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A place that even humans before her should never go. Yet here she is and like the old adage of the cat and curiosity she shall venture in, and the satisfaction of her discovery shall bring her back with a treasure, and a secret she shall keep.\n\nJinjing-Yu is created and owned by [iconname]tchaikovsky2[/iconname]\n\nThese story is a fan creation by my self to give additional life to the world Jinjing-Yu lives in. This story is only speculation to the nature of that world Jinjing-Yu and Others live in. This story is not 100% accurate unless said so by tchaikovsky2 them self's.\n\nTchaikovsky2 holds all control and rights of Jinjing-Yu characters .\n\n\n\n", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Jinjing-Yu finds her self in a place that was meant to be forgotten. A place that even humans before her should never go. Yet here she is and like the old adage of the cat and curiosity she shall venture in, and the satisfaction of her discovery shall bring her back with a treasure, and a secret she shall keep.

Jinjing-Yu is created and owned by \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\ttchaikovsky2\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t		\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\ttchaikovsky2\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t


These story is a fan creation by my self to give additional life to the world Jinjing-Yu lives in. This story is only speculation to the nature of that world Jinjing-Yu and Others live in. This story is not 100% accurate unless said so by tchaikovsky2 them self's.

Tchaikovsky2 holds all control and rights of Jinjing-Yu characters .



