Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep338: Episode 338: Twisted Game Show Horror

Episode Date: May 15, 2026

Today’s phenomenal story is all seven parts of ‘I Found My Likeness in a Torture Game’, a brilliant original series by Caleb Sliger, AKA cesly1987; shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the author’s express permission:https://www.reddit.com/user/cesly1987/

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Shows like Squid Game terrifies because they turn ordinary childhood games into brutal life or death contests, corrupting something innocent and familiar. The horror comes not only from the violence but from the idea that desperate people can be pushed to betray morality, friendship, and even humanity for survival or money. Beneath the bright colors and simple rules, nice of disturbing reflection on real world in a debt and social pressure, making the nightmare feel unsettlingly possible rather than purely fictional, as we shall see in tonight's epic feature-length story. Now as ever before we begin, a word of caution.

Tonight's tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Part one. I'm a celebrity. I'm not bragging, just stating the facts. I've been in really big movies that you've probably seen. But I'm also a female and I get everything that comes with being a pretty girl starring in nerd culture action movies. I've had stalkers. I've had my run-in with grabby fans. I've had deep fate pornoes made of me.

And I've dealt with it all. I thought I'd grown numb to it. But this corner thing really tipped the scales. It scared me like nothing else. I was between movies and staying at my home relaxing for a few weeks. Being paid millions for your work is fun, but I barely have the free time to enjoy it. But that may be the biggest first world problem ever.

I share my house with a living nanny, my six-year-old son, and a maid and chef during the daytime. I've contracted two bodyguards to be with me at all times when I leave the house. When I'm home, one stays inside and one stays outside in his vehicle. They switch off every week. Mel and Tony Both good guys Well

Now you know the cast of characters In this virtual murder mystery The really creepy stuff began the day I flew back home From my filming location Most of the first day I'd spent with my son I'd been gone for two months And missed him so bad that it physically hurt

That's why I didn't notice the ominous message Until night time After me and Amanda Put my son to bed I sat down at my PC to check my socials. My new movie was trending on Twitter, and they just released a trailer and the hype train was revving up. Yes, I could have checked my work emails with the phone, but I had a system, no, work-related things on my phone. My phone was a safe place. My constant friend went away from

my home and family. It was easy to let your phone control you if you didn't set boundaries. I suffered a series of panic attacks when I was younger, and that social media and the business overwhelm me. When my first movie blew up and made me a household name, my therapist taught me to have a whole separate device for workstone. I'd forbidden myself from any stress on my personal phone, and it actually helped. So now I sat at my desktop PC with dual screens and the glow-in-the-dark keyboard. I had instructed my nephew to build me a capable PC, and he went all out like I was a professional gamer. He built his dream PC, but at least I could check my email. I answered a few emails from my agent, scheduled an appointment at my salon. I needed to be a brunette for my next movie,

ordered a gift for my previously mentioned nephew, turning 17 this month. As I was checking the rest of my emails and sorting out spam for the junk folder, I saw a message marks in all caps. Ms. J., please read her message, urgent. I was a little frustrated as I clicked on the message to delete. This was supposed to be my secure work email, but sometimes fans found them out and bombarded my inbox. I continued clearing junk mail and saw the same message at least three more times, from user Herald of the Void at LiveX.com.

Either he was one of those obsessed fans, or he had a bot spamming me. I was mostly done when my speaker made the new message sound, And another message pushed the older ones further down the line. From, Harold of the Void. Subject, must Jay. I know you came home today. Bleep. Well, the rest of the subject line was cut off.

I felt my stomach drop. Oh, God, it's another cyberstalker. Do I really even want to click on this email? Or my mouse cursor hovered over the email. As if the sicker on the other end could sense my trepidation, another message chimed in, and I went from scared to angry. From, Herald of the Void, Subject, it's about your son's safety, too. I knew all the dangers when I took the job. I knew I had rabid fans all over the world. I

knew some of them were fucked in their head. Somehow they thought that they owned me, or I owed them something because I was attractive and a nerd. But I tried desperate. to keep my son separated from the paparazzi, creepy fans and the Hollywood bullshit. And so, I clicked the message out of anger. Dear Jay, I'm breaking one of myself-imposed rules that I've placed on myself. I'm coming directly to the subject of one of my simulators. I break my silence in order to bring a troubling matter to your attention.

I am a video game programmer and designer, but you won't find me working for any big company like EA or Activision. The games I've made are high quality, but exclusively only to the client who commissioned the game in the first place. The games I create are of a particular matter for clients with a rare exposition. The games I create will be considered shameful or troubling if my clients were discovered playing them. Yes, some are pornographic, but that's not where the extreme taboo comes from. I scooted in closer to the monitor. I'd barely gone into the mysterious man.

message and my spidey sense was going off. It's like I knew this would be a moment to change my life. Before I knew it, my hand had gone for the drawer where I usually kept my cigarettes. The empty box inside had a sticky note with my handwriting reading, Be strong for Jacob. I quit two months ago for my health and my son, but I was about to receive a very convincing reason to relax. The message continued. I create realistic and graphic murder simulators for paying clients. The service I provide is very customizable. The client can request the name, agent, appearance of the virtual victim.

The client can give me any number of details to make it as accurate or surreal as they want. Right now you probably scoff at my profession. Maybe you think me know better than a porn or a virtual snuff film creator. But studies have shown that people exposed to extreme violence in video games, rarely escalate to committing actual crimes in reality. I believe I give a virtual alternative to real-life violence, an outlet for the darkness inside us human beings. We are just highly aggressive and territorial primates

that still think they're trying to survive in the jungle. Our brains haven't evolved to a point that calm and reason always prevail. That's why I utilize this technology to pacify man's homicidal and toxic desires. I was intrigued, and a little afraid as I read further. But I did roll my eyes at the gratuitous pontificating of the author on the other side of the message. He had people all figured out. But, Miss Jay, I am a fan of yours, and I'm afraid your life may be in real danger. The client has commissioned me to create a murder simulation with you as a victim.

I usually get requests like this. politicians, actors, and ex-wives are the most requested for virtual victims. People in the public limelight make for the most detailed victim murder scenarios I can create. The privacy invasion of social media has helped me craft more accurate personalized scenarios also. I can import a scan of your face into my game, and I can take your voice and use it for dialogue, and for the screams of pain. I've created an AI learning algorithm that can help create deep fakes of your own. face and voice, to make you do or say whatever the client asked me to create. Well, everything was going normal, or as normal as it can be in my line of work.

The client had wanted pictures, voice lines, even the layout of your home. These details are things that can be pulled from your movies, your home from drone cams, and pictures of you on Instagram. Well, I blushed in embarrassment. I knew a lot of my life was out for the world to see, but I didn't. tried to keep my house and kid private, like my very own safe place. But I had shared pictures of Jacob inside my home on my own personal, private accounts that I only shared with family and close friends. I had to close the account after a couple of months when creepers somehow infiltrated it,

pretending there were people I went to high school with and catfishing most of my family. What was worse is that the man who lived in my house before was a popular athlete during his rookie year. He had MTV come by and do that dumb show of Cribs. The dumbass just helped everybody case his house to be burglarized. What weirded me out was how creepers dug up old high school yearbooks to impersonate friends from high school. It takes a strange persistence to get that close to me, and I was feeling that same uneasiness again. The letter continued. The Glein wanded the standard package.

home invasion, multiple torture methods. The client kept wanting more, sending more audio, more pictures, wanting more scenarios. He kept paying and I kept programming. But this is where things got out of hand. He asked for another murder victim, your son.

I literally gasped when I read this, like I was acting in one of my movies. This had gone too far. Nobody brought my son into this. sick fetish. I had to read on. I had to find out why this programmer would contact me. Then pictures of your son started coming from the client's.

Some easy enough to find with some digging. Then the audio came. I think whoever the client is, he. The client wanted a male avatar. It's someone close to you. Somebody inside your house. I think his fetish, his fixation on you, is escalating to real-life violence.

I need you to play the alpha build of the game. I need you to go into your own murder to play detective. Only you can piece together who it is that wants to kill you. I believe this isn't a fantasy. Its practice runs for the real thing. Well, I may have a despicable job, but I'm not evil. I will not be complicit in murder, especially murder of children.

or my stomach dropped as I scrolled down and saw a file to unzip. That could be a trick, or a Trojan horse virus. This could just be another convoluted way to hack my computer. So I sat there quietly for ten minutes, mouse hovering over the file. I decided to take the risk. I had to keep my son safe. The file unzipped and started quickly, blanking out my screen. A bizarre 2D image faded into a little.

existence, very reminiscent of the development studio intros and the credits before a legitimate video game. That was a disturbing image of a man on a cross, quite the Christian iconography you could find in any Catholic church. But where there should have been the face of Jesus or some poor sinner, there was the profile of the head of an enormous crow. Its beak opened in a scream and its black pool of an eye was staring back at me. As I looked close, I realized the crow man had multiple arms and legs also spread out and nailed on arms of the cross. I guess it was supposed to be a parody of the Vitruvian man created by Da Vinci. I knew the image was meant to be disturbing, sacrilegious and cryptic, something a creeper would

do to make himself seem edgy. The crucified anthropomorphic crow was drenched in red blood. The blood was animated to splatter onto curvy words below its hanging body, and these words were being held together by thorny vines. The vine strangled word said, The Crows of Flesh Collective. This too faded off the screen to get to the main title screen. Tech showed up with a fully rendered 3D model of my face staring back at me. Almost another parody of the beginning of Mario for the N64. It was surreal. I was staring at my idly blinking and breathing double. The starlets last night, in a blocky red font above my visage. My face was realistically accurate, highly detailed and very spooky to see.

I'd done mocap face scans and all other such things for tie-in video games for my films, but this was the best yet. This wasn't a lifted asset from one of the other games either, and it was an original creation. I clipped my mouse with impatience and received a jolt of some. surprise as my digital face quickly contorted into a screaming face of agony. Both eyes blackened and swollen, front teeth busted out, a nose splattering of blood down my face. A horrid and distorted scream leapt from my two speakers. I screamed in unison with my computer counterpart

as my beaden face flashed into a skull and disappeared, leaving a new set of options to choose from. The text menu read, skipped a scene. A. Home invasion, start on the street. B. Slasher. Start inside the house. C. Torture. Start in the kill room. Currently unavailable in development. I took a moment to consider. I hated every second I had to play this sicko's fetish material, but I had to find out if the freak had content about me that couldn't be found on the web. and most importantly I had to make sure my son wasn't in danger. I chose option B, in a desperate hope it would allow me to spend less time in the game world. As soon as I found the evidence of a viable threat, I'd contact my security team to revamp every safety protocol they had in place.

