Horror Game Designer

Chapter 19: The psychological impact this had on my simple self was immense!

“What’s gotten into Manager Gou?”

Gao Ming’s confusion deepened as his phone buzzed yet again. Since 5:41 p.m., Manager Gou’s relentless calls had become a background drone, a persistent reminder of a world outside the cramped, cluttered office where he now sat. But his mind was elsewhere, fixated on Xuan Wen, whose enigmatic presence seemed to dominate the tiny space.

The office was dim, lit by the flickering light of an old desk lamp and the glow of several monitors. Papers, empty coffee cups, and various tech paraphernalia littered the space, creating a chaotic landscape. In this disarray, Gao Ming had fashioned a makeshift seat from a sturdy cardboard box, positioning himself close to Xuan Wen.

“The download count has just crossed a thousand,” Gao Ming said, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and apprehension. He checked the analytics on his phone one more time, ensuring the numbers were real. “Do you feel anything off? Anything at all?”

Xuan Wen, sitting rigidly in her chair, looked like a figure carved out of stone, her gaze fixed on her hands resting motionless in her lap. “There are… noises,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gao Ming leaned in, his notebook ready. “Noises? What kind of noises? Can you describe them?”

Xuan Wen’s eyes, distant and unfocused, seemed to be looking at something far beyond the cramped office. “It’s like a cacophony of voices, a blend of emotions I can’t fully discern. They’re making my consciousness feel more… real, more anchored here.”

Gao Ming scribbled down her words, his handwriting shaky. “Is it overwhelming? Are these… voices affecting you negatively?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, her voice quivering slightly. “But I see shadows, black and ominous, hovering at the edges of my vision. They’re trying to pull me back, back to where I came from. They want to ‘correct’ my fate, whatever that means. But these voices, the players’ voices, they’re like lifelines, holding me here, in this reality.”

Gao Ming paused, recalling a briefing he had attended. “The Bureau mentioned something about a ghost in their weird tale report. It said the entity feeds off negative emotions, growing stronger, more uncontrollable. Do you feel like you’re losing control?”

Xuan Wen lifted her head, revealing her left eye, bloodshot and alarming. The veins seemed to be alive, crawling slowly across her face. “Control is… a tricky thing. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I’m trying to adapt, to hold on.”

Gao Ming, his heart racing, rummaged through his desk and handed her a sleep mask. “Maybe this will help with the… eye thing.”

Xuan Wen’s lips twitched into a semblance of a smile as she took the mask. “Call me ‘big sister’ again, and I might just lose control for real,” she half-joked, a hint of her old self peeking through.

As they stepped out of the office, Xuan Wen paused, her hand on the storeroom door. “If this weird tale takes over, if it ensnares a thousand lives, it won’t just be my sanity at stake. We’re teetering on the edge of a disaster. But for now, the balance holds.”

Xuan Wen’s voice resonated with a deep, suppressed intensity, each syllable seeming to ooze out between tightly clenched teeth. He spoke with a fervent conviction, “The game we’ve developed, it’s akin to a sacred shrine for me, and the wedding dress photo featured within it, that’s my idol, my talisman. It’s through these digital manifestations that I can siphon off a trickle of emotions, a subtle sense of unease. And the beauty of it is, the players, they remain blissfully unaware, spared from tumbling into the abyss of real despair.”

Gao Ming, absorbing every word, nodded in agreement.

Xuan Wen continued, his voice gaining a hint of liberation, “I can sense it, the gradual loosening of the shadow world’s grip on me,” he declared, his hand reaching for the storeroom door. “Tonight, we push to complete the game’s full version. And if it means securing loans to broaden our player base, so be it. We must let more people experience it!”

Hearing these words from Xuan Wen struck Gao Ming as surreal. He couldn’t help but reflect on the stark contrast between the person before him and the notorious psychological crime serial killer of his acquaintance. This killer, infamous for extinguishing the lives of eight female leads in a mere three days, was a mastermind of intricate plots and posed a grave danger. Yet, in a bizarre twist of everyday normalcy, this same individual routinely took a taxi to work at the crack of dawn and displayed a pragmatic preference for loans over squandering company resources.

