The morning air was thick with questions. Shadows lingered longer in the corners of the hospital halls, and even laughter seemed muffled by the weight of growing unease. After the anonymous tip and the haunting photograph of the abandoned baby, Kamsi couldn't shake the sensation that the hospital she thought she knew was built on something rotten.
She stood with Mfon at the back entrance to Department C—an old wing sealed off years ago after a rumored fire. Most staff avoided it. Some claimed it was structurally unstable, others whispered about strange sounds in the night. No one dared explore. But Kamsi had long stopped believing in rumors; she wanted answers.
"Are you sure about this?" Mfon whispered.
"No," Kamsi replied honestly. "But I need to know what happened in there."
They pried open a rusted emergency exit with a crowbar Mfon had "borrowed" from maintenance. The door gave way with a groan, revealing a pitch-dark hallway cloaked in dust and cobwebs. Kamsi's flashlight cut through the darkness, revealing flaking walls and forgotten furniture.
A faint echo greeted them with every step.
As they moved deeper, Mfon trailed her fingers along the wall. "This place gives me chills," she murmured.
Then, something strange—a door with a keypad.
"Looks newer than the rest of the wing," Mfon noted.
"Why would a sealed department have a fresh lock?"
Kamsi reached into her pocket and pulled out the old ID card of a nurse who had suddenly "resigned" two years ago. The same name that had come up in the sealed transfer logs. "Let's see if this works."
She swiped the card.
A beep. Then a green light.
The door creaked open.
Inside, they found a perfectly maintained examination room. Sterile. Organized. Recently used. Everything here defied the decay outside.
"There's a generator powering this room," Mfon whispered.
Then they saw the files—neatly stacked on a corner desk. Labeled simply: "Case 028 – 035."
Kamsi picked one at random. It contained detailed notes—forced labor inductions, high-dose sedatives, falsified records. Women marked only by numbers, not names.
She flipped to the last page.
Baby: Alive. Mother: Unknown. Delivery: Confidential. Supervision: Dr. R.
A chill ran down her spine.
"This is a ghost ward," Kamsi murmured. "Women were brought here—off record. Induced. Babies taken. And no one ever knew."
That night, the hospital was unusually quiet. Too quiet.
Back in her room, Kamsi barely slept. The truth was unraveling faster than she could catch it. She kept seeing the baby in the photo—wrapped in 2018 linens, hidden from the world.
She scrolled through old hospital newsletters, trying to trace any unusual maternity announcements, donations, or missing persons reports.
Then she found something odd.
A newsletter dated January 2018. A story buried in the back pages. "Director Welcomes Anonymous Donor's Gift of Infant Incubators to Gynae Ward C."
She blinked.
That was the same month the photo was dated.
And Ward C—the same department supposedly sealed—was listed.
An anonymous donor. A mysterious baby. An active ward in a closed wing.
Everything was a lie.
The next day, Kamsi returned to her shift only to be pulled aside by the Matron.
"You've been asking too many questions," the Matron said, voice stern but low. "Let sleeping dogs lie, Kamsi. I'm telling you this as someone who wants you to stay alive."
"Did you know about Ward C?" Kamsi asked, refusing to flinch.
The Matron's eyes narrowed. "That wing has ghosts you can't fight. Just do your job and go home."
Back in the lounge, Mfon was staring at her phone.
"You need to see this."
It was a message. No name. Just a file attachment.
She clicked it open.
A video.
It showed a young woman in labor, tied to a gurney, struggling. The room? Ward C. The doctor's face barely in view—but the voice? Unmistakable.
Dr. Rume.
And in the corner? A nurse's badge.
Kamsi squinted.
Her own badge.
Her own name.
Dated the year she joined the hospital.
"But I wasn't even posted to Ward C when I joined," she whispered.
Mfon stared at her.
"That means they've been using your identity, Kamsi. Forging documents under your name."
Kamsi's knees buckled.
This wasn't just about the past.
It was about her.
They were building a story—one where she'd be the villain if the truth ever came out.
She wasn't just a threat to their secrets.
She was their insurance policy.
And now, she had no idea who to trust.