The game started in the first person in what looked like the foyer of my home. It took me a bit to get familiar with the controls. I had a big brother growing up, so I knew my way around Golden Eye, Half-Life and Team Flortress. Many summer days of me and my sibling taking turns on my mother's clunky family computer, downloading anime and Lincoln Park videos, scaring ourselves with horror games and destroying the computer with viruses from limewire. I just had to let the muscle memory settle back in from those distant days.

First thing I did in-game was look down at my feet in an attempt to see what my POV avatar looked like. It wasn't like the old days When the programmers didn't include the player's body And you just seemed to be floating around As a set of arms in a shadow Well, I was in luck, sort of Black boots, black pants, black shirts Not much to go on, but the body appeared to be masculine

I looked around the digital recreation of my home Most of the lights were off Leaving me hidden in greys and blacks Only the green, rapidly blinking of my alarm panel gave any colour to the dark foyer. I approached the panel and triggered a text prompt on my screen saying, Enter call to deactivate. A close-up of the number pad filled most of the screen.

I swallowed hard before typing in the actual security code to my house. Nobody should know the code but me. And yes, I know this was stupid. I changed that code ASAP. But even my two security cards didn't know it. They had to swipe their key cards and enter a pin. I sighed as red letters popped up on the screen saying, Incorrect code.

Use counterfeit security badge or finish your business before the police arrive. Finish your business, I asked myself. Could you speed run the whole thing by setting off the alarm and they just run up and smack the intruder on the head? Of course I knew where my room was, but I wanted to explore the rest of the house first. It was a one-to-one scale replica of the real thing. Same light fixtures, same tile, same late-70s art deco vibe.

When I first bought the house in this palm tree-shaded, gated community on a rolling hill, my nephew were jokingly quit. This looks like the mansion from the Manson family mirrors. I laughed at his dark humour then, and now the joke didn't seem funny at all. One thing I did notice as I walked around my digital house, was that none of the furniture was the same as its real-life counterpart. This was good. It meant the freak that commissioned this game

was only guessing how the inside of the house looked or just didn't care. Maybe it was just some harmless, twisted fantasy and not a real threat. The time came for me to check out my room. I stood in the virtual hallways facing my door, my son's closed door to my right. The prompt on the screen,

E, to open, mocked me. but I finally did press the button, causing the door to creak open slowly. I stepped into my dark room. My bed was empty, and there was only a glowing light coming from the in-game computer monitor. I could see the silhouette of me, sitting in the swivel chair, back to the hallway, preoccupied with something on the glowing screen. I immediately felt a shiver going down my back, and felt as if there were eyes on my back in real life.

It was surreal to be a killer, sneaking up on my virtual self while I sat in the exact same spot in real life. I couldn't take it, so I left the game to quickly hop out of my chair and lock my door. Feeling safer, I returned to my computer and took a seat to continue the game. Somehow I jostled my keyboard when I took a seat, causing my player to unsheaf a knife with a stereotypical shing sound effect. The NBC modelled after me, stood up from her keyboard, glitched in and out of a T-pose, before turning to me and saying, Oh my God, who are you? This freaked me out completely.

It was my voice playing back through my computer speakers for damn sure. But the cadence of the dialogue sounded stilted and unnatural, like it was a couple of voice lines spliced together. My digital double darted away from the computer. obviously alerted to the knife-wooling killer in her room and was trying to escape. But her AI path-finding must have been off, because she ran directly at me, before turning on a dime to retreat further away. I had no clue what to do, and swiped at her with my knife out of panic.

I heard a scream in my voice, followed by the tell-tale thunk of landing, a hit marker in a shooter game. Oh, shit! Sorry! I yelled out to my double. like she could possibly hear me. Now my likeness character was holding her side and limping away, dragging a foot like the injured animation in the RE games.

She went to a shadow on the far wall and began doing something by the bookcase. I got the prompt. Press F1 to open kill bag. When I pressed it, a new window popped up over the game, but the sound continued in the background. It was a grid pattern, similar to the infantry screen in any RPG.

I cycle my mouse over the items within for a quick description. A knife, handcuffs, chloroform rag, pliers, duct tape, taser, and a syringe-labeled, special cocktail. I'll unlock myself out, yet that's what I'll do, I said out loud again to nobody in particular. I was really just trying to comfort myself during this surreal situation. I couldn't bring myself to murder my computer self, so taking a chloro nap was the best option. After slept in the chemical drench rag, I hit F1 to close the window.

To my surprise, my video game doppelganger had vanished. I spun the camera around searching for my sneaky self, but my victim me was just gone. I thought at first it was a glitch. The game had blit my character model out of existence, and I would have to reload the game. But then I saw something peculiar. The corner where I'd last seen myself had a bookshelf pushed to the side with a secret door revealed.

Oh shit! The panic room! I yelled. I quickly looked up from my computer to the real-life version of the wall with the door on it. When moving in years ago, the realtor had told me about the panic room installed by some CEO

that got scared after watching the Jodie Foster movie. And the CEO had either had a shot, short attention span due to a coke problem, or legal problems causing him to disappear to a country with no extradition laws virtually overnight. The runaway CEO had left his panic room project halfway finished, just an empty room with a locked door with an entry code nobody knew. So I had a bookshelf placed over it and had quickly forgotten about it. Besides, I had two armed guards and a burglar alarm. In the same world, that would have been way enough. God, though. He has the blueprints to my home. He thinks the panic room is operational, I thought

fervently. So he doesn't know what's going on inside my house. He's just a pathetic loser with a murder fetish. I found a sense of relief come over me, and I quickly hit escape to pop up a logout menu. I felt gross, like mushed up paper towels floating at the bottom of a dumpster. I'd have to take an extra long shower tonight. maybe hire an extra bodyguard for the next couple of months or years. What do you want? Came my voice from my computer's twin speakers. I went back to the live in-game screen and noticed a small surveillance camera flash

with a red light above the panic room door. I'm going to call the cups. You need to run. My voice came again at a choppy cadence, like my dialogue had been spliced together from multiple movie lines. I guess the game wasn't over Well I would think it'd be game over If the victim to be made it to a safe place or escape A new window popped up at the bottom of my screen

There's a dialogue box There was a list of possible replies Option A Intimidation Come out here now, cunt, before I burn this house down And kill anyone coming to save you Well, the C word wasn't censored but I refuse to write it down.

God, I hate that word. Option B. Bluff. I can do this all night. Your phone line is cut. Signals jammed. And the guards are dead. I wanted you to run to your little cage.

Option C. Negotiate. You may be safe in there, but your little angel is still out here with me. And my stomach. dropped. There was an option to hurt my child. How sick was the creep who wanted this? How sick was the creep who made this? I clicked option C, having to know how far this scenario could go. I secretly hoped I could hear the home invader's voice, but it just skipped my digital twin replying with a line

from one of my early movies. My character screamed, Don't hurt my baby! Text popped up at the bottom the screen saying, Use her son to terrorise or convince her to come out. I had to stop for a while and compose myself. My hand on the mouse was shaking. How sick and deprave the world could be that some sicker got his jollies off by fantasizing about hurting kids. I realized I might have to smoke after this.

Something a little more bohemian than regular cigarettes. I'd need it if I didn't want to suffer a panic. I walked my player to my son's room. I had to push through to look for any clues. I opened the door and stepped into the dark room. Colourful decorative letters were pinned to the wall, hanging over a small bed, spelling out the name of my son. Jacob's Clubhouse.

Wait, did I say Alex earlier? Whatever. Both names are fake. Let's go with Jacob now. I walked up to bed to see the model of a small boy turned away from me. facing the wall, sleeping on a bare bed with no covers or pillow. I pressed the e-button to interact, and the boy woke up straight away from a deep sleep to turn and faced me with no hesitation.

Oh, Lord, my baby, I said as I looked upon the perfect recreation of my son. I had expected a plain, unassuming asset to represent my six-year-old son. The whole game was about me, wasn't it? I doubted the client wanted the programmer to focus too much on designing my son He was just going to be used as a tool to lure me out of hiding anyways Well the least I expected was a player model around the same hair colour and approximate height of my son But this child was spot on with his real flesh and blood counterparts The freckles the curly hair the blue eyes the dimples

Somebody had done their research "'What, what's going on?' "'My child asked in a voice very similar to the real thing, "'but there wasn't enough for me to pin it down as his actual voice. "'The child just sat up straight, stiffly, and caught his head to look in my direction. "'Again, dialogue options popped up. "'Option A, I'm the boogeyman, Alex, and I've come to hurt you real bad. "'Grab him!'

option B lie I just gutted your whore mother and now it's your turn to scream option C you sign language to tell him to be quiet I'm one of your new bodyguards your mommy sent me to come and get you

quick grab my hand well this was it this was the evidence I was searching for well previously I mentioned I had a 17 year old nephew and six-year-old just three months older than my son. She was deaf, and of course her parents learned sign language for her. We decided to teach Alex ASL from a young age too,

so my son could communicate with his cousin. I'd had a hard time learning ASL, but I learned the bare basics. My son took to it quickly and was fluent in it. When he wasn't practicing with his cousin, his nanny Amanda practiced with him, so this was a rather alarming and deeply personal tidbit of private information. I selected option C, and my son clipped out of bed and appeared to teleport in front of me.

I guess there's no animation created yet for him getting out of bed naturally. Lead the boy back to the panic room and persuade Jay to open the door. A new objective instructed me at the top of the screen. I pressed the S-key to walk backwards out of the room, keeping the camera watching my son as he stood awkwardly by his bed. As the distance increased between us, I thought that his AI was broken, but at the last moment he took off in a stuttering jog to catch up with me.

Flashbacks of babysitting Natalia from Golden Eyes 64 racked my brain. And now the stage was set. Me and my virtual son stood in front of the panic room door in game. A loading icon flashed at the top of the screen and the frame rate dropped to a crawl before jumping back to life. "'Don't hurt him,' came my pleading voice from what I assume was inside the panic room. "'I'll come out. Don't hurt him!' My voice repeated in the same copy-paste repetition.