", "writing": "The desert was a place of endings. Cities lay beneath the sand, bone-white roads stretched like scars, and silence pressed down with the weight of centuries. Yet here, amid the ruin, Jinjing-Yu found something that did not belong.\n\nSteel and concrete jutted from the dune’s side, smooth and unbroken, as though it had been set into the earth only yesterday. She brushed her hand across the surface: no rust, no grit, only the cold polish of a door untouched by weather or time.\n\nIt opened at her touch.\n\nInside, the air was cool. White lights hummed above, steady and unblinking. The floor gleamed beneath her paws, so clean she could almost see her reflection. It was not like entering a ruin. It was like stepping into a place that had been waiting.\n\nShe moved down narrow corridors lined with countless doors, some numbered, all bearing a strange symbol that persisted through the whole subterranean facility. Offices stood neat and silent, chairs tucked carefully beneath desks, as if their occupants had only just stepped away.\n\nJinjing-Yu’s curiosity drew her inside one of these rooms. She slid open a desk drawer and found rows of neatly stacked pens, their ink still sealed and bright. Folders lay within, pages untouched by yellowing, words sharp as the day they were written. She traced the paper with her claws, marveling that time had not claimed it.\n\nFiling cabinets lined the walls, each drawer heavy with records. She tugged one open, surprised by the weight, and scanned the files: lists of names, coded designations, fragments of purpose she could not piece together. So much order, preserved in silence.\n\nBut what transfixed her most sat on the desk itself: a machine, box-like, with glass framed in plastic and buttons arranged in rows. She had seen things like it in ruins, but always broken, lifeless. This one glowed.\n\nA faint light pulsed at its corner, steady as a heartbeat. When she brushed her hand across the rows of buttons, the screen bloomed with words in green light.\n\nShe drew in a sharp breath. It was like the dead speaking. The machine offered its secrets without hesitation — logs, reports, the frozen fragments of minds long vanished. She scrolled through them clumsily, not fully understanding, but sensing meaning in their order and repetition. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass, fractured by lines of text.\n\nThe further she explored, the more her unease grew. The place was too clean, unnaturally so. It was not preserved by care or chance, it was as though time itself had been forbidden to enter.\n\nAt the end of a long corridor, she came to a door stenciled with warning glyphs, the painted edges still sharp against the metal. Unlike the other rooms, this one carried a pressure in the air, as though something behind it waited with intention. \n\nShe pressed her hand to the panel. The lock clicked with a sound far too fresh, and the door slid open.\n\nThe chamber beyond was small and sterile, lined with smooth white walls. No desks, no machines, no papers; only a single table in the back of the room.\n\nUpon it rested a bowl, white as bone, filled with eggs.\n\nJinjing-Yu froze at the threshold.\n\nThe eggs gleamed faintly under the ceiling light, their surface unblemished, smooth and pale. They had been arranged with meticulous care, each one nested against the next as though placed there by careful hands only moments ago. She waited, half expecting some trick of the air to break the illusion — a crack, a smell, a flaw in the surface. But nothing came.\n\nThere was no dust on the bowl. No smell of rot in the air. No flies, no signs of time.\n\nShe moved forward, cautious, ears straining to hear anything other than the hum of the lights above. Her paw brushed the table’s legs; cold, untouched. The placard at the front bore the same insignia, and beneath it, raised letters spelled out the words: SCP- — The Hollow Meal. Her eyes lingered on the label, between the dash and the title, only a field of fine scratches remained where the number used to be. She mouthed the strange words silently, trying to feel their weight.\n\nSomething caught her eye near the table’s leg, a folder, tucked against the wall as though dropped in haste. Its edges were crisp, its paper unstained by dust. She bent to pick it up, ears twitching.\n\nThe cover bore the same information and symbol as the placard, stamped in black ink. These numbers had too been scratched away as though someone wished for it to be forgotten. Inside, neat pages detailed reports in the same clipped, clinical style she had glimpsed on the glowing machine and other folders.\n\nJinjing-Yu frowned, running her claws lightly over the words. She understood little of their symbols, but enough to feel the shape of meaning: the bowl never emptied, the eggs never spoiled, and those who ate them carried them always.\n\nHer gaze lifted back to the bowl itself, silent and waiting.\n\nThe longer she stared, the more the eggs seemed to press upon her senses not with sound or movement, but with the quiet insistence of their presence. Waiting. Offering.\nJinjing-Yu’s tail flicked uneasily. She glanced back at the open doorway, at the sterile corridor beyond, then again at the untouched bowl.\nShe reached out a hand, then stopped — claws poised just above the smooth white surface of an egg.\nSomething in her gut told her this moment mattered.\n\nCatching her breath in her throat, she reached out again and placed her hand upon the egg perched highest on the pile. The surface, which she had expected to feel smooth and cool beneath a shell, instead yielded faintly under her touch — the soft flesh of a peeled hard-boiled egg.