On her personal camera feed, Emily slumped forward, putting her head in her hands, clearly trembling and shaken. For a long moment, she didn't speak at all, only the sound of her thumping heart beat played through the stream's audio.
Her chat, which had been a solid wall of `RUN EM` and `HIDE OH FUCK`, now exploded into a frenzy of a different kind. The panic was replaced by a frantic, collective detective work, since she's dead, it was time for them to talk about something else.
The banging was the mother trying to get in to get her baby… that made sense!! 🧐 🤔 RIGHT!!... the baby stopped crying, because the mother was already inside! 🤔 The GIGGLE wasn't the baby you guys!! …IT WAS THE GHOST!!! !!!???? 👻 👻 Wait WUT??!! 🤔 Wait! Isn't the baby being the fetus on the sink??! Since when that everything becomes the ghost all of a sudden?? 🤔 🙄 HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!! That is the most fucked up thing I'VE EVER SEEN!!!! 😨 This game is fucked up, Man… 😨 LITERALLY SHAKING RIGHT NOW!! FR FR!! 😱 😱 Now I get why M.S put that health warning upfront…. 🤔 Seriously, dude 😓 … don't play this if you got heart condition… YOU DEAD!! ☠️☠️ BUT… BUT… IT SO FREAKING GOOD!! 😅
They'd tried to pieced it together, trying to unraveled the tiny, horrific story beat in that scene. The mother's desperate, futile attempt to save her child, the ghost's cruel mimicry and inevitable victory, it was a five-second exchange that implied a universe of tragedy. Although most of them nearly get close to the story. Every attempt to figure out the plot was always thwarted, since it was a chat fill with mixed of people, their discussion easily thrown off the flow at every turn.
The conversation in the chat began to shift, the bravado on those that didn't play the game, but was here only to watch it, was gone. A respectful, almost fearful consensus was forming. The health warnings weren't seen as a marketing gimmick anymore; it was a genuine public service announcement. This game was a psychological assault vehicle, and those that boarded it, it is at their own risk for everything that is coming at them. On this stream, Emily, was their canary in the coal mine, and she was showing them just how deep and dark this particular mine shaft went. Given that most of the chat didn't even dare to go into that mine by themselves.
"Ahh… that is …fun,". I took off my VR Headgear and put it on my table.
Seeing thousands of Streamers screaming and cowering in fear from playing my game, was very addictive sight to see, although I wasn't able to scare all of them the way I wanted. With just this much, it was quite enjoyable. I had Sunday running a silent, constant diagnostic on the backend—player metrics, crash reports, the endless sea of feedback. Naturally, with me and Sunday creating the game, with our advance system, there is nothing wrong with the game at all. All of the problem mostly comes from either the player side or them just complaining that the game was too scary, that was it.
Still, just in case, Sunday kept an eye on it anyway. And one particular filter on most sought-after demands was: Player Requests/Walkthroughs. The number was astronomical. Thousands of pleas, begging for mercy, for hints, for just a clue, any clue at al. I'd programmed Sunday's auto-response myself. It was polite, firm, and utterly unhelpful.
"Thank you for your interest in Silent Hill: First Fear. The experience is designed to be a personal journey of discovery. We encourage players to embrace the unknown and explore its mysteries at their own pace. There are no official guides. The fear is the teacher."
A smirk touched my lips. 'Fuck 'em…. Let them suffer. Let them figure it out by themselves…. The collective frustration was a tangible force, a testament to the game's grip. They weren't complaining about bugs or glitches; they were complaining about being outsmarted, about being terrified.'. this was the best kind of complaint there was.
I stood up, my body cracking pleasantly, I walked to the living room, it's just as I'd left them hours before. These days, I often leave my room and chill all around the house, I've released my first game, and each time I looked at the data, every time I asked myself 'is this for real' the numbers were just continued to climb to an absurd level.
The show, 'Game Dissect : special edition', was still on, now deep into their third day of analysis. They were breaking down the 3rd Cycle, the point where, according to Sunday's data, 90% of players got permanently stuck. On screen, a psychologist was pontificating on the cycle's themes of "recursive trauma" and "inescapable pasts."
