Horror Game Designer

Chapter 20: Can You See Me?

Sumer was known for his unwavering dedication throughout his life. As a child and later as an adult, he consistently maintained his position among the top five students in his class due to his exceptional academic performance.

His routine involved rigorous studying and a part-time job after school hours. Sumer’s aspirations were modest yet clear-cut; he aimed to complete his education and secure a position at a well-respected company. His primary motivation was to earn a sufficient income to help ease the financial struggles faced by his family.

While Sumer was still in the midst of his studies, he would often daydream about his impending professional career. However, one particular incident abruptly interrupted his train of thoughts.

With a sudden shift in tone to a more chilling one, Gao Ming addressed Sumer, “I’m asking you a question. What did you hear?” This unexpected change in demeanor caused Sumer to tremble with fear. He had just been lost in a moment of reflection about his future, a typical occurrence for someone of his age and position.

“Nothing,” Sumer replied hastily, shaking his head. “I didn’t hear anything!”

Gao Ming issued a stern warning, “Don’t be curious about things you shouldn’t be,” as he imposingly stood in the doorway. “This world is more complex than you can imagine. Make sure you head home early in the evening and avoid working too late.”

“Understood, understood,” Sumer responded quickly. He grabbed his electric scooter helmet and hurriedly left the scene, moving even more swiftly than before.

Panting heavily, Sumer rushed into the elevator and frantically pressed the button to close the doors. As the metallic doors of the elevator sealed shut, he allowed himself a moment of relief.

“The workplace is terrifying,” he muttered to himself.

Inside the well-air-conditioned building, Sumer wiped the sweat off his forehead and stood in a corner of the elevator. Nearby, two men, one tall and the other short, were engaged in a hushed conversation.

“Did you hear? Two nights ago, a programmer who was working late on the 11th floor passed away suddenly. His colleague, mistaking him for asleep, continued to work beside him before realizing the grim truth,” one man said.

“That’s horrifying. The gaming industry’s competitiveness is reaching extreme levels. The little we earn isn’t even sufficient to cover medical expenses,” the other replied.

“There’s something even more chilling,” the shorter man added in a lowered voice. “A friend of mine said that last night, as he was leaving, he noticed someone still working and decided not to turn off the lights. Then, that person, with their back turned, said something eerie—’It’s okay, I can see even without the lights.'”

“Goodness, was it the spirit of the programmer who died unexpectedly?”

“I can’t be sure! But my friend was totally shocked. He later saw that person sitting at the deceased programmer’s desk, staring at a computer screen filled with incomprehensible symbols.”

As the elevator came to a halt and the two men exited, Sumer was left alone, his mind racing with the eerie tale he had just overheard.

He watched the numbers on the elevator display change, feeling a growing sense of unease. The story of the ghostly encounter recounted by the two employees resonated in his mind.

When the display finally showed 11, the elevator doors opened to a deserted corridor. The chill from the air conditioning felt like an icy touch down his neck. Staring into the empty hallway, Sumer’s heart pounded with an increasing sense of dread, as if unseen hands were clawing at it.

Just as the elevator doors were about to close again, a male employee hurriedly entered, carrying a laptop bag. Seeing another person, Sumer breathed a sigh of relief. Clutching his helmet tightly, he took out his phone, ready to get back to accepting orders for his part-time job.

While engrossed in his phone, Sumer suddenly sensed something unusual. Curiously, he adjusted his phone to selfie mode and was startled to see that the man who had entered the elevator was staring at him the entire time.

Feeling uneasy, Sumer covertly glanced at the man. The man’s gaze was unblinkingly fixed on him, creating a tense atmosphere. As Sumer instinctively moved back, pressing himself against the elevator wall, the man’s expression remained unchanged, and he slowly opened his mouth.

“So, you really can see me.”

…..

Meanwhile, Gao Ming didn’t pursue Sumer. He lingered near the storeroom, quietly enjoying his milk tea.

The situation at the office building was intensifying, particularly for Xuan Wen, as the download count for their game, “To Our Love That Will Eventually Die,” continued to climb. Xuan Wen’s mental state was deteriorating rapidly due to her excessive absorption of emotions, causing her self-will to grow but also pushing her towards insanity.

By 9:30 p.m., most of the office building had plunged into darkness, with the last employee shuttle having already left.

Only two studios were still bustling with activity at this late hour. Nightlight Studio, though small with limited staff, was dedicatedly working overtime. They rarely had significant projects, but now that they finally had one, everyone was pouring their heart and soul into it.