\n\nShe lifted it carefully, watching in stunned silence as another egg, identical in every detail, rose up to replace it. It surfaced soundlessly from beneath the others until the bowl was once again full.\n\nJinjing-Yu marveled at the sight. For a moment she forgot her unease — forgot the sterile air, the hum of unseen machinery, the way the place seemed to breathe around her. Here was something alive in its stillness. Something perfect.\n\nNot wanting to tempt fate, yet unable to resist the pull of curiosity, she turned the egg in her hand and brought it to her mouth. With only a heartbeat’s hesitation, she bit down.\n\nIts taste was as she expected, yet impossibly more. Richer. Denser. As though the flavor carried memory itself — the ghost of something that had once been alive.\n\nForgetting herself, Jinjing-Yu finished the first egg, then took another, and another. Each one slid down easily, soft and warm, the taste lingering like sunlight on her tongue. The more she ate, the stronger the sensation became — an enveloping calm, a quiet fullness that felt less like hunger satisfied and more like being gently claimed by the silence of the place itself.\n\nHer thoughts grew distant. The white walls seemed to breathe in rhythm with her. Each bite blurred the boundary between her and the room — between the watcher and the watched.\n\nStopping only to catch her breath, she took one more egg and, rather than chewing, she placed it into her mouth and swallowed it whole. The ovular shape slid smoothly down her throat and settled into her stomach. But something felt off.\n\nAs she came back to her senses, she realized just how full she felt. Looking down, she placed her hand on her stomach and pressed gently. Beneath her touch, she could feel numerous solid eggs shifting inside her.\n\nThough the sensation was not unpleasant, she was confused more than anything. She knew she had chewed most of the eggs, swallowing only the last one whole. As she continued to press and knead her tummy with both hands, she let out a soft gasp as one of the eggs shifted and pushed downward — into somewhere she knew wasn’t her stomach. Had she just pushed one of these eggs into her small intestine?\n\nCuriosity overtook her, and after a bit more pressure she did it again. This time, rather than gasping, she let out a moan as the egg slipped into her intestine, pushing the first one deeper.\n\nWhen awareness returned, the bowl before her was once again full. Her hands rested on the edge of the table, trembling slightly. Nothing had changed in the room, and yet she felt… different.\n\nAs she took in this strange new sensation, she stared at the eggs. An idea came to her, sending a shiver down her spine and into the tip of her tail. She turned her head, glancing behind her and then around the empty room. She knew she was alone here, and yet the feeling of being watched clung to her all the same.\n\nTaking a deep breath, she carefully — and a bit fearfully — picked up the bowl, expecting some trap to trigger. When nothing happened, she gently placed it on the floor. She then sat beside it, leaning her back against the wall and facing the open door and long corridor ahead.\n\nShe took one egg from the bowl, brought it to her face, and gave it a slow lick. Its taste was still pleasing. Resisting the urge to eat it, she moved both hands with the egg between her legs. Using one hand, she parted her vaginal lips, and with the other, gently pressed the egg in between her folds. \n\nShe paused, considering where she wanted the egg to go, though the answer came to her almost immediately. With a gentle press, she moaned aloud as the egg sank effortlessly into her well trained urethra. Her fingers followed eagerly, guiding it deeper until, with a soft and nearly silent pop, the egg came to rest inside her bladder.\n\nJinjing-Yu breathed steadily, feeling only the faintest weight within her as she reached for another. Again, she began to slide it into her urethra, and with little effort, it slipped inside. This time, rather than pushing it all the way to her bladder, she stopped, letting it rest in her urethral passage. She grabbed one more egg and slid it in, using it to gently nudge the previous one into her bladder while leaving the third egg settled where the second had been.\n\nJinjing-Yu carried on this pattern for some time, eventually losing count of how many were inside her as her abdomen began to bulge — small bumps visible beneath her skin from the numerous eggs now resting inside her bladder.\n\nFeeling she was approaching her limit, she chose to stop and rest for a moment, lest she push herself too far. Resting against the wall, she looked again at the folder she had found earlier. She picked it up, flipping it open. There was an entry she had glossed over before — one mentioning a human subject and a test performed with the eggs.\n\nAccording to the file, a human designated D-2295 had consumed forty-two eggs. Jinjing-Yu tried to estimate how many she had eaten, and how many now resided within her bladder, but she truly had no idea. Further notes explained that the forty-two eggs had eventually melded together into one large hard-boiled egg.\n\nJinjing-Yu dwelled on this idea for a long moment. She knew she had many eggs inside her — in her stomach, her bladder, and two in her intestines. Would they fuse as well? And if they did… what would happen then? Would she be able to pass something that large from her stomach — or from her bladder?\n\nShe set the papers aside and placed both hands on her tummy. Beneath her palms, she could feel the small bumps shifting as she kneaded the gentle bulge. At first, worry stirred in her chest at the thought of the eggs merging — but another part of her felt undeniably excited by the idea of working something so large and soft through her body.