"They still talking about it?". I just walked over to the long sofa and let my body go limp, dropping my head directly into Grandma Nadia's lap.
"Yes, they are… look, they even bring a doctor out this time,". She let out a soft, warm "oof" but didn't miss a stitch in her embroidery. Her hands, skilled and precise, kept working on the intricate pattern while her lap cradled my head like a perfect, yielding pillow.
"Your game is so scary, malysh," she murmured, her eyes flicking between her needle and the TV. The show was dissecting a scene where the hallway subtly elongates, a trick that creates subliminal panic.
"All this… talks and tension, seems a bit much, But I suppose it had to be…. Your horror game, was that terrifying after all...". Grandma sounded a bit discomforted with the show for making too big of deal of my game, but decided to accepted it anyway, since it is something that can be talk about.
"Exactly," I said, my voice slightly muffled by the soft fabric of her dress. I nuzzled my cheek against her thigh, inhaling her scent—vanilla and thread.
"Horror has to BE a horror... No one should half-ass it, and you definitely don't …this world just isn't used to it yet." It was still bizarre to see a woman of her generation engaging with a video game with the same seriousness she'd give a newscast or a novel. But in this world, everyone takes games seriously as it was another branch of art.
Nadia's needle paused. She looked down at me, her expression curious. "This 'third cycle' everyone is so upset about… is it important?"
"Nah. Not really.". I closed my eyes, savoring the warmth of her lap. "The tutorial basically ends at the fifth cycle… and that's when the real game begins...".
The bathroom door down the hall opened, and Emily emerged. She was fresh from a shower, wearing nothing but a thin, lace-trimmed white tank top and a matching pair of panties that did little to hide the perfect swell of her ass. Her skin was flushed and glowing, her damp hair clinging to her neck and shoulders. She looked utterly drained, but there was a fierce light of challenge in her eyes.
She padded into the living room, without a word and came to our sofa. She lifted my legs with a grunt, slid underneath them, and then let them drop back down, so my calves were now resting across her bare thighs. Her skin was warm and smooth against my sweatpants.
"Your game is a mind fucker, brother… I swear to god," she sighed, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. "I can't get the baby's giggle out of my head, at all!... It's playing on a loop inside my head, every time I close my eyes."
"Keep at it," I said, my voice a low rumble of encouragement. "You're closer than you think… You're in the right path, Em...".
From above me, Nadia made a small, amused sound. She just couldn't help herself. The glee of having inside information was too much. She leaned down, her voice a conspiratorial whisper that carried perfectly. "You know, your brother says the fifth cycle is the key to everything, zolotse."
Emily's eyes snapped open. She lifted her head, her gaze sharp and instantly focused, locking onto me. "Wait. Seriously? Is that true?"
I opened one eye to look at her. I didn't speak. I just gave a single, slow, deliberate nod. The sly smirk on my face said everything.
A mix of excitement and frustration crossed her features. "You bastard! Tell me more! What happens?"
"That's all you get," I said, my voice final. I closed my eye again and made a show of snuggling my head deeper into Nadia's lap. I turned my face inward, nuzzling my nose and cheek against the soft, giving warmth of her lower stomach. I pressed into the cushy softness there, a contented sigh escaping me. The incredible, heavy weight of her breasts rested on the top and sides of my head, a bouncy, comforting blanket. "No more freebies… you just got that, from grandma, and I ain't saying shit... Shoo~ stop bothering me and grandma already, go play by yourself… shoo~ shoo~".
Above me, Nadia chuckled, a rich, warm sound that vibrated through her body and into mine. Emily, from her spot under my legs, let out a defeated but amused huff. The two women, generations apart, shared a look and a quiet chuckle at my expense, at my spoiled, contented behavior. I was the monstrous architect of a global nightmare, and my biggest concern in that moment was getting comfortable on my grandmother's lap while my half-naked sister pouted at me. Life was pretty fucking good.