The hiss of the pod lid releasing was a sound of salvation. Emily lay there for a long moment, her chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged gasps that echoed in the sudden quiet of the room. The tears tracking through her mascara weren't for show; they were the physical proof of a nervous system pushed to its absolute limit. The sterile, familiar air of her bedroom felt alien, a stark contrast to the oppressive, rotting dread of the game world.
I stayed seated on the edge of her bed, giving her space, letting her psyche recalibrate. The monitors behind me still displayed the chaotic, scrolling insanity of her chat, a frantic digital reaction of the terror she'd just experienced.
Slowly, she pushed herself up, her movements shaky and uncoordinated, her entire body were visibly trembling. She fumbled with to grab hold of the pod wall, her fingers trembling so badly she almost dropped herself back into the pod. She just sat on the padded edge of the pod, her head in her hands, taking deep, shuddering breaths.
After a minute, she looked up. Her eyes, wide and still glistening with moisture, found mine. The fear in them was now mingled with something else: a raw, stunned awe.
"I… I need to tell them I'm okay," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Just a break…just a little one,"
I simply nodded. After a few breathings exercise, she stood, her legs a bit unsteady, and walked back to her streaming chair. She smoothed down her shirt, ran a hand through her disheveled hair, and unmuted her mic. The professional mask slid back into place, but it was cracked, what she went through were that impactful that she cannot shake it off any time sooner.
"H-hey everyone," she began, her voice catching. She cleared her throat, forcing a weak smile for the camera. "Sorry about that. I just… I needed a minute… I need some water. Be right back, okay? Don't go anywhere." She quickly set her status to 'BRB' and muted the mic again.
She turned away from the desk, her shoulders slumping. She walked over to her mini-fridge, pulled out a bottle of cold water, and drank half of it in one long, desperate gulp. The cold seemed to steady her. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a second before turning to face me.
The look she gave me then was one I would remember. All traces of the amused, confident and a bit of condescending little sister were gone, vaporized by sheer, unadulterated terror.
"Bro," she said, her voice low and utterly serious. "I am so sorry."
I raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For not believing you," she said, gesturing weakly toward the pod.
"I thought… I thought you were just being my brother, you know? Making something you thought was cool... I was ready to politely lie to my audience for you. But that…" She shook her head, a disbelieving laugh escaping her.
"That is not a game... That is a full experience… That is a masterpiece... I have never, ever been that scared in my life. …Nothing had ever come even close what I went through just now, It's… Your game is in a completely different league. A different dimension..."
She walked over and sat next to me on the bed, her body angled toward mine, her expression intense. "The sound… God, the sound design alone. And the way it builds tension... It doesn't just scare me; it violates me… I feel like I need a shower. How… how did you even make that?".
"I told you. I had confidence. And I'm just glad you're alright. I was worried I'd dialed it down too much, but clearly not dialed down, enough…". I reached out and put a hand on her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"Dialed it down?! Sael, if that's dialed down, what the hell is the full version? A heart attack machine?". She barked a laugh at that, a genuine, surprised sound.
I just smiled enigmatically. Because technically, she was correct, if I released the original version, I am sure that she doesn't even want to enter the hallway and take a single step in there. While we were talking, the world outside her bedroom was igniting. On the secondary monitor, Emily's chat was moving at a speed that was almost unreadable.
IS SHE OKAY???… 🥺🥺🥺 OMG THAT WAS THE MOST INTENSE 10 MINUTES OF MY LIFE😫… I LITERALLY PULLED MY BLANKET OVER MY HEAD I'M 25 😱 😱 WHAT GAME IS THIS I NEED IT… 👍🏼 👍🏼 THE RADIO SCARE I JUMPED SO HIGH I SPILLED MY DRINK… THIS MAKES DUKE WINSTON LOOK LIKE A TODDLER'S GAME, FR..FR… 🤣 🤣
But the viewers weren't just talking amongst themselves. The hype was too big to contain. They became digital evangelists. They copied the game's name—Silent Hill: First Fear—and the developer—Meteor Studio—and they launched a crusade.