“You keep the work going here. Once I’ve taken a brief respite, I’ll be back to assist,” Xuan Wen remarked, slowly closing the storeroom door behind him, leaving Gao Ming standing there, immersed in thought.

Gao Ming pondered, “Xuan Wen possesses a brilliant mind, but even the brightest can be blinded when too closely involved. Now that I’m convinced ordinary games can harvest emotions for the weird tale, I can leverage the tale to generate revenue. That income can then be funneled into sustaining the monsters under my command.” His thoughts were interrupted as he opened his backpack, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. “I need to gather more haunting black-and-white photos, similar to Zhao Xi’s.”

Why adhere to conventional norms when the apocalypse looms on the horizon?

Back in the office, Gao Ming dove into researching Hanhai’s most infamous haunted houses. It was then that Wei Dayou approached, exuding an air of mystery, with Richy the cat cradled in his arm. “Is there something brewing between you two?” he inquired, his eyebrows arching suggestively, as if he had unraveled a deep secret.

Gao Ming’s expression mirrored that of Richy, a blend of helplessness and speechlessness. “There’s definitely something, but it’s not in the vein you’re imagining.”

“I knew there was something!”

“You’re in the dark on this one,” Gao Ming retorted, his focus returning to the list of haunted houses, his thoughts clearly elsewhere compared to Wei Dayou’s line of inquiry.

“I noticed you emerged alone. Was there a disagreement between you two?” Wei Dayou inquired, a comforting pat landing on Gao Ming’s shoulder. “Look, buddy, I’ve got two milk teas on the way for you. Go smooth things over later. Don’t let her wallow in solitude. I saw her earlier, her hands covering her eyes, as though she were crying.”

“Believe what you will,” Gao Ming dismissed Wei Dayou’s assumptions, his attention firmly anchored on the haunted houses and how they might intertwine with his gaming creations, plotting his strategic next steps.

About half an hour later, the milk teas ordered by Wei Dayou arrived. With a sense of resignation, Gao Ming stepped out of the office, only to be greeted by a face he recognized all too well.

“Sumu?” Gao Ming’s eyes widened slightly in recognition as he spotted the familiar figure of the deliveryman who had previously brought him a comforting meal of chicken rice. Now, Sumu stood at the threshold, balancing the milk teas in his hands.

Sumu, too, registered Gao Ming’s presence and instinctively recoiled, a mixture of surprise and disbelief coloring his features. “What are the odds? Switching delivery zones and still bumping into you?”

“Perhaps it’s the work of destiny,” Gao Ming mused, accepting the milk teas. Instead of returning to the bustling energy of the office, he veered towards the more secluded, disheveled storage room.

As Sumu was about to depart, his ears caught the faint, harrowing sound of a woman’s voice, strained and filled with anguish, emanating from the storage room. The university student in him, driven by an innate sense of moral duty, paused. After a moment of internal debate, he stealthily inched closer to the storage room, curiosity and concern fueling his movements.

Inside, Gao Ming shut the door and was immediately confronted with Xuan Wen’s deteriorating condition. Her left side of the face appeared unnaturally contorted, and her fingers bore the evidence of self-inflicted wounds, marked by several bloody scratches. “Are you holding up okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

“The voices, they’re amplifying!” Xuan Wen’s eyes bore a haunting intensity, and her words were broken, laced with an undercurrent of panic. “I’m losing grasp on what I might end up doing.”

“Why not head back home for now?”

“I fear I might completely unravel on the way.” Xuan Wen’s voice had morphed into something otherworldly, sending a shiver down Gao Ming’s spine.

“Even here, you must maintain control. Remember, they are engaging with your game,” Gao Ming implored, gesturing with the milk tea in his hand. “Look, someone even cared enough to send milk tea your way. You can’t just snap and lash out at them.”

Xuan Wen’s face twisted in agony. “Tie me up. My hands, my feet, use anything.”

“Are you certain? Won’t that exacerbate your torment?”

“No, it’s necessary.”