\n\nAfter steadying her breath and pushing her worries aside, Jinjing-Yu slowly rose to her paws. She took a moment to ground herself, then looked around. Her gaze fell on the bag she had dropped earlier. She crossed the room, retrieved it, and pulled free the pen she had swiped from a desk before. She picked up the folder once more.\n\nUncapping the pen, she began to write her own addendum.\n\nAddendum: The Hallow Meal-007\n\nMy name is Jinjing-Yu. I found this abandoned human facility. It appears to be mostly underground, and like the rest of the world, there are no living humans here — not even bones.\n\nI found a strange bowl of hard-boiled eggs. This bowl, as the papers explain, never empties.\n\nI decided to perform my own small test with the eggs — eating some and placing some elsewhere — but I lost count of both. As I write this, there are probably dozens of eggs in my bladder and my stomach. Oh, and two in my intestines.\n\nI don’t know if anyone will ever read this, human or otherwise, but I’m going to take this bowl with me. I don’t know what purpose it served here, or what purpose this place even had. But I feel it was meant to be kept safe. So now, I shall do that. I’m taking it with me.\n\nP.S. It looks like I used it before reading the instructions. Oops.\nSorry, not sorry, for testing without asking you, Dr. Marcus Zane. If you somehow ever read this, I’m sure you’ll understand. If not… too bad. It’s mine now.\n\nSatisfied with her entry, she slid the papers back into the folder and placed it neatly on the small table. Carefully, she lifted the bowl of eggs and eased it into her bag, making sure it sat upright and wouldn’t spill.\n\nShe knew the golden rule of urbex — take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints.\nBut did such a rule still apply to a place like this?\n\nSurely… an exception could be made. With that Jinjing-Yu turned to leave, carrying her back over her shoulder.\n\nShe was nearly at the door when the sound stopped her.\nA soft, rhythmic beep echoed through the corridor — slow, methodical, unmistakably artificial.\nJinjing-Yu froze, eyes wide and alert.\nThe sound came again.\nShe turned back, following it until she stood once more before the computer terminal she had interacted with earlier. Its screen, once dark and inert, now glowed faintly. A single line of text pulsed at the center.\n3 New Messages\nShe hesitated, then pressed a key.\nThe screen refreshed.\n\nINCOMING TRANSMISSIONS\n SOURCE: Site-███\n REALITY: ███\n TIME SINCE LAST RESPONSE: 358 cycles\n\nThe messages expanded automatically.\nSite-███ — Manual Log\n Attention Site-███.\n Our systems have registered anomalous activity originating from your assigned reality.\n This reality was previously marked post-event and nonviable following end-of-world conditions.\n Confirm status. Is there human life remaining?\nJinjing-Yu stared at the words. Human life. The phrase felt unreal, asking for something already gone.\nThe second message followed.\nSite-███ — Manual Log\n No response received.\n Energy fluctuation signatures suggest localized movement and environmental interaction.\n If automated systems are compromised, respond immediately.\nHer gaze drifted back to the line at the top of the screen.\n358 cycles.\nShe scrolled.\nThe third message appeared, shorter. Sharper.\nSite-███ — Manual Log\n This is a manual inquiry.\n Time since global human extinction event is recorded as 358 cycles.\n If any entity is receiving this transmission, identify yourself.\nJinjing-Yu felt a hollow sensation open in her chest.\nThree hundred fifty-eight.\nIn her world, the humans had vanished more than thirty-two thousand years ago. Long enough for cities to crumble and be swallowed by growth, for steel to break and scatter, for stories to fade into habits no one remembered learning.\nYet this machine—this silent voice from somewhere beyond her sky—spoke as if the end had happened only a few centuries ago.\nShe did not touch the keyboard.\nThe cursor blinked, patient expectant.\nWhatever lay on the other side of that screen believed it was still watching a living world. Still waiting for an answer. Still counting time in neat, survivable units.\nJinjing-Yu stepped back.\nSlowly, deliberately, she let the screen dim behind her and turned toward the exit. Some truths, she realized, did not require a reply. Some were heavy enough simply to carry.\nThe glow of the screen faded and went dark, leaving the room exactly as it had been before — silent, patient, abandoned.\nJinjing-Yu adjusted the strap of her bag, feeling the careful weight inside it shift and settle. Whatever this place had been, whatever it was meant to do, it no longer needed her here. She had seen it and that was enough.\nShe took one last look around the room — the desks, the drawers left half-open, the chairs pulled back as if someone might still return to them — and then turned away.\nThe door closed behind her without ceremony.\nOutside, the world waited as it always had: empty, vast, and alive in its own quiet way. She stepped forward, her paws pressing into the dust, and began the long walk back into it.\nBehind her, the facility remained — sealed, untouched, and finally alone.\n[left][/left][center][/center][right][/right][left][/left]", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "The desert was a place of endings. Cities lay beneath the sand, bone-white roads stretched like scars, and silence pressed down with the weight of centuries. Yet here, amid the ruin, Jinjing-Yu found something that did not belong.

