"Oh god," Emily whispered. "Do you guys, hear that?"
`OH…WE HEARD THAT!` `YEP! DEFINITELY…GO INSIDE!!!` `GO IN… GO IN… GO IN!!` `DONT GO IN EMILY… STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THAT DOOR!!! 😡` `BABY???`. `THAT'S A GODDAMN BABY!!`
She pushed the door open a fraction more, peering through the crack into the darkness within. The crying was louder here, echoing off the tiles.
Then, a pale, long-fingered hand shot out from the darkness and slammed the door shut with a force that made the screen shake.
"BAM!"
Emily shrieked and stumbled backward, her virtual view spinning. As she regained her balance, her flashlight beam swept across the hallway behind her.
And there she was.
The entity. Lisa. Not crouching. Not attacking. Just… standing. Directly in her path, blocking any retreat. Her head was bowed, her face hidden by stringy black hair. Her shoulders shook with silent, convulsive sobs.
The sound that came from her then was not a scream. It was a low, wet, guttural weeping that sounded like it was being forced through a broken throat. It was a sound of pure, unending agony. The audio distorted and warped around it, making it feel alien and deeply, profoundly wrong.
Emily didn't scream this time. She made a small, choked sound in the back of her throat. Her avatar stood completely still, paralyzed. The entire stream—all ten thousand viewers—stood still with her, forced to watch and listen to the devastating, horrifying spectacle. After what felt like an eternity, the figure vanished. Not with a pop or a fade, but by simply… not being there anymore. In the spot where she stood, a cluster of fat, glossy roaches skittered in a frantic circle before dispersing into the cracks in the floorboards.
The spell was broken. Emily gasped, a ragged intake of air. Without thinking, she turned and ran, not away from the bathroom, but toward it—the only door she could see. She burst through into the tiled room.
The door slammed shut behind her with finality. She was locked in. The infant's crying was gone. The room was silent. Her flashlight beam swept across the sink.
And there it was.
The thing in the sink. It was a pulsing, veiny, grotesque lump of flesh. It vaguely resembled a fetus, but horribly malformed, covered in a sickly sheen. It twitched rhythmically, a mockery of life. The chat recoiled in unified horror.
`NONONONONO` `WHAT IS THAT THING` `I'M GOING TO BE SICK` `TURN THE LIGHT OFF TURN IT OFF` `THIS IS TOO MUCH`
Emily could only stare, her breath held. The flashlight beam remained fixed on the horrible thing, mesmerized by its awful, rhythmic pulsing.
She held it there for too long.
A figure resolved itself from the shadows in the corner of the room, behind her. Lisa. Her movement was a silent, gliding rush.
There was no scream. No struggle.
A pale arm snaked around Emily's virtual neck. A sickening, crisp SNAP echoed through the stream, a sound of digital bone breaking.
The screen went black.
-GAME OVER-
Silence. Absolute, dead silence in the room, broken only by the frantic, hammering beat of Emily's heart still pumping through the speakers. In the pod, there was no sound. No scream or struggle like before. Emily was beyond screaming. She was in a state of pure, catatonic shock, The game hadn't just scared her; it had emotionally and psychologically brutalized her, and tens of thousands of peoples had just watched it happen.
The -GAME OVER- screen hung in the air, its simple, stark finality a mockery of the complex, visceral horror that had just concluded. For a long moment, there was only the sound of Emily's heartbeat—a frantic, hammering rhythm broadcast from the pod's biometric sensors—thumping through the speakers like a dying animal's last struggle. Then, that too cut out as the game fully closed, returning to the sterile quiet of her VR home screen.
The chat, for a full five seconds, was a void. The sheer, overwhelming brutality of what they had witnessed—the gruesome news report, the sobbing entity, the pulsing fetal horror, the sudden, violent neck-snap—had short-circuited their ability to type. Then, the dam broke.