There was no animation of the security door opening. My virtual doppelganger just blipped into existence in front of me, teposing for a split second. Well, as rank as some of the programming had been up to this point, I noticed what aspect of the game was giving the most attention. It was my likeness. My facial expression scripted to be terrified. My body shaking, my posture slightly hunched. And my body spot on accurate.

I mean, too accurate. My character was wearing a white silk slip and clingy booty shots. I was over-sexualized to the point where I could tell my character wasn't wearing a bra. I was probably suffering from a severe wedgy. Option A. Kill her. Option B. Subdu her.

Well, of course, no matter how morbidly curious, I wasn't going to select option A. So I chose option B and my character became equipped with a needle in his hand and poked towards my trembling body double. A special cocktail must have been potent because my character immediately ragdolled and collapsed to the ground. Mommy! screamed my son in a voice, pitched to a higher tone. I turned the camera towards him and read the prompt. Silence, child.

I click the key to be greeted by a sickenering, as my child's head twisted abruptly to the side, and the boy fell to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Oh, God! I screamed, pushing away from the keyboard in an instinctual act of revulsion. If my chair didn't have wheels, I would have tipped over. Don't kill him. I once again screamed

as I watched the image of my dead son slip in and out to the ground slightly. Just knock him out, you bastard. You stupid bastard! I was surely going to wait my real life, son, if I kept on screaming at nothing alone in my room. No, that wasn't right.

I wasn't screaming at nothing. My emotions were directed at something tangible. I was scared, but more angry than scared. I was cursing the programmer of this damn game, or the sick asshole that commissioned it. I practiced the breathing method my psych doctor had taught me. I closed my eyes tight and focused on my heartbeat. Once my hand stopped shaking, I opened my eyes.

My eyes opened once again, very slowly. I was greeted by the sight of my virtual unconscious self still on the ground, and my mangled dead sun. Comical zzz wharfed gently up from my motionless body I wasn't left too long on wondering what to do next because the game had issued another prompt to hold my hand Take J to staging area too Staging Area

I asked myself as I clicked on my body Hoping my player character wouldn't snap my model's neck While lying unconscious on the ground Suddenly the model of my butt and right leg took up most of the screen. I was carrying myself, felt very bizarre. My player character had wasted my character's unconscious body over a shoulder,

like a fireman carry. I saw a mark indicating a rally point somewhere in my virtual backyard. I hauled myself through my recreated house and stepped outside for the first time. It was spot on. Palm trees, pool, gazebo, large storage with attached upstairs apartment. The pool was lit, giving a shimmering, calm, midnight atmosphere. I figured all this detail could be ascertained from Google Earth. Hopefully it wasn't captured from some freak looking over my privacy gate.

Well, now I knew exactly where the game wanted to take my body. A standalone apartment above the storage shed. I hadn't thought about it since my ex-husband stayed there during our divorce. Now it was a room for my nanny, even though she had a room in the house. or she could stay out there on her days off to get away from work. But I was only half correct. The marker led me under the steep stairs running up the exterior of the building. Two green garbage bins were stored under the stairs.

My character now weighed down, slowly slogged over to the bins. Just another insult about my weight. I hit E on the bins and they rolled away on their own. I half expected to hear the Zelda jingle when a new pathway was unlocked. What it revealed, though, was a rusty wheelbarrow, rope crawled inside, a black tarp crumpled behind it, and a standout item, an S&M ball gag. Oh, I cringed so hard at the sight. A ballgag made my skin crawl.

I cringed even harder when I saw the options given to me. Option A. Sneaker offside to your kill room for more privacy. kill room not available during current build of game Option B Killer upstairs Make a statement I guess my choice was made for me

What a shit choice it was Before I could click on option B I heard a commanding voice come over my speakers Stop Or I'll shoot I spun my character around to be blinded by a flashlight From what I assumed was a cop and the game froze.

Bright red text flashed across the screen. Guers failed. You failed to disable security systems. Oh, thank God, I weised. I didn't know if I could go through with killing my digital self. Hopefully a real killer would be as inept as I was. But this was also a training simulator, a dry run, teaching the killer how to hone his skills.

What do they say on those crime shows? Repedition to desensitize oneself to the horror the killer was about to commit. Slow escalation to real violence. I had to go outside and check under the stairs in real life. See if the same items were stashed. But hold up. I may play a dumb white chick in horror movies, but I'm not one in real life. I was going to be prepared.

Dazer, cell phone with 911 on speed dial. and pepper spray, or bear mace, actually. Oh, you may be asking why I didn't bring a gun. Well, I had armed security for that. Why didn't I bring my security? Well, one of them could be the one that commissioned the game in the first place. Oh, I hated to think about it. Could one of my security guns have a sick fascination with me?

I trusted my two guys, but they were both noticeably distant to me. I chalked it up to professionalism, but it also made me. it also meant I didn't really know them. So I snuck out to my backyard. The night air cool on my skin with the sound of the unseen palm tree leaves fluttering in the wind. The pool led off its same welcoming glow

and one of my son's toy boats bonged gently against the side with the gentle waves. I tiptoed out of the stairway running up the building, scanning the darkness the whole time. The idea that this was a trap was not lost on me. Like I said, I've been in horror movies,

and somebody could be watching me right now. Under the stairs was just one dumpster, not two. But I silently moved it away to have my stomach dip with dread. There was a wheelbarrow, and shovels, and riding lawnmower. Okay, so what? My gardener used them.

Activating my light on my phone, I looked into the wheelbarrow. Tools, some solar power, I would light up lawn spikes, and yes, rope. No ball gag, though. I breathed easy. The ball gag would have been a dead giveaway, proof that shit had just got real.

I turned to leave before I thought of something. The ball gag would be too suspicious. A killer wouldn't just leave it out. Maybe you'd bring it on the night of the kidnapping. I had something else I wanted to check, so I quickly turned back. My hand raced to the rope, a thin, jet-black length of about ten feet of what felt like soft cotton. It was soft and looped in a figure eight.

The middle was tied together with a silk strand of fabric. It was bondage rope. You didn't have to be a genius to know that this wasn't for yard work. This was the rope my killer was going to bind me in. I took off back to the safety of my house then. But was it safe? I had a list of suspects that all pretty much lived with me or had access to my home. All I knew was that I had to play more.

I had to dig deeper for clues on who planned to kill or kidnap me. I had to protect my home from this monster. I sent one message back to the enigmatic Herald of the Void. Send me the link to the kill room, Part 2. Cutting, deeper. I need the newest update from your game, I told Harold of the void over the chat

that he'd set up for us. This is already a big risk I'm taking, helping you, Miss Jay. Are you certain you can't get what you need from the prototype version I've already sent you? I've combed through all the game's levels. I've seen every twisted ending, every branching choice. I've even hacked the game and opened up the config. I know opening the command console wasn't hacking,

but my nephew had advised me to play dumb to get more information out of the shady developer. Yes, I did tell my nephew, let's call him Daniel for now. I was alone and needed somebody in my circle to help me. I know how ever unlikely Daniel could have been part of the creation of the torture game. Even though Harold of the Void reluctantly told me this game's price range goes between $30,000 to $80,000 when completed. Daniel didn't have a job. Well, he mined Bitcoin, received measly twitch donations from live streaming, and had to walk the family dogs for a weekly allowance.

But I tested him none the same, a true litmus test that only the best actors in my field could pass to fool me. I brought Daniel over to show him the prototype game on my computer. When he saw the first screen, and upon seeing the kill room, he turned pale and refused to play. I had to be sure of his intention, so I took over the mouse and keyboard to be. show him some of the worst features I discovered. That explicit warning, guys. It gets pretty bad from hearing. My extremely detailed character model was strapped to a metal table,

stripped naked and begging for mercy. Daniel read with embarrassment, begged me for mercy too. He wondered why I was making him look at a virtual model of me naked. I felt terrible, but I had to be sure he was safe. I used my killer to cut out my body doubles tongue, carving a wicked line from the middle of my bottom lip all the way to a private region. Daniel vomited into the waist pocket under the computer desk.

I felt like a horrible aunt, horrible, horrible aunt, but I also felt happy it wasn't him. Well, he eventually stopped, caught his breath, thought some more about what I'd showed him, and threw up again. and if he was faking then he could give me lessons in method acting I explained to Daniel that I needed his help

I really didn't want him involved at all I was just clearing him of suspicion and selfishly needed someone to talk to but now that I had fake recruited him I had to give him a task that wouldn't put him in danger I had him lurk the fan sites to see if anyone stood out as a possible threat I also had him catalogue any evidence

we came across to give to the police in case things turned sour and something happened to me. And finally, I forbid him from looking into the enigmatic Herald of the void. Even though Herald seemed to be trying to help me, I had a feeling he was dangerous, and he'd be on the lookout for somebody trying to suss him out if he really was sticking his neck out for me. You all may still be mad at me

for committing a form of war crime on my poor nephew by making him experience my virtual vivisection, and I totally understand anyone hating me. I hate myself a little too. Since becoming famous, I've been betrayed by the people closest to me, all looking to exploit me or fetishize me. First was my ex-husband, then my first agent, and even a long-time best friend.

I figured if my nephew wasn't the mastermind of this evil plan, he could still be being manipulated by someone to do their evil bidding. As gross as it feels to say, Daniel hadn't been my biggest fan until he hit puberty. Once he told his classmates he was related to me, they used the information to bully him relentlessly. Think about that kid that played young Anakin, but on a slightly smaller scale.

He also found out he was adopted around the same time. Please don't make me go into why that logic factors in a twisted way. Well, I like to think I secretly knew Daniel was innocent. That's why I tested him so quickly. But I'd be lying. Truth is, I was pretty jaded, but karma could sort me out later if it needed to. Schedule an impromptu fan meetup, gave the suggestion from Herald of the Void. There are three smaller cars going on in your area in the next two weeks.

Drop in and surprise your fans at the first, then let them know you're hitting up the next two. How does that make sense? I'm supposed to be laying low, trying to figure out what mystery man is trying to kill me. How does showing up in public with little planning help me stay safe? There was a moment on the other side of the screen as Harold typed away furiously at his rebuttal. I already knew what his logic might be. Again, I was playing the part of the help was blonde, now with matching dyed hair and extensions. I got a new list of voice lines of client once implemented into the game.