They flooded into other streams. In the chat of LUXI, who was calmly reviewing a new manga, the messages started pouring in:
`LUXI! EMILY JUST FAINTED PLAYING A NEW HORROR GAME CALLED SILENT HILL! YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!!!!!`
In Amora's stream, where she was doing a sensual ASMR session, the comments were jarring:
`AMORA FORGET THAT! EMILY IS PLAYING A GAME THAT WILL SCARE THE SOUL OUT OF YOU! BEST HORROR GAME EVER!`
In Millie's music stream, amidst song requests:
`MILLIE YOUR -OCTOPUSSY- SISTER IS IN TROUBLE! A GAME JUST BROKE HER! SILENT HILL!`
The phrase "XxEmilyxX fainted" became an irresistible headline, a piece of digital folklore that spread faster than the truth. It wasn't malicious; it was the language of extreme hype. The seed was planted, and it was growing into a monstrous, tangled vine of anticipation and curiosity across the entire platform.
Emily, still riding the adrenaline crash and basking in my quiet acceptance of her apology, took a final steadying breath. She stood up, a new determination in her eyes. She was no longer just playing her brother's game; she was about to present a revolution to her audience.
She sat back down, straightened her posture, and unmuted her mic. The 'BRB' screen vanished, replaced by her face, still slightly pale but now alight with a passionate energy.
"Okay, guys. Sorry about that," she said, her voice stronger now, laced with genuine excitement.
"I… wow. I don't even know what to say. That was… that was something else." She let out a breathy, incredulous laugh.
"So, full disclosure… That game, Silent Hill: First Fear, is from a brand new, totally unknown developer… A friend of a friend kind of thing. Their studio is called Meteor Studios. They're total rookies, and they sent me this beta build to try out."
As she spoke, I watched the viewer counter on her stream dashboard. It had been sitting at around 2,000 loyal viewers when she started. Then it began to climb.
2,500.
3,000.
A notification popped up: `LUXI_OFFICIAL has raided with 1,200 viewers!`
The number jumped to 4,500.
Another notification: `MILLIE_MUSIC has raided with 800 viewers!`
5,300.
Then, another: `AMORA_LOVE has raided with 1,500 viewers!`
6,800.
And it didn't stop. The raids were a tidal wave, but so were the organic viewers, pouring in from social media links and word-of-mouth. 8,000. 9,000. The counter ticked over to 10,000 live viewers, and it was still climbing. Her chat, already frenzied, became an absolute tsunami of text, moving too fast to read individual comments, just a blur of excitement, questions, and sheer disbelief.
Amidst the supportive comments, waves of skepticism from the new arrivals also appeared at the same time.
THANK U FOR THE CONTENT EMILY! 🤩 🤩 THIS GAME LOOKS SICK! 🤔 🤔… FAKE… FAKE… FAKE..🤥 😡 🤔… SETUP FOR VIEWS 😤 🤬 🤬 SCAM TO SELL A SHITTY GAME 🙄 🤔 PROVE IT'S REAL 😤 😤 😤 FAKE …. FAKE 🤬 🤬 😤 GIVE ME MY MONEY BACK!!! 🤬 🤬 🤬 😤
Emily's eyes widened as she saw the numbers. A massive, incredulous grin spread across her face. She thought that she was riding on a dog, but actually she was riding a tiger, and she knew it instantly. The fear was still there, but it was now subsumed by the thrill of the moment, the electric surge of a career-defining stream, was euphoric and a blessing.
"Hehehehe~". A giddy, almost hysterical laugh escaped Emily's lips as she watched the viewer counter stabilize at over ten thousand souls.
Her fingers, which had been trembling with fear moments ago, now trembled with a potent mix of adrenaline and raw, unadulterated excitement. The sheer weight of that number—ten thousand people hanging on her every word, waiting for her next move—was a drug more potent than any fear. it was a number that many top tier streamers would want to have on a daily basis.
"Oh my god," she breathed into the mic, her voice a husky whisper of disbelief. "Look at all of you! Welcome, everyone! Welcome to the… the nightmare, I guess!" She let out another shaky laugh, running a hand through her hair. The initial shock was morphing into a performer's high, she had their attention, now she had to prove she deserved it. She leaned closer to the camera, her expression shifting from stunned to fiercely confident.
"I see the comments. I see the people calling this a scam, a setup." She shook her head, a sly smile playing on her lips.
"It's not. I promise you, what you saw was one hundred percent real… My reaction was one hundred percent real. And what you're about to see… I truly believe this game, Silent Hill: First Fear from Meteor Studios, is going to change what we think horror games can be... and in my opinion, it might just top every single game out there right now.".
