Of course, someone doesn't function well on one energy drink and a bag of chips, but did it really give hallucinations? As vivid as these?
Vincent stared at the screen on his laptop, the screen bright in the darkness of his room, illuminating the front of his face and his long, overgrown bangs. He was looking for something—an error in his code perhaps—to fix or remake. Despite his efforts, he came up empty. He groaned, leaning back in the crappy chair that was practically on its last limb.
He was so incredibly bored today since he finished reading a novel that was particularly interesting and has been updating consistently for a few years now. His fingernails—painted a light blue to prevent him from picking at them—scratched at his hair, as if trying to understand what else he could do to make this game better. After all, he wanted this to be perfect and gather a lot of sales.
Then, there was something. Some sort of idea flashed in his head and he immediately shot upright, opening a new tab as he began typing something. The game was missing a player—someone disconnected from the actual game and only there to misinterpret and lead the user into the wrong choices and interpret the lore wrong.
The lore was there—in-depth, eye-catching, and perfect for someone to get hooked—and now with dialogue from the player, it'd be almost done. Maybe he'd add a bit more gameplay or better-looking after-credits. Yeah, he could definitely improve on the GUI designs as well. Maybe ask his friend to play test as well?
He sighed, shutting his laptop as he got up, stretching his arms and letting out a soft groan, his head a tad dizzy and his eyes squeezed shut. He let out a deep breath, looking forward to a night's rest after working all day. He moved, heading to his bed.
Right before his bed, there was a flash of bright white and a huge, aching headache that made his eyes hurt and caused him to fall on his knees—scraping them against something that was scattered on the messy floor of his room that had random objects and clothes that he wasn't sure if they were dirty or clean.
The headache worsened as he tried to open his eyes, a figure in front of him. A goat-like creature, standing on two legs, looking down on him. All he saw was the silhouette, yet it evoked such a terror in him as he tried to process what the ever-loving hell he was seeing. Its ears twitched, eyes glowing a dark purple, with half of its face rotted off, revealing its grotesque flesh and skull.
A hoof made its way to his crotch, pressing before going upwards, the pressure increasing with each painful inch. Vince let out a choked sob as the hoof stopped on his belly, then his chest, and lastly his forehead. The pressure was so intense—headache causing him unbearable pain as he screamed out, fists clenched at his sides before moving and trying to claw the hoof off of him. His fingers scratched desperately, head bleeding and eyes wide before he squeezed them shut, jaw tight before he woke up with a start.
He started with a gasp, lying on the floor with his hair damp and body drenched in sweat; he looked around, eyes wide as he sought to understand what exactly that was. A nightmare about a goat. A weird goat. A goat that was able to stand on two legs and had too many limbs and a surprisingly big chest. He sighed, getting up from the hardwood floor; his body felt gross from the sweat and he frankly just felt completely worn out despite not feeling as bad before he blacked out.
Was it slightly weird that he liked getting stepped on? Now speaking, what was his dream about? He only remembered how unsettling it felt.
He shook his head, sighing as he went into his bathroom, wiping his forehead as he started the shower, water running down and thrumming on the floor of his shower. He slipped off his clothing—the scars on his chest were faint, but still there; luckily, not as revolting as before. Once he took off his briefs, he noticed something. Small appendages that were oddly sensitive and squishy, except for the tips of them. They looked like fangs? He stared at the things.
"What the fuck?" he murmured, his voice soft—a tad feminine, but more masculine since it was paired with a slight Australian accent. He decided it'd be best to ignore whatever that predicament was and clean himself off.
His shower didn't take long—too freaked out to stay in there for any longer. His skin had gotten paler; a side effect of working to death in his home and only going out a couple of days, to work at some fast food place that made his eye bags even worse.
With a towel tied to his waist, Vince made his way to his bedroom—trying not to burst out laughing at whatever the hell had happened to his body while he blacked out for no apparent reason. He slipped a shirt on, the fabric baggy against his thin, slightly muscular frame—boxers coming on shortly after while the towel went discarded on the floor. Vince stared at the towel, contemplating whether to put it back or not, and he decided to put it back; he leaned down and took the towel back into his bathroom, hanging it up on the railing beside the shower.
Vince plodded back to his room, turning off the bathroom light on the way out before picking up his phone on the wooden desk close to the bathroom door. He lay back on top of his bed, looking at the ceiling as he tried to contemplate things and make sense of the irrational things that can't be rational, no matter how you think about it. Was it better just to ignore the problems or consult someone about them?
Did the goat cause this? Would it go away? Was it an infection? A disease? Vincent grumbled, turning to lie on his face as his fingers clutched his head, trying not to spiral into a mess of confusion and dogged determination to find out what the hell was going on.
He grumbled, determined to get a half-decent night's rest. However, he couldn't sleep. An hour passed, tossing and turning and trying everything not to stay awake, and none of it worked. He tried melatonin, Benadryl, and music, but still nothing. He even tried listening to ASMR, but it made no difference. He was restless in a way that had him begging whatever god existed to help him sleep.
It did not work.
He cussed under his breath before getting up and getting back on his laptop—a small, black tuxedo cat plushie with small button eyes; a small, pink nose; a stitched-on mouth; pink stitches on its chest, not meeting in the middle though; and a black tail with white at the end. He did not remember having a plushie similar to this.
His computer flashes
[ hi ]
"...Hi?" he spoke, confused as to what the hell was happening. Did he accidentally give someone access to a document for his game? Though, it didn't say anyone else was there.
Something flashed on the screen—one icon popped up, indicating someone else was online. He couldn't see the profile picture in time.
[ ??? why is it this difficult to summon u ]
Vince stared at the message, completely confused, "What.. What are you talking about? Wait can you even hear me?" He typed out his message instead of talking.
can you hear me? and who are you???
[ kinda & my identity is a secret until you
meet me lololololol ]
What? What the fuck? Was this a stalker? A hacker??
how do i meet you?
[ well, just give it some time, k? ]
"Give it some time? Give it some time.?" Vince mumbled, trying to make sense of whatever the hell this guy was talking about. He sighed, shutting his laptop, the darkness overtaking his room once again.