Really strange stuff. I told him the laptop I was using to generate all use. your deep-fate voices, was on the fritz and was being repaired. I made up a little lie about needing actual dialogue from you in order to create a baseline so I could teach a new AI on my computer. I told him, the closer to the actual requested voice line the better. It would take weeks before I could patch it into the game if I didn't get them. I didn't like the prospect of meeting the guy that fetishizes murdering me,

but I was running out of leads, and I just found the bondage rope in my back. backyard four days ago. He was near and getting bolder and bolder. It felt like there was a ticking clock counting down to when I'd end up in the real-life killroom. I've already added the text for the audio into the game. He already wants a lot of his lines imported, probably so he can read it and get off to it. Maybe you can run through the game again. Maybe get clues on his identity without scheduling a meet and greet with your fans. Herald added quickly. I angrily signed off. Both prospects seemed like shit to me,

but only one had me in danger of real physical harm, not just mental. So I reluctantly booted up the torture game, grimaced again at the horrid picture of the crucified crow man, experienced my screaming face, and finally selected the kill room. There I was, once again, transported into a dark medical room. And once again my virtual double was tied down to a medical girl, journey of some sort.

To not get confused, we'll call my virtual body double VBD from now on. Like she'd done every time, VBD began begging me to let her go. I'd heard it all before, and I'd explored all the dialogue options with VBD from this point in the game. I quickly reached out to turn my wireless speaker's volume all the way down. VBD's whiny voice cut out of existence. It had become almost second nature to immediately turn off the nauseating sound of me begging for my life.

I'd already put myself through the real torture of replaying the kill room over and over, scarring my mind by scouring every dialogue line and torture option. It always ended with a player making it clear there was no hope of escape, and tortured continued until VBD died. I'm not going to have to give to my shrink twice a week for the next couple of decades to deal with

what I've done to my poor VPD. I've used pliers for fingernails, teeth and toes. A blowtorch to quarterise bleeding wounds so the torture session could continue longer. But that caused VBD to faint, so I'd have to reload the game or actually wait a real hour for VBD to wake up again. Or I could use a shot of adrenaline to wake her up,

even though too much would cause her heart to explode. I could use hooks and razor wire to string VBD like it was hell. hellraiser. But I might need to break VBD's legs or cut to Achilles tendons so she doesn't try to run off while you strung her up in any position you wanted. I could remove the skin off any part of VBD's body, either to stitch it back on or cook it up on a hot place and force it to eat it. Well, I blew chunks after discovering that one, and if the begging and screaming got too annoying, I could cut out VBD's tongue or crush her windpipe.

Well, that's just a short list of things available to perform on the current build of the game. It was very detailed, very intricate, and very disturbing. It was obvious that this was the one part of the game, the mysterious client wanted to spend most of his time on. Something else was strange to me. Showing all this depravity, there was a distinct lack of sexual content. And this game did everything to the tenth degree. but no sex, just torture.

Harold even told me he had many in-game assets to easily make the game more perverse, but the client never requested any of it to be implemented into the current build of the game. It was as if the client just got off on the torture, or really hated me. In-game, I cycled quickly through the dialogue options. VBD stared at me from the table, pleading for her life, and I chose at random what taunt or threat I replied to her way. But then a new line of dialogue caught my eye. Say my name again.

Say what you said the last time we met. The dialogue read, indicating the killer was demanding this of VPD. Well, this was new, and now I was back thoroughly invested in what was going on in the screen in front of me. This time said because I am the most important. thing in your life. Say it because you need me to show mercy. The awful text read, because I am God

to you at this very moment. Don't say it like last time, when you were paid to perform. Say it like your life depends on it. What? Met before? I met my virtual killer already. What did he want me to say? I noticed VBD wasn't forthcoming with the information I wanted. As weird as it felt to do, I selected the blowtorch and held the blue flame above VBD's exposed midrith. She let out one of her repeatedly used screams of fright and dialogue popped up on the screen. Save me, Kylo, I love you, read the text at the bottom of the screen without audio. "'Kylo?' "'He goes by,

"'Kylo.' "'I tried to think if I knew anybody with that name. "'Sounded like a code name. "'Isn't that military code for something? "'Maybe a druggy thing.' "'The game then gave me three new options. "'Continue torture. "'Kill her.

"'Let her go. "'Let me go. "'He let me live. "'This was crazy. VPD never survived the game. I clicked, let her go, and waited. The screen turned black and a message displayed. Sequence not available in current build.

I was amazed and highly suspicious. The asshole would let me live even after prying my fingernails off. I just had to tell him I loved him. He said we'd met before. He didn't have audio for this new dialogue yet, and he had audio, no matter how shoddy it sounded, for everything else in the game. God, he plans on meeting me, I said out loud to nobody, like I was in a movie for a dramatic effect. He needs the new dialogue. He needs to hear me say I love him.

Hmm, could I turn this on him? Could I go looking for him instead, or was it a trap? Well, I still didn't trust Harold of the void. He could still be taking orders from the stalker. It could bait me to get out of the house and make me vulnerable. I sat for a good minute thinking, weighing the pros and cons. Even if it was a trap, I was tired of sitting here just playing this damn game. How did the writers say it? I had no agency.

I was a passive dull character just reacting to the world around me. I was the damsel in distress. So I snatched up my phone and speed-dard a number. Yes, ma'am, answered Mel, my security guy stationed in his vehicle outside. Good morning, Mel. I need you to bring on another security guy, someone that you trust, just for a few weeks. I can do, replied Mel's gruff voice. Can I ask the reason?

Look, I'm going to drop in on a couple of conventions in the area. You know, get some fast. band reactions. Do some guerrilla marketing for my new movie. I don't know anything about being a movie star, Miss Jay. Mel laughed. I'll leave the hard stuff to you. Well, I'll just follow you around. But I can get you a good guy. We surf together. Awesome, I set back with fake excitement. I was putting my acting skills to work, so nobody suspected how paranoid or scared I really was.

This nightmare had to stop. I was tired of huddling scared over a computer, waiting for a new update. I had to take my agency back. I had to drive. I was on the hunt now. I was going to meet this sicko, who I was going to love. Part three. Extended cut.

Okay, Daniel. You can be at the convention, but you have to stay. Stay in costume the entire time. I mean it. Don't even take it off in the restroom unless you're in a stall. Yes, ma'am, said Daniel, sarcastically. I mean it, Daniel, I chided. If the creeper is here, he'll recognize you and know we're on to him.

Think of it as an undercover mission, like in one of your favorite video games. Geez, Andy, you don't have to relate everything back to video games. Daniel continued, laying the sass on thing. I have other things in my life that define me. Whatever, loser, I retorted, hitting him in his shoulder. Don't call me ante, like I'm some old lady. I'm heading over to the convention early. Since I leaked to everybody you were going to make a surprise appearance, it's going to be packed.

Fine, off you go, watchman. Be sure to film as much of the crowds as you can. Keep this on, I said, handing him the white mask with the inkblot pattern. on it. It's Roja, not watchman. There isn't a character to name the Watchman, Daniel said with a good amount of nerd rage.

Of course, I knew this, but I liked to tease my nephew sometimes. Maybe I was used to letting the people around me think it was dumber than I actually was, some sort of survival mechanism, I guess. Daniel headed out like a man on a mission. And I went to meet with Mel, Tony,

and the new guy out in the living room. Well stood when I entered the room, so did the other two gentlemen like I was some sort of royalty. I told them to sit as I sat on the couch across from them. The giant frames of all three men looked comical across from me. Mel being the biggest of the three, his line back of frame, dark skin and hints of intricate Samoan tribal tats, peeking out on his wrists and neckline, or making him an intimidating sight. Next to him was Tony, the friendly face of the security guard team. He was a retired detective with greying hair and a pot belly.

I'd seen him use his unthreatening manner to get the drop on people. He was always quick to smile and talk down a potential combatant. But if things got hairy, he was quick with a leg sweep, and even quicker cuffing anybody that looked at me wrong. I'd seen it happen multiple times. And lastly, there was a new guy. Stinton was his name. And the picture in your head is exactly what he looked like.

He looked like a stint. Lean body, square-jawed, hooded eyes, and a high and tight haircuts. A stinter through and through. He was quick with the yes ma'am and no-ma'am in a southern draw. Maybe he said it a little too loud when he replied. Probably a side effect from being in the military. He must have just got out. Or maybe he was star-struck.

but he seemed good to go, and Mel vouch for him. So me and my personal army headed out to the convention downtown. All four of us in the Blat-out SUV. The event coordinator knew we were coming in through the back entrance. We just needed to text him when we were closed. Tony a new guy, well, he was new guy until he earned his name, set up front chatting. With Mel sitting in the back beside me,

his massive frame almost taking up two seats. I was always casual with my guys and didn't mind sharing a ride with them or listening to their guide-talks. But Mel seemed nervous today. He sat rigid and alert, but not his normal alert. He somehow seemed distracted at the same time.

He rubbed his eyes by pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and pointer finger. You know the gesture, the international sign of fighting off a migraine, He was clammy and breathing heavily. I noticed his left hand was trembling slightly. Mel, sweetie, are you feeling okay? I whispered to him, making sure his co-workers didn't hear me and sense his vulnerability.

I know how men like these think. Yes, Sarah, fake name. I mean, I'm fine, Miss Jay. This was the first time he'd ever call me by my first name. In the four years he'd worked for me. He was a steadfast professional And never slipped Not that I cared at the break in the decorum

But it was worrisome anyways Maybe I was being paranoid Well shit I was paranoid Some monster out there might be planning to skin me alive And I had to play Nancy Drew to stop him We arrived at the convention I walked in for a surprise meet and greet For a certain comic book movie I was promoting

And the crowd went wild, faces melted, nerd frenzy activated en masse, made me feel like a rock star, loved this part of the job. I was on an elevated stage talking to a crowd of about 150 people sitting in the convention hall. Most wore masks of assorted heroes and villains. Most were smiling or taking pictures with cameras. I even spotted Daniel in his Rochak mask, sitting to the side scanning the audience with his phone. I answered a couple of softball questions from nervous fans that came up to the microphone. Nothing out of place. Except for the brave 16-year-old asking me if I was still with my ex-husband,

or if I was single and lonely. He got a chorus of laughter and applause, and his face got as red as his Spider-Man shirt he was wearing when I told him, You keep up their confidence. You'll hit the jackpot in no-time, Tiger. Well, I highly doubted that's the audio that this monster came to use in his game. Next came the autograph signings. People paid a good 80 bucks to stand in line and speak to me for a couple of seconds.