The screen exploded into a supernova of text, emojis, and donations. It was no longer a chat; it was a digital hysterical fit.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT DID WE JUST WATCH 😱😱 I ACTUALLY THREW UP I'M NOT JOKING… SHE DIED AGAIN…🥶 SHE FUCKING DIED… THIS ISN'T A GAME THIS IS A TRAUMA SIMULATOR!!!... $100 DONATION - EMILY PLEASE PLAY MORE I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS… $50 DONATION - I'M SCARED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM NOW😨. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE DEVELOPERS WHO MADE THIS?? 🙃. BEST GAME OF ALL TIME!!! I DON'T EVEN CARE🤯🤯… EMILY ARE YOU ALIVE?? PLEASE SAY SOMETHING😨😨…
Inside the pod, there was no movement. I watched through the transparent lid. Emily was just lying there, staring blankly at the inside of the headset, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. The professional streamer was gone. The confident older sister was gone. What remained was a raw, exposed nerve, trembling in the aftermath of a psychological assault.
Her mic was still live. A low, broken sound escaped her lips, halfway between a whimper and a sob. "No," she whispered, her voice cracking. "No, I can't. I can't go back in there."
The chat heard it. The pleas turned to demands.
👏🏼 PLEASE EMILY ONE MORE TRY 👏🏼 JUST GET TO THE NEXT PART 😈 😈 WE ALL BELIEVE IN YOU 👊🏼 DON'T GIVE UP NOW 👊🏼 👊🏼
Something in her snapped. The pressure, the fear, the exhaustion—it coalesced into a sudden, furious burst of emotion. She sat bolt upright in the pod, her face, pale and tear-streaked, now contorted with a mix of rage and desperation.
"Shut up! Just shut up!" she suddenly screamed at her chat, her voice raw and ragged.
"You don't get it! You're just watching! You're not in there! It feels… it feels real! It smells real! I can feel her breath on my neck! I can't! I won't! Stop asking me!"
It was a spectacular, unprofessional meltdown. And the chat loved it. They fed on the raw authenticity of her terror. Donation alerts chimed even faster.
YES!! QUEEN TELL THEM 😤 😤 SHE'S SO REAL FOR THIS I'D BE CRYING TOO 😭 $200 DONATION - THIS IS THE BEST STREAM EVER 👍🏼 👍🏼
She raged for another minute, a shouting match with ten thousand invisible spectators, before her energy spent itself. She deflated, slumping back into the pod, utterly drained. "I'm ending the stream," she mumbled, her voice hollow. "I'm done. Thank you for… for everything. Goodnight."
She fumbled with the controls inside the pod, her fingers clumsy. The stream feed cut abruptly, leaving her thousands of viewers staring at a black screen with the word 'OFFLINE'. The lid of the pod hissed open.
She didn't move for a quite some time. So, I gave her a moment, then walked over to her. I leaned against the pod's frame, looking down at her. She looked so small, so fragile lying there in the high-tech coffin.
"Hey," I said, my voice soft. "You okay?".
She slowly turned her head to look at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. Wordlessly, she reached up. I took her hands and helped her sit up, then guided her out of the pod. Her legs were unsteady. I led her to the bed and she sat down heavily. I grabbed a cold bottle of mineral water from her fridge and a soft towel from her ensuite, handing them to her.
She pressed the cold bottle to her forehead, then her flushed cheeks, before unscrewing the cap and drinking deeply. She then buried her face in the towel, taking a few shuddering breaths. After a moment, she lowered the towel and looked at me, her expression one of complete and utter shell-shock.
"I am scared shitless," she confessed, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I have never… never… been that terrified by anything in my entire life. I can't believe you made that. I can't believe you made that alone."
"I did, make it alone, tho…" I said simply, a faint smile touching my lips.
"It's going to go viral, Sael," she said, the certainty cutting through her fatigue. "This isn't just a hit… This is going to be a nuke!... Heck, your game might just change everything…"
"Thanks, for that Em, Thank you for doing it," I said, meaning it. "You were amazing."
She nodded, then a new energy sparked in her eyes. She grabbed her phone from her desk, her thumbs flying across the screen. "You have to see this."
