Horror Game Developer: My games aren't that scary! Chapter 1: Prologue

The steady tapping of keys resounded through the hushed office environment.

Darkness enveloped the room, with the sputtering ceiling lights throwing faint shadows across the surfaces.

Clear footsteps pierced the quiet—harsh, fast, and erratic!

They approached from the rear, swift and forceful, as if an unseen figure was dashing nearby. The footfalls darted rightward, then leftward, in a mad scramble—like the source was prowling... stalking.

Then, as suddenly as they started, they halted.

Quiet.

Oppressive.

[Would you like to quit the game?]

[▶ Yes] [▷ No]

Without pause, I acted.

I selected 'Yes' and exited the game.

"Ugh..."

A breath of relief escaped me as I sank into my seat, clutching my abdomen.

That had been too near. Nausea had become familiar to me lately. It always struck during horror game sessions.

Horror didn't suit me, and it never would. My endurance for scares was paper-thin, and crossing it brought not only terror but also the impulse to vomit.

So, what drove me to play it anyway?

Straightforward: I had no option. The game development field was flooded. Countless skilled individuals competed, and jobs only went to specialists in major niches. Such as horror titles. And there I sat, surrounded by them in the office.

Resentment gnawed at me. The twist was painfully clear. The position I depended on was the one I despised.

I bent ahead and slid open the desk drawer, retrieving the tiny pill container.

: [Menxylanis]

The label instructions swam before my eyes.

With a heavy breath, I downed the tablets without liquid, then followed with a swig from my water bottle.

"H-ah..." I grimaced, my frame quivering as I grasped my arm to halt the shakes.

That modest supply exceeded a week's earnings. These meds were now essential, my crutch against this mysterious ailment. Despite visits to multiple physicians, its nature remained unknown.

All I understood was its nature as a peculiar neural disorder gradually devouring my mind.

I... could only depend on the medication to survive.

Death held no appeal, yet I merely postponed the end. Time was slipping away fast.

I cleared my thoughts and checked the timepiece.

1:30 AM.

Colleagues had departed long before. I lingered alone, reviewing logs and feedback post-launch of Gentle Whispers.

Yet the feedback offered no solace.

[Recent Reviews]

As I scrolled, dread built in my core with every entry. The [Mostly Negative] label loomed like doom. Sales struggled to rise, and critiques only dragged it lower.

"This is bad..."

I reclined in the seat, gaze lost on the overhead.

At this rate, the company barreled toward ruin. And in that case? I'd face the axe early. Programmers meant little without funds. Securing new work now? Pure torment.

I gulped, forcing back the mounting anxiety.

The title was fresh. Turnarounds happened. Positive comments would appear shortly.

That's what I told myself.

Next, I reloaded the page.

[Recent Reviews]

"...Well, shit."

Each refresh worsened the view. Criticism poured in endlessly. Negatives multiplied, accelerating like a force of fate against us.

I remained seated, eyes vacant on the display.

When awareness returned, the bad ratings had swelled beyond tolerance; I shut the window and leaned back, breathing out long.

"Flop. This game's a flop."

The declaration hung in the still air. Defeat settled over me like a shroud.

No need to craft the plot to grasp the fallout. The entire crew—coders, artists, everyone—would scatter. Few would escape the fallout.

"I hope the severance is decent enough," I grumbled, massaging my eyelids.

Visions of tomorrow's turmoil already formed.

From the lead director's fury to the harsh rebukes, culminating in the grim "You're fired" as I gathered my things to go.

"..."

I drooped ahead, palms shielding my features. Acrid disappointment twisted within, biting like an open sore.

Why did misfortune always strike? Why land in a spot where every path seemed cursed?

"I really—"

An abrupt alert snapped me alert. I stiffened, staring wide-eyed at the monitor.

[You've got mail.]

Email?

"This isn't even my personal computer...."

Malware? Phishing ploy? I'd encountered tales like this.

Reflexively, I aimed to clear the popup. Yet as fingers neared the cursor, the display pulsed.

[Horror Developer System]

▶ [Yes]

▷ [No]

Confusion creased my forehead. What trick was this?

Teeth clenched, irritation from the ratings boiled over, and now this nonsense?

Prior to selecting, the screen blinked once more, revealing fresh text.

[The trial period will now begin]

Click!

"Wait, what?"

When had I pressed it? I eyed the device, the sound echoing in mind, yet my hand stayed idle. Impossible...

The display flared anew.

[We look forward to working with you, Developer Seth Thorne.]

Paralysis gripped me.

How did it know me?

Chills prickled my flesh. Wrongness permeated everything.

Urgently, I stretched for the pointer, but contact made me recoil.

Cold...

Icy chill surged through me. Not ambient—it emanated from the tool. I examined my palm, then the glow. Unreal.

And suddenly—

[Are you ready?]

A grinning icon appeared, eyes bulging, fixed.

I fluttered my lids, and it jerked.

The grin expanded impossibly.

It kept widening.

Hue drained from it, shifting to crimson.

Eyes morphed into stark X's.

Vertigo crashed over me. Sight hazed, limbs weighed down.

Icy exhalation grazed my hearing.

I stiffened, tremors racing my back.

It whispered...

Flesh prickled while a murmur, intimately near, breathed into my ear.

"Good luck~"

Darkness swallowed all.