The convention gets 40. I donate the rest to charity. I'm not stingy with money, and this is the best time to suss out our guy. About 50 people in, I recognize the same face come up to the table to stand in front of me. At first the awkward man wore a trench coat, patchy beard, fedora, and with a prop katana and an anime body pillow. It was a good meme. He could hide in plain sight by displaying his creepiness as a gag.

The first time he came through the line, he was too nervous to say anything. I smiled and signed a poster he had in his hand. His face grew red with embarrassment as he obviously wanted to speak to me. He didn't. And you realized he was holding up the line and shuffled off quickly. The second time I recognized him immediately by his lanky frame. his beard and close-set beady eyes. But he was in a completely different costume.

He was in a pretty professional-looking, albeit loose-fitting, helmetless, stormtrooper costume. You know, you're not supposed to do that, I said with a sly smile and a wink. It was usually against convention rules to double dip by getting back in line, even if you were willing to pay again. He swallowed hard

and poured out a smudged-up Android phone from somewhere behind his back. "'Oh, do you want me to say something for your followers online?' I guessed. My heart leapt a little. This guy was feeling more and more like our guy. "'Yes, Mrs. Jay. "'Wood,' the man said with a severe stutter

"'and a volume too loud for a face-to-face conversation. "'He turned on the camera and started recording me. "'I gave my practice smile and waited for him "'to give me a prompt for what to say. can you say I love you? Um, can I say I love all my fans? Is that enough? I asked while scrunching out my nose and feigning confusion. No, came back his voice, even louder than before and without the stutter.

I need just to say, I love you and then say my name. It's important. Tony, who'd been sitting to my left, pretending to my left. play on his phone, stood up swiftly and leaned over to look squarely at the guy. I think you should move along, friend. You're holding up the line at the other fans, and I do remember you coming through earlier already. Why don't you call it quits before you create a situation you can just walk away from? No! The red-faced stormtrooper stuttered in defiance to being confronted by an intimidating male presence.

His nervousness made his stutter return tenfold. "'No, you have to say, I love you.' "'As enthralled as I was with what was coming next, "'I have to admit that Tony did his job superbly. "'He swiftly turned to me and ushered me to my feet. "'Let's take five backstage, Miss Jay.' "'He asked noncholently and ushered me quickly behind the display wall "'that they'd set up behind me.

"'The crowd immediately started booing the aggressive stormtrooper "'and pelting him with trash and empty water bottles. New guy got on the other side of me, bravely defending me from the rogue monster energy cans. Before we slipped backstage, Tony looked over to see Mel just standing there, staring out at the crowd like nothing was happening. Hey, partner, get some help over here. Mel jumped to attention and looked at Tony in surprise. His thousand-yard stare gone in a heartbeat.

He scored out the tango on my six while I secure the boss lady. I didn't take a tactical genius for Mel to figure out who the tango was, and Mel finally marched into action as me, Tony and Newguide disappeared into a backstage hallway. Staff has let the rest of the crowd, fans know that I'd be taking a small break, and they slowly calm down as Mel and event's security removed the troublemaker. I was super concerned, both with Mel's behavior and stutter stormtroopers. The stormtrooper was definitely wanting me to call him Kylo right. well whatever the rest of the event went off smoothly and i was confident in the fact that daniel had filmed

the whole encounter for us to analyze later if mel had unasked himself he would try to get studder troopers last name changed i swear well he would have gotten stutter trooper's full name and info before the guy was cut loose from the building after my time at the event was over new guy went out back to pull the car around and Mel and Tony escorted me around to shake hands and say goodbye to certain event coordinators. I could tell Tony was upset with Mel and Mel was embarrassed by his performance today. Nothing was said between them but I could feel it coming off their masculine macho oras. The awkwardness was palpable. I'd been stuck between two stray Tomcats that had to follow you around. We entered a long service tunnel and ran towards the back of the event hall

and outside into the VIP parking area. These hallways were always tight corridors with hard angles and low lighting. I'd picked up enough military jargon and reasoning from my time in war movies and listening to my guys to know that they were perfect for ambushes. Well, in other words, it caused my security team's latent PTSD paranoia to start itching, and they both start acting a lot more jumping. Little did I know that I'd set off alarm bells in Tony's head already. yeah laid back

unassuming Tony had picked up on the small details showing I was more alert too he knew something was bothering his box Daniel even told me that Tony cornered him in the bathroom when Tony supposedly went on break Tony had noticed I was looking over to Daniel

dressed in his Rorschach costume a little too often and he wanted to know what was going on Tony grilled down for a while in the restrooms before having to get back to watching me. To Daniel's credit, he didn't snitch on what our secret surveillance plan was. Daniel just made up something about doing a guerrilla-style internet blog about the life of a celebrity

with my permission. Oh, needless to say, my security detail was skewed up a couple of notches as we made our way down the long backstage hallway. Mel was communicating with New Guy who was securing the vehicle as we made it to the first cross-section. Tony walked quickly in front of me to step out into the middle of the middle of the of the cramped hallway intersection. He was being overly cautious,

trying to get ahead of any trouble and look both ways to catch anyone trying to spring out and attack me. Or Tony should have waited on Mel. Tony shouldn't have taken the corners alone. But maybe Tony was still a little distrusting of Mel's ability today and stuck his neck out too far

because he was rushed from both sides. Mel saw the attacker to his right first and his hand went to his holster gun slung inside his jacket. He held his free hand out and pointed. Don't do it, you asshole, Tony warned loudly, eyes bulging with excitement. I couldn't see the person Tony was speaking to from around the corner, but I looked to my left and saw the big skeletor dress man rushing Tony from behind. Tony, behind you, I screamed, jumping backwards in fright to slam my head into Mel,

who was standing directly behind me. The thing's got fuzzy for a moment, as Mel wrapped me in his vice-like grip with his massive arms. My head spanned from colliding with Mel's chest as he instinctively moved forward to between me and the danger. I heard the tell-tale sound of a fire extinguisher going off in the narrow corridors, and suddenly Tony was being engulfed in the white cloud of, smoke, powder, whatever that stuff is. And then Tony started coughing and wheezing as the big skeletal man lifted up the fire extinguisher and bashed Tony right between his shoulder blades, creating an audible oof from Tony

as the white fog began to stealing oxygen from the air. I hid behind Mel's massive frame as he stood between me and the two attackers. He coughed and weased as he pulled his gun free from his waistband. Tony, I can't see anything. Get out of my line of fire, Mel commanded. I could hear the shuffling of feet as Tony and the two attackers struggled with each other. in the thick cloud.

And to my horror, Mel leveled his pistol at the struggling mass of people. What was he doing? He could shoot Tony. Why was Mel behaving this way? Please, Mel! I screamed, banging on his broad shoulders with my tiny fists. Don't use your gun. Just go in there and save Tony before they hurt him any more.

Mel half turned to look at me and blinked away his confusion at the sight of fresh tears streaming down my face. Maybe something about my pleas momentarily gave Mel a moment of sanity, and he touched his gum back inside his waistband. Okay, little bird, Mel said with uncharacteristic softness in his voice, as he reached out with his finger to wipe away one of my tears. Mel! I yelled, getting sick of these weird shit. What the hell? Help him! Mel finally turned towards his struggling co-worker and the two attackers.

The powdery smoke was beginning to settle. highlighting the man clearly now. Everything was blanketed in white, and Mel squared up with the three men. The two attackers had Tony on the ground, were trying to wrestle his gun away from him. It was a dangerous situation on the verge of becoming deadly when Mel came charging in like a freight train,

all three hundred plus pounds of him, to tackle both of the attackers off of Tony. All four men were now wrestling on the ground, and soon all four were screaming as one of the idiots had pepper sprayed and let it loose on meltony and skeletor, contaminating all of them with the burning liquid. I was so enthralled with a scuffle in front of me, but I didn't hear the third attacker sneaking up behind me.

Keep your mouth shut. Come with me, you bitch. I spun around to see him. Stutter trooper, wearing his helmet. One of his hands held out a large knife, the other hand, a pair of handcuffs. You put these on and come. come with me. Do it

fast, and nobody gets hurt. What do you want from me? I demanded. Shut up, bitch. Put these on her... I don't know what came over me. But I saw Red and gave stutter trooper a swift kick to the nuts. He yelped and dropped his knife between us. He went to reach for the knife, and I slid it behind me with my foot. Well, hindsight being 2020, it was wrong to

send a knife sliding towards the bad guys fighting behind me. Well, stutter trooper completely lost side of his knife through the limited visibility of his stormtrooper helmet and must have aborted the plan. He took off, fleeing past me, shoulder checking me hard in the process. He weaved between the four men fighting behind us and sprinted towards the exit at the long far end of the tunnel. Before I knew it, I was chasing after the asshole, only inches behind him. I had to do a lot cardio to stay in shape, and this guy probably only ran in COD games. I've had a heat in my chest, hurt my pounding heart in my ears. I wasn't on the back foot for once. I wasn't hiding and using others to fight for me. The creepers had come out into the open, and I was going to get my

answers. And that's when Stinton earned his name. He was no longer new guy when he popped out from behind a display case and clothes lie the Stotter trooper. Hold him, you guy, Stinton, I screamed with warrior fury. Stinton did as commanded and rolled my would-be abductor onto his back, slapping away the stormtrooper helmet and raising his fist to threaten the widow if he had any idea to fight back. This was my time. I'd be lying to all of you if I said I hadn't thought of a moment like this

multiple times since discovering that damn game. I'd fall asleep fantasizing about how it would feel to have the asshole strapped down in the killroom instead of me for once. But I had to move fast. So I scooted it over to leaning close to whisper it into Stinton's ear. He was already blushing, so this would be easier than I thought. I'll pay you double your rate for the whole day if you do exactly as I say and don't tell anybody,

especially your co-workers. I whispered quickly. Well, he looked up at me, red-faced and a little confused. Then his confusion turned to anger. Damn, he was a Boy Scout. Money wouldn't sway him. I had to try a different tactic. I need somebody I can trust.