In stark contrast, Unicorn Game Studio, a subsidiary of Motu Technology and ranked fifth, was bustling with activity over three floors. Known for its fierce competitiveness, this studio’s employees were accustomed to working past their standard 9 p.m. quitting time, driven by a relentless pursuit of success.

Gao Ming, standing by the storeroom, mused over the work culture. “Working themselves to death for money? Even prisoners in Henshan High-Security Prison would have completed their labor reform by now.” He was concerned about Xuan Wen losing control under the strain and hoped the employees would leave soon. However, the studio was more animated than usual, with everyone seemingly more motivated to stay late.

Suddenly, Wei Dayou appeared, bursting with excitement. “Gao Ming! The download count for our trial version has already surpassed 15,000!” he exclaimed. He was amazed that without significant promotions, players were spontaneously inviting others to join, hinting at the game’s potential to break through its niche market.

“That’s good,” Gao Ming responded, acknowledging the news.

Wei Dayou was filled with optimism. “Your persistence was not in vain! Our studio might survive because of this game!” He then prepared a cup of coffee, reflecting on the past seven months during which the studio had seen no game revenue sharing. The recent success had reignited everyone’s passion.

Gao Ming knew the team well. “They don’t say it, but they actually have a lot of affection for Nightlight.” He was familiar with the studio’s history and its past achievements.

Wei Dayou, filled with determination, declared, “This time, we must fight a beautiful battle for revival!” He showed no signs of leaving, which caused Gao Ming some concern.

“Dayou, let everyone go home and rest. It’s too late,” Gao Ming suggested.

But Wei Dayou was resolute. “Not going home today! We men are going to fight!” He took a sip of his coffee and returned to his workstation, embodying a spirit of defiance.

Looking at the increasing download numbers for the trial version, Gao Ming knocked on the storeroom door. “Xuan Wen, are you feeling any better?” he asked with concern, indicating his awareness of the toll the situation was taking on her.

When Gao Ming received no response, his concern escalated. Cautiously, he cracked open the storeroom door, only to be greeted by a scene of eerie distortion. The room was shrouded in darkness, with large, unsettling shadows flickering like sinister, ghostly flames.

“Xuan Wen?” he called out tentatively.

Within this haunting environment, he found Xuan Wen, a woman usually impeccably dressed for her professional role, now enveloped in these dark, dancing shadows. Her eyes were firmly shut, and her skin was marred by thin, pitch-black veins that emerged like sinister chains. One end of these veins seemed to be rooted in the shadows themselves, while the other end was intricately woven into her body.

Gao Ming couldn’t help but draw a parallel. “This looks a bit like the chains between Zhao Xi and me.” Zhao Xi, transformed into a malevolent spirit by forces from an unknown world, possessed eerie and terrifying powers. His memories, regrets, and obsessions had materialized into similar black, chain-like veins that bound both him and Gao Ming, marking a haunting connection.

Zhao Xi, unlike Xuan Wen, was a real person with a connection to the tangible world. Xuan Wen, however, was a creation of Gao Ming’s, existing without a real-world anchor. Yet, as over ten thousand people came to know of her through the game, these ominous black veins also began to manifest within her.

Gao Ming mused, “Belief makes it real; disbelief does not. The emotional impact is what keeps urban legends alive in people’s hearts. That explains why these spirits thrive on spreading fear.”

He stepped closer to Xuan Wen, his gaze fixated on her pale neck. There, all the newly emerged veins converged, forming a chain-like entity that seemed to embody the core of her obsessions and memories.

Gao Ming faced a critical decision: destroying this chain could either send Xuan Wen back to the shadow world in a comatose state or cause her to lose control entirely. Alternatively, connecting the chain to himself might grant him the ability to harness her powers.

Confronted with the choice of either “killing” Xuan Wen or “dominating” her, Gao Ming hesitated. Ultimately, his hand didn’t go for the chain but instead picked up the unopened milk tea lying next to Xuan Wen.

Acknowledging the complexity of consciousness, he thought, “It’s tough enough to gain self-awareness. It would indeed be too cruel to depart without experiencing anything good.” He opened the milk tea and began to drink, remarking, “Room temperature, tastes better without ice.”

Leaving the storeroom with the milk tea in hand, Gao Ming closed the door behind him and walked away. After his departure, Xuan Wen’s eyes, which had been tightly closed, slowly opened.

Her reaction seemed to carry a hint of irony or disbelief as if to say, “I gave you a chance, and you used it to drink milk tea?”

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