Steel and concrete jutted from the dune’s side, smooth and unbroken, as though it had been set into the earth only yesterday. She brushed her hand across the surface: no rust, no grit, only the cold polish of a door untouched by weather or time.

It opened at her touch.

Inside, the air was cool. White lights hummed above, steady and unblinking. The floor gleamed beneath her paws, so clean she could almost see her reflection. It was not like entering a ruin. It was like stepping into a place that had been waiting.

She moved down narrow corridors lined with countless doors, some numbered, all bearing a strange symbol that persisted through the whole subterranean facility. Offices stood neat and silent, chairs tucked carefully beneath desks, as if their occupants had only just stepped away.

Jinjing-Yu’s curiosity drew her inside one of these rooms. She slid open a desk drawer and found rows of neatly stacked pens, their ink still sealed and bright. Folders lay within, pages untouched by yellowing, words sharp as the day they were written. She traced the paper with her claws, marveling that time had not claimed it.

Filing cabinets lined the walls, each drawer heavy with records. She tugged one open, surprised by the weight, and scanned the files: lists of names, coded designations, fragments of purpose she could not piece together. So much order, preserved in silence.

But what transfixed her most sat on the desk itself: a machine, box-like, with glass framed in plastic and buttons arranged in rows. She had seen things like it in ruins, but always broken, lifeless. This one glowed.

A faint light pulsed at its corner, steady as a heartbeat. When she brushed her hand across the rows of buttons, the screen bloomed with words in green light.

She drew in a sharp breath. It was like the dead speaking. The machine offered its secrets without hesitation — logs, reports, the frozen fragments of minds long vanished. She scrolled through them clumsily, not fully understanding, but sensing meaning in their order and repetition. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass, fractured by lines of text.

The further she explored, the more her unease grew. The place was too clean, unnaturally so. It was not preserved by care or chance, it was as though time itself had been forbidden to enter.

At the end of a long corridor, she came to a door stenciled with warning glyphs, the painted edges still sharp against the metal. Unlike the other rooms, this one carried a pressure in the air, as though something behind it waited with intention.

She pressed her hand to the panel. The lock clicked with a sound far too fresh, and the door slid open.

The chamber beyond was small and sterile, lined with smooth white walls. No desks, no machines, no papers; only a single table in the back of the room.

Upon it rested a bowl, white as bone, filled with eggs.

Jinjing-Yu froze at the threshold.

The eggs gleamed faintly under the ceiling light, their surface unblemished, smooth and pale. They had been arranged with meticulous care, each one nested against the next as though placed there by careful hands only moments ago. She waited, half expecting some trick of the air to break the illusion — a crack, a smell, a flaw in the surface. But nothing came.

There was no dust on the bowl. No smell of rot in the air. No flies, no signs of time.

She moved forward, cautious, ears straining to hear anything other than the hum of the lights above. Her paw brushed the table’s legs; cold, untouched. The placard at the front bore the same insignia, and beneath it, raised letters spelled out the words: SCP- — The Hollow Meal. Her eyes lingered on the label, between the dash and the title, only a field of fine scratches remained where the number used to be. She mouthed the strange words silently, trying to feel their weight.

Something caught her eye near the table’s leg, a folder, tucked against the wall as though dropped in haste. Its edges were crisp, its paper unstained by dust. She bent to pick it up, ears twitching.

The cover bore the same information and symbol as the placard, stamped in black ink. These numbers had too been scratched away as though someone wished for it to be forgotten. Inside, neat pages detailed reports in the same clipped, clinical style she had glimpsed on the glowing machine and other folders.

Jinjing-Yu frowned, running her claws lightly over the words. She understood little of their symbols, but enough to feel the shape of meaning: the bowl never emptied, the eggs never spoiled, and those who ate them carried them always.

Her gaze lifted back to the bowl itself, silent and waiting.

The longer she stared, the more the eggs seemed to press upon her senses not with sound or movement, but with the quiet insistence of their presence. Waiting. Offering.
Jinjing-Yu’s tail flicked uneasily. She glanced back at the open doorway, at the sterile corridor beyond, then again at the untouched bowl.
She reached out a hand, then stopped — claws poised just above the smooth white surface of an egg.
Something in her gut told her this moment mattered.

Catching her breath in her throat, she reached out again and placed her hand upon the egg perched highest on the pile. The surface, which she had expected to feel smooth and cool beneath a shell, instead yielded faintly under her touch — the soft flesh of a peeled hard-boiled egg.

She lifted it carefully, watching in stunned silence as another egg, identical in every detail, rose up to replace it. It surfaced soundlessly from beneath the others until the bowl was once again full.

Jinjing-Yu marveled at the sight. For a moment she forgot her unease — forgot the sterile air, the hum of unseen machinery, the way the place seemed to breathe around her. Here was something alive in its stillness. Something perfect.

Not wanting to tempt fate, yet unable to resist the pull of curiosity, she turned the egg in her hand and brought it to her mouth. With only a heartbeat’s hesitation, she bit down.

Its taste was as she expected, yet impossibly more. Richer. Denser. As though the flavor carried memory itself — the ghost of something that had once been alive.