I put my hand on his shoulder and peered into his eyes deeply. I promise to explain everything, but first you must listen. Ah, that did it. A look of stoic determination crossed his face. and he nodded curtly. Take a picture of his license and take his SIM card. I ordered quickly.

Well, stutter trooper protested as the much stronger stintom began manhandling him. I kicked him in the stomach when he started to squirm too much. Why, you're after me? Tell me now before I get my hacker friends to turn your life upside down and frame you for all types of bad shit.

Look, if you talk, I might call off my man here from visiting your mom's house to arrange a CO2 leak. I screamed at him. Well, Stinton looked at me in general horror. I was a little horrified by myself, too. Being afraid for so long had transformed into overwhelming anger,

which in turn scared me, but no matter, Stutter trooper believed me and was just about to shit himself. Some guy on Discord, the creep blurted, his beady eyes bulging. Been paying with Bitcoin for the strangest stuff. been asking for favours from the fab community. He puts a big price tag on the most obscure stuff, but he always comes through and always shows receipts. Herald of the void, I asked.

Stutter trooper grimaced in confusion and continued like I didn't say anything. I guess my question would seem like nonsense to anybody who didn't know who I was referencing. All of a sudden, two hours before you show up with the car, He offers 10 Bitcoin for a list of voice lines he wants from you. Real weird stuff, too. He said you had to be in distress for most of them. He says he doesn't care how we get the lines, so we're just going to restrain you for a while.

Let's go after we get the audio we need it. Promise. So, do you know anything about a video game? My interrogation was cut short by the deafening sound of a gunshot ripping through the hallways and passed my eardrums supersonic speed stint and let go stutter trooper and jumped up next to me gun already in hand as the ringing assaulted me like an aftershock even through my ringing ears i could hear the distinct cries of pain coming from the cross junction in the hallway where the four-person melee was happening just

seconds ago now i saw nobody but a man laying on the ground covered in fire extinguisher powder it was tony tony i screamed and horror, forgetting stutter trooper and sprinting off towards him. "'No, ma'am,' Stinton said as he poured me behind him, and began running towards his down co-worker. I held on to the hem of his coat as we made our way down the narrow hallway, all the while expecting another gunshot to come flying towards us from an unknown shooter. Oh, I must have gone into shock.

The next thing I remember was looking down at Tony, his belly oozing blood, his face pale. I held his hand and must have asked him a million questions his stinton called 911 Tony pulled me close to whisper in my ear just like I'd done with stinton seconds earlier even back then it seemed like a game a silly adventure a movie I'd play a part in but now my friend was dying

and what he told me chilled my heart to the call it was Mel Tony weised Mel shot me and ran he escaped with the others Mel was the ringleader Mel commissioned the game

he was obsessed with me and now he had just attempted to murder anyone standing in his way of me Part 4 Directors cut sat on the couch in my living room for what seemed like the next couple of hours In some ways it felt like weeks

In others it felt like only seconds But being cooperative with the police, along with being a pretty big celebrity, got me a measure of privacy not afforded to most people. And this was one of the few times I was glad to cash in on my privileged tokens. I should have felt bad. I should have felt scared. What all I really felt was empty. My employees, my friends, the betrayal of one, another fighting for his life in the hospital. I remembered how cocky I'd felt running off after a stuttered trooper.

Like I was some sort of badass from the movies. I played in, well, I was delusional. After I'd chased Stutter Trooper down the hallway, Stinton had cornered him. I did my best Jack Bauer interrogation on him, only to realize these three nerds knew nothing. They were being paid to kidnap me, all for the stupid voice lines to finish that stupid snuff game. And then the gunshots, the blood, the whispers.

Tony helped me close and dictated to me what happened. like a man confessing on his deathbed. Tony said he cuffed the one with the pepper spray and turned to see Mel just standing in the middle of a hallway, watching Fat Skeletor run off in the opposite direction. Tony said Mel had his damn gun out again, pointing it at the back of Skeletor as he ran further and further away. Mel just watched, pointed his weapon and mumbled to himself.

Tony called out to Mel, causing Mel to turn on his heel and shoot Tony point blank. next thing Tony knew I was next to him holding his hand while Stinton simultaneously tried to put pressure on the wound and call 911. Beber spray guy was missing also. He must have run away during the commotion. The cops came and searched the area. Nobody was found in relation to the incident. Tony was rushed to the hospital.

Detectives took me back to my home for interviews. I considered coming clean about everything I knew, but something kept my mouth shut. I knew I was in shock and didn't want to divulge information that may come back to bite me, and so I stuck strictly to the questions I was asked and didn't volunteer anything new. I'd climb up till my head was back in the right place, at least. Finally the cops got what they wanted, told me they would be in touch and left my house later that evening. I sat in my living room alone for the first time in hours. My phone had dozens of messages of missed calls from family, lawyers and studio executives.

my son and the nanny was sequestered away in his room already. I noticed my hands started trembling slightly, just like Mel's hands had earlier that day. Did he feel remorse for what he was about to do? Ma'am, came the deep southern voice of Stinton. I almost made me jump. I looked up to see him standing by the entryway. I almost forgot that he was still around. No, wait.

He had disappeared for a while. "'Where have you been?' I asked him, trying to throw in a small smile to make him think I wasn't bitching. "'I figured you were safe enough while an army of cops were over here with you, "'so I took a little trip back to my place, "'he needed to get something to show you. "'He walked up timidly, almost shamefully, "'and removed a pill-bottle from his pocket

"'and put it down on the coffee table in front of me. "'The bottle's RX label was worn, "'and only had three tiny pills rolling around inside. "'What's this?' I asked. "'Clonopan, or clonazepam, an anti-anxiety medication,' Stinton replied flatly. "'Oh, that's sweet, Stinnard, but I don't need your meds. I'm already exhausted. I can get my own if I need any.' "'No,' Stinton said sharply, and then softened his tone.

"'No, ma'am, this isn't for you.' Stinton then scooted around the table and sat down next to the table. to me. He opened the bottle and poured out three lonely pills. They were all circular and an off-yellow colour. I found these on the ground next to Tony, Stinton said. Pointing at the RX bottle, he'd sat down. The label says they belonged to Mel. Must have fallen out during the tussle, was my guess. Um, to play devil's advocate, that's not condemning information for a man to worry about his mental health. I suggested. I know a lot of you military guys deal with a lot of stress.

That's been said, it's weird he just brought the bottle with him to work. I said, confused and sort of rambling. Um, that's not it. Stinton interjected. He reached into his pocket and dropped three more similar-looking pills on the table next to the clonopin from Mel's bottle. What? You found more? No, no, no.

Stinton snorted a reply. Oh God, um, how do I say this? I don't care about Mel taking crazy pills. We turned all the messed up shit we saw in Trashkandistan. We should be as fucked as a soup sandwich. I scrunch up my nose and squinted at Stinton's colorful language. I wasn't used to it. But it had been a long day for both of us,

and at least he was being real with me, unlike the others. When I got out, it took me a while to land a good job. My girl had just lost her job to put a shit cherry on top. We had insurance through our old job, so her medication price is skyrocketed without it. Anyway, Stinton continued more sheepishly. She said she knew a guy who could hook her up with the pill she needed, just until we got insurance again.

I almost giggled at the sight of the big Boy Scout getting all flustered about knowing a drug dealer. He was acting like he was confessing to murder. But I didn't want to insult him, so I used my acting chops to keep my expression from cracking into a smile. Before my girl went off and got pills from some red, random dude. I did my homework and made sure she was getting the right medication. I'm a little OCD about things like that. That's how I knew these were fakes. Or at least they aren't on open, he said, pointing at the

three pills she dumped out of Mel's bottle. I went home to get some for my girlfriend to compare them against each other. You can tell they're different if you look close. I leaning closer. The yellow colour on both sets of pills were off. The weird V mark was the same, but Mills didn't have numbers on the bag of his. They were different. What does this mean? What are they? I asked, fully turning to stare at Stinton's downcast face.

I have no idea. None of this makes sense. But then again, he looked up at me sternly. You haven't told me everything. I promise, was a promise. I told him everything. Yes, I know I just met him. I know he could be working with, Mel, but I had no one else to turn to, and my instincts

told me he was a stand-up guy. I grabbed a gold bag at my place when I stopped by. I'll stay the night. This situation has become incredibly dangerous. Stinton said, flustered by all the new information I've given him. I'm going to reach out to some of the guys tomorrow that were in the teams with me and Mal. Stinton continued, maybe I can track him down before this escalates any further. I understand, I said.

I was angry as I was with him, he still protected me for years. I want this to end peacefully just as much as you do. Yes, ma'am, and I'm going to look into this herald-voy guy. I don't trust him. Me neither, I agrees. I picked up the bottle and read the name. Kahana Nui, Meldon. I'd never used Mel's last name.

Let me guess. The guys on the teams used to call him Kylo, so they wouldn't have to learn how to pronounce his name correctly, I asked Stinton. "'Yeah. How did you know?' Came Stinton's expected reply. Well, after that, Stinton had free roam of the guest's bathroom and set himself up in the living room. He was surely earning his overtime pay tonight. When back to my room and, with an ominous feeling in my stomach,

I sat down at my computer to check my email. Yep, sure enough, I'd received an email from Herald of the Void with the subject line. My last communication. I took a deep breath and double-clicked on the email. The following is Harold's frantic message. Like the subject line says, this will be the last time I contact you.

Things are getting way out of hand. I saw what happened to the convention. The fan sites are light on details, but I know it has something to do with my client attacking you. The cops won't release a lot of details, except that you're fine. No arrest were made, and it's, well, somebody is in the ICU.

with a gunshot wound. Following these reports this afternoon, I received further instructions from the client at the torture game. He said he had RL plans and he needed me to hurry and patched the new content into the current build of the game.