The chat erupted. Half was fueled by her bold claim, the other half by rampant skepticism. She didn't engage further. Instead, she took a long, deliberate breath, steeling herself. The glint in her eye was no longer just excitement; it was a challenge. She was going to conquer this.
She stood up, and every one of those ten thousand viewers watched as she walked back to the VR pod. Her movements were more deliberate this time, like a soldier armoring up for a second tour in a war zone. She paused before climbing in, her hand resting on the cool lid. She looked back at the camera, a wicked grin on her face.
"Alright, you beautiful maniacs… Let's do this."
She climbed in, and the lid sealed shut with that same ominous hiss. On the main monitor, her virtual perspective flickered to life. The game's main menu appeared, the rusted letters of SILENT HILL bleeding into view against the fog.
But this time, before the 'Continue' option could be selected, the screen went completely black. Then, stark, blood-red text in a severe, official font filled the screen, accompanied by a low, alarming drone.
**⚠️ HEALTH WARNING ⚠️**
The text was bold, all caps, impossible to ignore.
"THIS EXPERIENCE CONTAINS INTENSE PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR THEMES, FLASHING LIGHTS, AND DISTRESSING AUDIO CUES. IT IS NOT SUITABLE FOR INDIVIDUALS WITH A HISTORY OF EPILEPSY, PANIC DISORDERS, HEART CONDITIONS, HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE, OR OTHER HEALTH SENSITIVITIES."
"THIS GAME FEATURES A PROPRIETARY BIO-FEEDBACK SAFETY SYSTEM. THE GAME WILL AUTOMATICALLY PAUSE AND DISCONNECT IF IT DETECTS VITAL SIGNS EXCEEDING SAFE PARAMETERS."
**PLAY AT YOUR OWN RISK.**
The message lingered for a full ten seconds. The effect on the chat was instantaneous and polarizing.
HOLY SHIT A REAL HEALTH WARNING SEE I TOLD YOU IT WAS REAL EMILY FAINTED FOR REAL 😠 LMAO THIS IS SO FAKE TRYING TOO HARD 🙄 🙄 RESPECT FOR PUTTING THAT IN THO 👍🏼 👍🏼 MY HEART IS ALREADY POUNDING AND IT HASNT EVEN STARTED 😣 😣 JUST A MARKETING GIMMICK🤥🤥
Emily's voice, slightly muffled from the pod, came through the speakers. "Well… that's new. And, honestly, after the last time, I believe it." She selected 'Continue'.
Again, the world dissolved into the pitch black of the hallway. The familiar, oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of her character's ragged breathing—her breathing—and the frantic thumping of her heart, amplified by the pod's internal sensors for everyone to hear.
The door at the end of the hall swung open on its own this time, a silent invitation back into the belly of the beast.
"Okay," Emily whispered, her voice tight with renewed tension.
"I remember this. I'm not falling for the radio trick again." She moved forward, but her movements were cautious, paranoid. Her virtual head—her head—constantly swiveled, checking every shadow, every peeling strip of wallpaper. The flashlight beam was jumpy, scanning the floors and ceilings.
"The atmosphere… it's just so thick," she murmured, her commentary now genuine, a real-time reaction instead of performance.
"You can almost smell the damp… The rot...".
Then the radio on her hip crackled to life. But it wasn't static or a scream. It was a calm, disturbingly clear news broadcast.
"—authorities have confirmed the identities of the family found in the residential home on Sanders Street. The perpetrator, Michael Kaufmann, is believed to have first bludgeoned his wife, Sarah, with a household hammer before suffocating his two children, Lily and Thomas, aged seven and four, in their sleep. He then… took his own life by…" The broadcast dissolved into a burst of static before returning, the reporter's voice still eerily professional.
"…a truly horrific tragedy that has shaken the community…".
Emily frozen. The chat, for the first time, fell almost silent.
what the actual fuck 😱 😱 🥶 🥶 that's so fucked up 😨 😰 🥶 is this the story? are we in that house 🧐 this isn't scary at all… this is just sick 🤯 now this is genius it making it real 🤯 🤯 i feel sick… 😨 😨
"Jesus," Emily breathed, her voice shaky. "That's… that's so much worse than a jump scare… what a sick story…".
Her careful exploration led her back to the bathroom door. This time, it was slightly ajar. And from within, a new sound emanated. Not dragging, not breathing. It was the soft, pathetic, and utterly heartbreaking sound of an infant's crying.