She scooted over on the bed, making space. I sat down next to her, and she immediately leaned back, settling herself between my legs, her back against my chest. She smelled of sweat, perfume, and fear. She held up her phone so we could both see.
Her messaging apps were exploding. Dozens of notifications from her Octopussy group chat scrolled by.
LUXI: EMILY! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?! 🤯 🤯 I JUST GOT RAIDED BY YOUR VIEWERS! ARE YOU OKAY?! 😥. LUXI: THAT GAME LOOKED INSANE! SEND ME THE FILE! PLEASE! I NEED TO PLAY IT! 😡 😡. AMORA: OMG BABY GIRL! My chat would not stop spamming! That looked so intense! My DMs are flooded! Send me the game! I want to try! MILLIE: Em! That was wild! The music, the sound design… it's revolutionary! Who are these developers?? I need a copy! 🙏🏼 🙏🏼.
She then opened Chirper. #SilentHillFirstFear was already trending in the local gaming sector. Clips from her stream—her first scream, the health warning, her second death—were already edited into MeTube Shorts, each with hundreds of thousands of views in minutes. The comments were a maelstrom of awe, skepticism, and pure hype.
She was right. It was already Starting.
As the initial shock wore off, the close physical contact began to shift the atmosphere. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a different kind of heat in its wake. My arms were around her, and I could feel the rapid, excited beat of her heart beginning to slow into something warmer, heavier. She wiggled her hips back slightly, pressing her firm, round ass more firmly against my groin. I was already half-hard from the intense, dominating energy of the last hour, and she could feel it. She tilted her head back to look up at me, her eyes now dark with a different kind of hunger.
"Thank me properly," she whispered, her voice a seductive husk.
"How's that?" I asked, playing along, my hands resting on her flat stomach.
"Kiss me."
I didn't need to be asked twice. I dipped my head and captured her lips with mine. It wasn't a gentle, comforting kiss. It was deep and claiming, a release of the tension that had been building all night. My tongue plunged into her mouth, and she met it with her own, sucking on it greedily, a low moan vibrating in her throat.
My hands slid up from her stomach, under her shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were full and heavy in my hands, her nipples already hard as pebbles against my palms. I groped her roughly, kneading the soft flesh, pinching and twisting her nipples between my fingers, making her gasp and writhe against me.
"God, Bro," she moaned, breaking the kiss, her head lolling back on my shoulder. "Ahhnnn~ Your hands… don't stop….hmmm~".
"I can't wait to taste these properly," I growled into her ear, my voice thick with lust. Seeing her loving my fondling her breast, made it even great.
"I can't wait to drink it from you.". I squeezed her breasts hard, imagining the sweet, warm milk that would soon flow from them.
"I want it," she panted, grinding her ass against my now fully erect cock, which was straining against my sweatpants. "I want you to... I feel so… full. I need you to—".
"[Cough… Cough… Cough... COUGH!!.]".
Four distinct, synchronized coughs erupted from the PC on her desk.
Emily and I froze.
Her eyes, glazed with pleasure, snapped wide open. She looked at her laptop screen. The video call notification she'd ignored earlier was now active. On screen, arranged in four separate tiles, were the stunned faces of LUXI, Amora, Millie, and a fourth woman I didn't recognize. They had finally gotten through.
And they had just been treated to a front-row view of their friend and stream-mate getting passionately groped and making out with her brother.
For a heartbeat, there was dead silence. Then, Amora's mouth dropped open. LUXI's eyebrows shot into her hairline. Millie just stared, speechless.
"AHHH!!!!". Emily shrieked, a sound of pure, unadulterated mortification. She launched herself off the bed, almost tripping in her haste.
"OUT! GET OUT!" she yelled at me, her face burning crimson. She practically shoved me out of her room and slammed the door shut, locking it.
I stood in the hallway, listening to her frantic, embarrassed explanations through the door. "It's not what it looks like! Well, it is, but— just shut up! Oh my god!".
I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. It was a deep, rolling laugh that echoed in the quiet hall. The horror masterpiece, the viral explosion, and now a scandalous interruption by the hottest streaming group on the platform. My new life was anything but boring.