Oh, the jig is up, Jay. I tried to help you, and maybe I did in some way. I'm burning all these contacts and going dark for a while. You'll never hear from me again. I'm erasing everything. After you play through the game again,

it'll delete itself from your life. computer. I did my fastest work ever patching in the new content. Hopefully, if you're quick enough, you can stop whatever it is he's planning to do. In the killroom, remove the face. The message ended with a hyperlink for the newest build of the torch game. I was confused and scared now, but it seemed like Harold of the void was scared too. What had he seen in the game to cause such fear? Once again the twisted game started, blacking out my screen, showing the crucified crow man, and then screaming at me with my own face.

I selected the killroom, led out a weary size, I saw my virtual body doubles struggling her, a useless struggle against the straps holding her to the table. Nothing seemed different in the room. Blackout walls covered with shiny plastic white tiles with a floor drain, one of those dentist's chair spotlight shining down on poor VBD, and medical trays filled with tools for torture. I walked over to the tray and selected the carving knife. I clicked on VBD's pleading face and selected scalp.

The game gave me the option. Are you sure? Because this would kill VBD and end the game. Yes, I said to myself with grim determination and clicked away. VBD almost blew out my speakers with her scream as the carving knife did its work. With a sickly ripping sound The skin from her hairline Was back off her skull

The end result was a hairless version of myself Bloody smooth skull visible Blood cascading down the skin Still on VBD's faces Her eyes bulge with hysteria The scalp skin and hair From the top of my head lay flopped over Covering her left ear like some sort of gruesome wig

I waited for something new to happen I held my breath And endured the terrible screaming but nothing happened are you sick bastard i cursed how could mel see me like this all this time this was his fantasy

what in this game at spout herald so much that he was going to ghost me suddenly the audio for vbd was cut off mid-scream vbd turned her head to face my character mouth glitched open in her forever scream hello jay it's good to finally address you directly. Now that the farce is up. Get a muffled voice from my speakers. I lean back in

my chair and felt goosebumps all down my body. I know about you and Harold of the void going behind my back trying to find out who I am. I know you even got Daniel to play along with your two hapless detectives. Oh God, he knew Harold was trying to help me. I wonder Harold went into hiding after hearing this message. Why was Mel still using a voice-changing? The irony of the situation is I would have been completely satisfied with just playing the game I commissioned if Herald had ever finished it. At least it would have bought you more time before I got bored with the game and came for you in real life. His and your self-righteous meddling forced my hand, moving up the timetable. But I am still a man of honour. If you give me what I want, I'll disappear.

I don't need the cops on me. But if you pursue this, I'll reach out and hurt you wherever you hide. I felt like I was going to throw up. Honor, are you kidding me? It's crazy how people twist logic to still come out the good guy in their own minds. I'll give you my demands over a burner phone. Open the vent beside the teal vase on the living room. I will call you in exactly five minutes.

Be sure to answer. or someone you know may take your place in the kill-room. And with that, the game buzzed at me and cut back to the main menu and displayed a status bar indicating it was deleting itself. Without thinking, I jumped up from my chair and flung my door open to run to the living room. Stinton had already heard the commotion of me coming down the hallway,

and he stood hyper-alert, slightly crouched, eyes scanning everything around him. Stinton, well, there's something for me. in the house. That vent, right there, I needed to open it. Stinton was confused, but followed my orders regardless. He followed the direction of my pointing finger to the vent. He jumped over the couch to slide down beside it. He pulled out a knife and began taking the screws out. He popped it off in no time and I was on my knees beside him staring into the dusty vent shaft. Well, we saw it immediately, a dust-caped black smartphone. I took it out and began brushing it off. It was almost as

if my touch activated it, because suddenly it started ringing. Hello? Mel, I asked timidly into the phone. My demands, came back the augmented voice of the speakerphone. You come down the road to meet me. You give me what I need for the game, and I will leave your life forever. "'Screw that, you freak!' I shot back. "'My face felt hot with anger. "'He betrayed my trust and nearly killed Tony. "'I'll give you nothing. "'The only thing I'll negotiate is your surrender to the cops.'

"'There was a heavy sigh from the other end, "'and then a moment of eerie silence. "'You heard my demands. "'Mead me down the street in ten minutes. "'Be sure to watch the video I send you.' "'came the deadpan voice. "'It was followed by a beep. letting us know Mel had hung up.

Well, me and Stinton only had a short time to look at each other with the same stupid expressions on our faces before the text message's alarm went off on the phone. I opened the messages, hit play, and turned the phone so Stinton could watch it with me. The blurry footage started abruptly, displaying two street signs against a dark night sky. The street names written on the signs came into focus after a moment.

It was the intersection of Houston and Kaston, and Kastner, literally just five minutes up the road. The camera footage swung around to show the back of an ordinary white van that gave off major kidnapper vise. The cameraman moved closer and threw open the double doors at the back. Inside the dark van was the figure of a hunched over body with a duct tape over his mouth and hands restrained behind him. The van shifted and squeaked as the cameraman moved into focus on the man's face.

Oh God, it's Daniel. I screamed. He has my nephew. Daniel's eyes were filled with terror as a heavy black boot pinned him against the floor. His eyes bulged in fear as a gleaming silver scalpel slowly lowered towards his face. The cameraman dragged the sharp knife across the top of Daniel's forehead, right under his hairline. He's scalping him, Stinton. We have to do something.

I screamed again, frantically grabbing at Stinton's shirt as he watched in horror. On the video, Daniel moaned in pain as blood flooded his face. The foot of the cameraman held him still as he tried to thrash about. Ten minutes, came the deep voice of the kidnapper, or I ripped the top of his head off. The video ended, and I spun around to face Stinton. We have to go, I demanded. Wait, Stinton said, trying to think of a counter-argument. Okay, but you stay in the same.

in the car and I talk with Mel. I turned to consider my son and nanny being left at home alone. Was this a trick to lure me away from the house? No matter I had to act fast. My nanny knew the drill. She had locked the door and was sleeping in the room with my son. She had the cops on speed dial and a nifty pink 9mmil meter in her purse. We ran outside and piled into the company SUV. Stinton almost ran the gate down, pulling out of the property and onto the well-lit streets. When I get out, you hop over to the driver's seat. If it's a trick, you run over everything to get away.

Stinton said, quickly giving me instructions as I pointed to him where to go. There's a revolver on my side in the door when I get out. It's loaded with six shots. My heart was skipping beats in my chest, and my stomach felt like it was twisting in knots when we came closer to Houston and Karsner Street. Stinton slowed down. and switched off the lights to slowly roll up the street.

He cracked the windows a bit and shushed me even though I hadn't said anything. We could see the white van about fifty yards out, parked under a light pole. On the ground beside the van was a crumpled up body of who I suspected was Daniel. Stenton, Daniel's in the street, I whispered harshly and pointed. I know, I know, he replied, annoyed. It doesn't make any sense. Something is off.

Were these streetlights always out on this road? He pointed out the window at the surrounding darkness. Only the streetlight above Daniel was working. The sound of glass breaking, and Stinton, letting out a sick moan, happened simultaneously. The windshield on his side fell into millions of pieces, and I felt what I thought was warm spit,

hitting the side of my face. I turned to realize the horrible truth, when Stinton slumped sideways to lean on. me, a gross gurgling noise coming from his lips. A massive gunshot wound had destroyed the left side of his head above the ear, and blood and brain matter flowed freely. Stinton! I screamed in incomprehensible panic.

I shook him as his dead weight pinned me down. A red laser light bobbed up and down as I heard heavy footsteps approach me from the driver's side. I scrambled to push Stinton off of me as the gunman got closer. Well, hindsight, 2020, Stinton probably had a gun on his person, but all I could think about was a revolver in the side door. Or maybe I should have just run. Time slowed as I stretched and pulled my way across the seats as I saw Mel drew closer. As he got feet away, my fingers brushed the wooden handle of the gun.

The passenger's side door behind me was flung open, and two strong hands grabbed me around my waist and viciously ripped me out of the vehicle. to land hard on the asphalt belly first. The last thing I saw were multiple pairs of boots standing around me before something hard landed in my back and a hood was thrown over my head, filling my soul with darkness. Part 5. Behind the scenes. My hands were bound tightly behind my back. I felt multiple hands picked me up and begin to carry me.

I tried to scream, but something. was wrapped tightly around the hood that had covered my face, muffling my cries. The distinct ripping sound it made told me it was duct tape that they were using, for this made breathing and intense labour through my nose. In the darkness, all I could do was listen and pray someone in the neighbourhood who'd heard the commotion, was calling for help. What about the kid? A gruff voice asked.

Leave him. I don't kill non-combatants. I'm not as sicko like he is. answered another. I heard the van doors open, and I was tossed in unceremoniously to land on my face and stomach. Get rid of the car and the dead body.

Pick up your breasts. You know the drill. Meaded location, Bravo. Came yet another voice. I was terrified, yet relieved when I heard the van doors close. At least Daniel was being left behind, and hopefully he'd be okay if he made it to the hospital.

Take the shit off her head, before she suffocates, somebody said. I felt a sharp prick of a needle in my shoulder and quickly fell into unconsciousness. When I woke back up, I immediately noticed a few changes in my predicament. First off, I still had the binding hood over my head, but I could breathe better and see a bit of light coming through the cloth. Secondly, I was stripped to my brow and underwear, and I was freezing, goosebumps running all down my body. Finally, I could feel I was rest. restrained to an even colder metal table. My feet were angled towards the ground and tied together tightly.

My hands restrained high above my head and separated like I was making a wide gesture with my body. I felt helpless and embarrassed and scared, but most of all I knew these were the feelings these sickos wanted me to feel. And so I felt anger, a burning hot anger that made me tremble more than the cold and the fear. The money should be in your team's accounts within the same. the next three to five business days. Tell you, your guys, I threw in a little bonus for the truly outstanding work, said an excited, croaky voice. Also, I know the cleanup was more than expected, and I adjusted the price for the body disposal.

That's great, boss, replied a louder, more authoritative voice. It reminded me of one of the men I'd heard out on the road when I was first snatched up. O'S UV is gone. Driver's body is gone. How swept clean of evidence. The deep voice continued. Her computer was fired without her clueless babysitter being none the wiser. Any trace of you should be wiped clean.