“Where should I secure you? The table, a bookshelf, the radiator? Just name it.” Xuan Wen struggled to activate her phone. “We should document this episode, every detail of this anomaly. It’s crucial that we understand what’s happening to me. We can review it together, analyze it when we’re back in the office tomorrow.”

“That seems sensible.” Gao Ming’s senses were heightened, his mind racing. As he turned, a soft shuffle of footsteps outside the door reached his ears.

He put his finger to his lips, signaling for silence, and cautiously reached for the doorknob.

……

Sumu, ever since his first encounter with Gao Ming, harbored an instinctual belief that there was something unsettling about him. Compelled by this notion and a growing sense of apprehension, he crept closer to the storage room door, his ears straining to catch the conversation within.

The words that reached him sent a jolt through his system. “Go find some rope and tie up my hands and feet…”

For Sumu, a university student brimming with idealistic notions of the professional world, this statement was jarring: “Tie up??” He couldn’t help but wonder about the nature of their workplace dynamics.

He held his breath, waiting for more context, but the ensuing dialogue only deepened his confusion. “Where should I tie you?”

“The table? Bookshelf? Radiator? Anywhere!”

Sumu’s cheeks reddened involuntarily. Was this a normal conversation to have in a workplace setting? His mind raced with the implications.

The conversation continued, further baffling him. “Let’s record the entire process. I need to know my condition. We can watch it together, or study it slowly at work tomorrow.”

The notion of recording such an event, and then reviewing it ‘together’ the next day at work, seemed utterly outlandish to Sumu. The pure-hearted student was shaken, his worldview of professional decorum thoroughly challenged.

With his ears still burning, Sumu instinctively stepped back, only for the door to suddenly swing open. He found himself once again face-to-face with Gao Ming, his heart racing.

“What did you hear?”

Confronted by Gao Ming’s piercing gaze, Sumu felt a chill run down his spine. The man before him not only exuded an aura of malice but now, in Sumu’s eyes, seemed to harbor peculiar, perhaps even sinister proclivities. The young deliveryman stood frozen, grappling with the fear and confusion of the moment.

……

In the bustling East District of Hanhai, nestled on Queen Sixteen Street, the third floor of the Fuan Private Hospital harbored a scene far removed from the typical hospital bustle. In a dimly lit, secluded room, a tall middle-aged man methodically wiped the blood from his fingertips. His movements were calm and deliberate, betraying no hint of emotion. He maneuvered around a lifeless body on the floor, his steps measured as he settled into the main chair with an air of authority.

“Chairman Situ, the documents have been delivered,” announced a young doctor, his tone remarkably composed given the grim scene. He adjusted his glasses as he spoke. “Congratulations on your appointment as the acting director of the Hanhai Investigation Bureau’s East District branch.”

“Only acting director?” Chairman Situ’s voice, cool and detached, broke the silence that followed.

“Frankly, there isn’t anyone who could compete with you,” the doctor replied, pausing briefly before voicing a question that seemed to linger on his mind. “But I must admit, I’m curious. Why have you gone to such lengths to secure a role that most would go to great lengths to avoid?”

“Doctor Lu, your curiosity is misplaced. Such matters do not concern you.” The chairman’s voice was like a cold wind, his figure an enigmatic silhouette against the dim light reflecting off the table. The rest of him was cloaked in shadows.

“Did you bring the people I requested?” Chairman Situ shifted the subject without missing a beat.

“Yes, seven investigators, each with firsthand experience in third-level abnormal events. They’re prepared to brief you on survival strategies for such scenarios.” Doctor Lu placed a stack of files on the table. The files contained the details of seven investigators, three of whom bore physical disabilities and one with a severely disfigured face.

“There’s no need for briefings. I want them to accompany me to the haunted building in the East District. Tonight, at midnight, we will enter the house that was once the sanctuary of the Flesh Immortal devotees.”

“That… might be challenging. They are affiliated with other branches of the bureau,” Doctor Lu replied, a hint of concern coloring his words.

“Rules are merely guidelines until they’re replaced by new ones,” Chairman Situ declared, his tone final. He rose, pushing his chair from the shadows into the faint light, symbolizing a shift from the unseen to the overtly influential. His presence seemed to fill the room, an unspoken promise of change hanging in the air.

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