo turned without hesitation.

The further he crawled, the more absolute his certainty became. Metal bit into his shoulders, but he only pushed onward. His pulse raced—a confirmation, a triumph—just as—

Thud. Thud.

Vibration rippled above him.

He froze, eyes lifting. Again—heavy footsteps. Someone was walking overhead. Lying flat, he rolled to gain angle—caught a sliver of light seeping through a finger-wide gap, dust floating in webs of illumination.

Concrete should have blocked sight and sound. Yet footsteps and light leaked through. This place had never appeared on any blueprint. A shiver rose along his spine. So close. He blinked slowly—and two sets of steps overlapped. Voices followed.

“Who the hell keeps asking for another batch? We already pulled the first shipment ages ago.”

Yeonwoo’s ears sharpened.

“Orders are orders. We have enough raw material?”

The second voice was calmer, though muffled by metal.

“They made such a fuss assuring us we’d never run out.”

A muted clatter—something dropped. A shadow dipped as one bent to pick it up. Yeonwoo held his breath, watching until the shape retreated.

“Good. Give them what they want and demand what we need. Three days.”

Three days. The delivery deadline Wooshin had set.

“You think I don’t know that?”

The snarl was sharp, impatient.

“And you think I don’t know you know? Just focus on the money.”

Their casual conversation betrayed something much heavier. Yeonwoo etched each word into his mind.

Then clarity struck. The club’s soaring ceiling—the false paradise of light. By the schematic, he was positioned above the stage. He mentally traced his path here—remembered the supposed ceiling.

Had that ceiling been genuine? Or another concealed space?

If this was the factory, then this shaft… was a designated escape route.

No wonder the vent had come off so easily.

His pulse surged. They had not only built a hidden chamber—they built a seamless escape system. Now, he needed proof incontrovertible enough for no one to deny.

Flattening again, he resumed crawling. A faint glow filtered from above—a second vent. Voices floated down.

“They’re hungry. Let’s eat first.”

A door clicked open.

“Hurry! Food’s getting cold.”

The air shifted—oil, grease, sweetness of alcohol. Dinner. Their footsteps faded.

Now.

Yeonwoo steadied his breathing, waiting for the subtle lull in movement—club vibrations, internal sounds, distant noise colliding. Time stretched thin. Dizziness scraped his skull. But retreat was not an option; success meant survival.

Silence settled. No voices, no steps. Yeonwoo lowered himself, positioned at the vent, and lifted. It opened smoothly. He set it down silently and peered out.

It was tighter here than the ventilation shaft—no circulation, air stagnating like wet cloth.

He transferred the micro-camera from mouth to hand and extended it outward. Screens filled his view—pill packaging lines, vats of unknown fluid, cylinders, discarded uniforms. A production set laid bare. A buffet of evidence.

Click. Click. Click. Each shutter press heavy, precise, decisive.

Then—his eyes widened. A scent sliced through the air.

Poison. Raw, venomous, alive.

He hunted its origin, scanning relentless. A compact refrigerator glimmered. The smell oozed from within.

His heart beat once—slow, profound.

Wooshin had been right. This was it. The serpent’s gut.

He took further photos, hands taut with focus. When stillness returned, curiosity pricked him. Another door—thicker scent trails, human presence—likely the exit. Another—food. A rest space.

The first door. That had to be their access point.

He wanted to go further. His instincts clawed for more. But risks now outweighed reward.

He turned back.

A soft click.

A door opened.

Yeonwoo jerked backward, body flattening inside the duct. The grate remained open.

What do I do.

Sweat slid down his spine. Old, primal terror flashed alive—yet he did not move. Could not. One wrong sound could detonate everything.

Chewing noises scraped his ears, vulgar and wet. A sudden curse cracked the air.

“Damn it.”

Yeonwoo’s fists clenched white. His mind screamed for escape, yet he stayed rigid. If he panicked, the mission would burn.

Footsteps drifted—then paused. They turned.

Growing louder.

The man was coming straight toward him.