Forgetting herself, Jinjing-Yu finished the first egg, then took another, and another. Each one slid down easily, soft and warm, the taste lingering like sunlight on her tongue. The more she ate, the stronger the sensation became — an enveloping calm, a quiet fullness that felt less like hunger satisfied and more like being gently claimed by the silence of the place itself.

Her thoughts grew distant. The white walls seemed to breathe in rhythm with her. Each bite blurred the boundary between her and the room — between the watcher and the watched.

Stopping only to catch her breath, she took one more egg and, rather than chewing, she placed it into her mouth and swallowed it whole. The ovular shape slid smoothly down her throat and settled into her stomach. But something felt off.

As she came back to her senses, she realized just how full she felt. Looking down, she placed her hand on her stomach and pressed gently. Beneath her touch, she could feel numerous solid eggs shifting inside her.

Though the sensation was not unpleasant, she was confused more than anything. She knew she had chewed most of the eggs, swallowing only the last one whole. As she continued to press and knead her tummy with both hands, she let out a soft gasp as one of the eggs shifted and pushed downward — into somewhere she knew wasn’t her stomach. Had she just pushed one of these eggs into her small intestine?

Curiosity overtook her, and after a bit more pressure she did it again. This time, rather than gasping, she let out a moan as the egg slipped into her intestine, pushing the first one deeper.

When awareness returned, the bowl before her was once again full. Her hands rested on the edge of the table, trembling slightly. Nothing had changed in the room, and yet she felt… different.

As she took in this strange new sensation, she stared at the eggs. An idea came to her, sending a shiver down her spine and into the tip of her tail. She turned her head, glancing behind her and then around the empty room. She knew she was alone here, and yet the feeling of being watched clung to her all the same.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully — and a bit fearfully — picked up the bowl, expecting some trap to trigger. When nothing happened, she gently placed it on the floor. She then sat beside it, leaning her back against the wall and facing the open door and long corridor ahead.

She took one egg from the bowl, brought it to her face, and gave it a slow lick. Its taste was still pleasing. Resisting the urge to eat it, she moved both hands with the egg between her legs. Using one hand, she parted her vaginal lips, and with the other, gently pressed the egg in between her folds.

She paused, considering where she wanted the egg to go, though the answer came to her almost immediately. With a gentle press, she moaned aloud as the egg sank effortlessly into her well trained urethra. Her fingers followed eagerly, guiding it deeper until, with a soft and nearly silent pop, the egg came to rest inside her bladder.

Jinjing-Yu breathed steadily, feeling only the faintest weight within her as she reached for another. Again, she began to slide it into her urethra, and with little effort, it slipped inside. This time, rather than pushing it all the way to her bladder, she stopped, letting it rest in her urethral passage. She grabbed one more egg and slid it in, using it to gently nudge the previous one into her bladder while leaving the third egg settled where the second had been.

Jinjing-Yu carried on this pattern for some time, eventually losing count of how many were inside her as her abdomen began to bulge — small bumps visible beneath her skin from the numerous eggs now resting inside her bladder.

Feeling she was approaching her limit, she chose to stop and rest for a moment, lest she push herself too far. Resting against the wall, she looked again at the folder she had found earlier. She picked it up, flipping it open. There was an entry she had glossed over before — one mentioning a human subject and a test performed with the eggs.

According to the file, a human designated D-2295 had consumed forty-two eggs. Jinjing-Yu tried to estimate how many she had eaten, and how many now resided within her bladder, but she truly had no idea. Further notes explained that the forty-two eggs had eventually melded together into one large hard-boiled egg.

Jinjing-Yu dwelled on this idea for a long moment. She knew she had many eggs inside her — in her stomach, her bladder, and two in her intestines. Would they fuse as well? And if they did… what would happen then? Would she be able to pass something that large from her stomach — or from her bladder?

She set the papers aside and placed both hands on her tummy. Beneath her palms, she could feel the small bumps shifting as she kneaded the gentle bulge. At first, worry stirred in her chest at the thought of the eggs merging — but another part of her felt undeniably excited by the idea of working something so large and soft through her body.

After steadying her breath and pushing her worries aside, Jinjing-Yu slowly rose to her paws. She took a moment to ground herself, then looked around. Her gaze fell on the bag she had dropped earlier. She crossed the room, retrieved it, and pulled free the pen she had swiped from a desk before. She picked up the folder once more.

Uncapping the pen, she began to write her own addendum.

Addendum: The Hallow Meal-007

My name is Jinjing-Yu. I found this abandoned human facility. It appears to be mostly underground, and like the rest of the world, there are no living humans here — not even bones.

I found a strange bowl of hard-boiled eggs. This bowl, as the papers explain, never empties.

I decided to perform my own small test with the eggs — eating some and placing some elsewhere — but I lost count of both. As I write this, there are probably dozens of eggs in my bladder and my stomach. Oh, and two in my intestines.

I don’t know if anyone will ever read this, human or otherwise, but I’m going to take this bowl with me. I don’t know what purpose it served here, or what purpose this place even had. But I feel it was meant to be kept safe. So now, I shall do that. I’m taking it with me.

P.S. It looks like I used it before reading the instructions. Oops.
Sorry, not sorry, for testing without asking you, Dr. Marcus Zane. If you somehow ever read this, I’m sure you’ll understand. If not… too bad. It’s mine now.

Satisfied with her entry, she slid the papers back into the folder and placed it neatly on the small table. Carefully, she lifted the bowl of eggs and eased it into her bag, making sure it sat upright and wouldn’t spill.

She knew the golden rule of urbex — take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints.
But did such a rule still apply to a place like this?

Surely… an exception could be made. With that Jinjing-Yu turned to leave, carrying her back over her shoulder.

She was nearly at the door when the sound stopped her.
A soft, rhythmic beep echoed through the corridor — slow, methodical, unmistakably artificial.
Jinjing-Yu froze, eyes wide and alert.
The sound came again.
She turned back, following it until she stood once more before the computer terminal she had interacted with earlier. Its screen, once dark and inert, now glowed faintly. A single line of text pulsed at the center.
3 New Messages
She hesitated, then pressed a key.
The screen refreshed.

INCOMING TRANSMISSIONS
 SOURCE: Site-███
 REALITY: ███
 TIME SINCE LAST RESPONSE: 358 cycles

The messages expanded automatically.
Site-███ — Manual Log
 Attention Site-███.
 Our systems have registered anomalous activity originating from your assigned reality.
 This reality was previously marked post-event and nonviable following end-of-world conditions.
 Confirm status. Is there human life remaining?
Jinjing-Yu stared at the words. Human life. The phrase felt unreal, asking for something already gone.
The second message followed.
Site-███ — Manual Log
 No response received.
 Energy fluctuation signatures suggest localized movement and environmental interaction.
 If automated systems are compromised, respond immediately.
Her gaze drifted back to the line at the top of the screen.
358 cycles.
She scrolled.
The third message appeared, shorter. Sharper.
Site-███ — Manual Log
 This is a manual inquiry.
 Time since global human extinction event is recorded as 358 cycles.
 If any entity is receiving this transmission, identify yourself.
Jinjing-Yu felt a hollow sensation open in her chest.
Three hundred fifty-eight.
In her world, the humans had vanished more than thirty-two thousand years ago. Long enough for cities to crumble and be swallowed by growth, for steel to break and scatter, for stories to fade into habits no one remembered learning.
Yet this machine—this silent voice from somewhere beyond her sky—spoke as if the end had happened only a few centuries ago.
She did not touch the keyboard.
The cursor blinked, patient expectant.
Whatever lay on the other side of that screen believed it was still watching a living world. Still waiting for an answer. Still counting time in neat, survivable units.
Jinjing-Yu stepped back.
Slowly, deliberately, she let the screen dim behind her and turned toward the exit. Some truths, she realized, did not require a reply. Some were heavy enough simply to carry.
The glow of the screen faded and went dark, leaving the room exactly as it had been before — silent, patient, abandoned.
Jinjing-Yu adjusted the strap of her bag, feeling the careful weight inside it shift and settle. Whatever this place had been, whatever it was meant to do, it no longer needed her here. She had seen it and that was enough.
She took one last look around the room — the desks, the drawers left half-open, the chairs pulled back as if someone might still return to them — and then turned away.
The door closed behind her without ceremony.
Outside, the world waited as it always had: empty, vast, and alive in its own quiet way. She stepped forward, her paws pressing into the dust, and began the long walk back into it.
Behind her, the facility remained — sealed, untouched, and finally alone.
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