Awesome. Awesome. The croaky voice snickered back, barely holding back his excitement. I know you guys were worth the high price tag, and the bonus is just a thank you for helping me achieve my dream at long last. Well, boss man, retort to the deep voice. voice and there was a pause of consideration you can keep my bonus and take off a couple thousand if you let me have a go with miss hollywood over there i used to watch her bootleg DVD on repeat when i was deployed absolutely not she is mine no one touches her but me the croaky voice man snapped back immediately the nerd rage came through like boiling venom Okay, okay, I was just trying to save you some money.

She's all yours, just as you ordered. The other man said back, me and my man will take our leave and leave you too to your farm. I heard a heavy set of boots walk away, echoing off hard floors and high ceilings. I was left alone in silence with only the excited breathing of the anxious man slowly getting closer to me. I tried to maintain a limp posture, not wanting to give away that. I was awake under the hood. Well, he was hard as the tension grew unbearable between us. I could feel the creepy man's presence standing over me, staring at me.

I could hear his ragged breathing and hard swallowing. I could smell a cologne coming off of him. It was something familiar. Was it Bond No. 9? That was my favourite when my ex-husband would wear it. I doubt this was a coincidence. I felt a finger touched my exposed midriff, right below the bed-one. belly button and all pretense was over. My entire body tensed up like I've been touched with an

electric wire and I let out a gasp of disgust. Oh, so you are awake, said the amused, croaky voice. Good. We can begin now. The man ripped the hood off my head. The sudden flood of light made me close my eyes for a second. I considered keeping them closed in case he decided to let me go since I hadn't seen his face yet. This man was obviously an accomplice of males that I didn't know. But I knew that train of thought was stupid. They had obsessed over all of this and committed murder to get me. They weren't going to let me go, and if I was going to die,

I'd die looking them in the eyes. As brave as I tried to be, still didn't stop the hot tears from racing down my face as I opened my eyes to look at my captain. He was a tall pale man with sunken features and big green eyes. His hair was a curly white dude fro that looked dyed an unnatural jet black. He wore a crooked smile along with a $500 purple silk shirt, slacks, and a Rolex on display. To my horror, I realized the room I was in was a one-to-one replica of the kill room,

well, the one from the video game, black-topped-up walls, white towel floor, an overhead posable light. The scrawny man clicked his tongue and leaned in to wipe a tear away from my eye. No tears, please. That's a waste of good suffering. Oh, we have such sights to show you, he said, with the biggest self-congratulatory grin on his face. You're quoting freaking hell-raiser to me?

I screamed at him, my temper flaring up again. Are you serious? Are you freaking serious? I screamed at his dumb face, and his cocky smile disappeared, replaced with surprise and embarrassment. God, you really are nothing but a nerd-ass loser, aren't you? I spit the words out at him. Speaking of spit, I physically tried to spit on him, but couldn't get enough saliva to launch the free feet to hit him, so I just ended up drooling on myself. Your creepy ass has got a higher actual tough guy mercenaries to kidnap. me because you're too much of a sissy boy to do it yourself you know i'd kick your goofy looking ass i continued my tirade well if i was going to die he was going to get a piece of my mind then you dress up all

smooth like you're christian gray or something you're pathetic to me disgusting and a sad excuse for the breath was knocked out of my lungs when my kidnapper punched me full force in the stomach my hands instinctively pulled painfully against their restraints as I tried to curl in on myself. His narrow face scratched up in anger, and he led out a small cry of exertion as he hit me again in the ribs. The thud of his fists slamming into me will stay with me forever. My vision blurred around the edges as oxygen refused to enter my lungs, no matter how hard I tried inhaling. Panic gripped me as I thought I would suffocate and die, until finally, blessed air returned to my lungs and I saw the cruel, satisfied smirk and an evil glint in his green

eyes. You'll learn to show me respect, little pet. He hit me one more time, right in the solar plex, causing me to moan in agony. We have plenty of time for you to learn, he said, I've waited a long time for this. For the next hour he softened me up. I don't really want to go into explicit detail. I'll skim over his initial interactions with me. He used a small remote in his pants pocket to lower the temperature in the dark room to the low 40s. He readjusted the overhead light to shine it blindingly into my eyes, and he was quick to punch me in the midsection every time I try to speak up. And he monologued. Oh, God, did he monologue? He told me how much he'd watch me from afar, how he wanted to get closer to me for years. So he wanted his dark torture game

to satiate his desire. But he knew that would never be enough. He knew he'd eventually have to have the real thing. He'd have to have me. And now he had the money and influence to make it possible. And all seemed practiced and rehearsed, like a first-year theatre student giving a solo performance after seeing Heath Ledger in the dark night. There were a lot of... You see, and what if I told you? Oh, and in other words, as he droned on and on. His speech was also filled with dramatic hand-flourishes as he spun a dagger playfully around in his whimperical circles.

He spouted edgy tropes like my dark passenger wanted more, and the beast inside me could not be kept bound for long. I wanted to vomit. Maybe I could hit him with the stuff at least. And finally he stopped. Hands out to the side. A dagger in hand. Head down like he was taking a bow.

The idiot was really leaning into the unhinged villain-stick. My hands were getting numb, and I was shivering as I looked up at his grinning face. Oh, you have my permission to speak, my pet. He snickered. You can ask me any question you like. But be mindful of him. your tone. I hung there for a while, silently, gathering my thoughts and quelling my anger before I opened my mouth to speak. Where is Mel? The sly grin on the man's pale face spread into a

full-on toothy smile. An evil gleam appeared in his eye and he held up a bony finger to either give me a shh gesture or a one-moment gesture. He turned swiftly and pushed back one-of-the-hanging tarps that stood as one of the killroom's walls and quickly disappeared through it. I heard my captor's footsteps retreat down a long hallway. There was a sound of metal chains and something like a heavy garage door being slid open. I then heard the footsteps coming back towards me, but this time accompanied with a squeaky grinding sound. I realised I was being a fool wasting my time, listening for the crazy man's imminent return.

This was my first time alone, my only window of a window of a very room. escape. And so I began pulling at my restraints. I felt like I could free my legs easily if my hands were undone, but they were both held tight, spread out above me on metal rods. It was hard to wiggle around as I realized my waist was buckled to the cold table that held me propped upright, and the blinding light in my eyes made it hard for me to see anything around me. I was too late. I ran out of time as the tarp wall was pushed back and my captor came back in, pulling something something heavy with him. He grunted as he wheeled whatever it was around for me to see. I squinted through the blinding light above my head, trying to make out the massive frame of

something. My captor saw this and quickly darted over to redirect the lamp out of my eyes. He was clearly eager to show me what he brought me. I gasped in horror. It was Mel. He was bloodied and beaten and naked. Slumped over in some sort of makeshift wheelchair. His arms had bloody cords tying them to the armrests with giant nails through both of his hands, nailing them down. He had a hundred cuts all over his heavily tattooed body and two swollen eyes. His feet dangled limp on the ground with blood dripping from somewhere off of them. I didn't understand.

My mind cracked. I screamed at the sight in utter confusion and terror. My pencil-framed captor responded back with his own devious laughter. I laughed deep from his belly. Truly this was the reaction he wanted from me all along. Why? Why did you kill him? I screamed. The palman jumped over to me with amazing quickness to grab me under my chin to yank it up roughly to face him. His stinking breath hit me as he hissed at me through gritted teeth.

His face only an inch away from mine. I share you with no one. The creep spun around and darted back to Mel. With a flash, the knife was back in his hand, and he jammed it into Mel's left shoulder, causing the sickening sound of metal thudding into meat. Mel sprung to life and screamed so loud my ears popped. His eyes bulged, and he pulled futilely at his restraints. Mel shook the makeshift chair and kicked his bloody feet to smear the white tiles underneath.

That's quiet enough, Mel, my boy. The pale-faced cap disposed. in his cracked voice. He reached into his pocket and produced a syringe to stick in Mel's thick neck. Mel scream instantly tapered off, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. I didn't know what was going on, but I was glad of the small mercy of Mel losing consciousness and escaping the pain temporarily. But my stomach twisted in knots at the thought of this man doing the same to me.

Your Mel was never part of this. My capture laughed. I just needed a real. red herring. Someone close to you that was easily manipulated. Someone with past trauma and a history of violence, the creeper said, running his finger along Mill's tribal tattoo playfully. But, but I started saying with trepidation, wary of an incoming blow. He shot Tony and ran. I realized no blows were coming from my counter. I guess he wanted me to ask questions. He'd been acting so weird that day. How was he not a part of all this?

I know, right, my captor said, with forced incredulity, holding his arms out wide as if in non-believe. I couldn't have planned for better results. What do you mean? He wasn't working with you? Well, yes, and no, smiled my captain. Mel was being used, yes. When Big Mel shot your other knuckle-drager employee, it was extracurricular activity on his part. oh i see you don't fully understand the creep almost shouted at me as he sprang forward again to place the tip of the knife under my chin i screech in fright and tried my heart just to recoil from the cold blade and his wide-eyed stare

for an ex-special forces guy mel kailo kahanui didn't have great home security my own special ups guys had no problem breaking in and replacing his mood stabilizers with sugar pills After a month of that, I added some other things than just sugar into those pills. Mostly I had them at mild hallucinogens, amphetamines, all sorts of bad stuff that don't react well together. I named the mixer I created the Nasty's. Your idea, Protector was poisoning himself and making himself crazy by taking the medicine he thought was supposed to help keep him sane. The creeper said, actually holding his sides as he began laughing.

The those of the nasties he took on the day. he shot the other body card was the highest dose he'd ever taken. My team found him in the nearby park, about to call the cops and turn himself in. Can you believe that? He'd have ruined all the fun that very moment. But no, my captain then turned to give a loving smile to the unconscious and bleeding mouth. My team intercepted him before he grew a conscience, and I got myself a little practice body to sharpen up my skills before I met you.

"'Who are you?' I asked weakly. "'I only now begin to realize how outmatched I really was all this time. "'Oh, Miss Jay, you probably suspected me from the very beginning. "'Ockham's razor and all that, Jess. "'He said as he got back into my face to breathe his nasty breath on me. "'I started the game. "'Map the boundaries, created the rules, "'activated the players,

turned a single-player game into a PVP multiplayer arena. I've been with you the whole time like a dungeon master setting up encounters for you to face. He stopped and held his breath comically, like this was some sort of stand-up routine he was performing. I realized I was supposed to be guessing who he was. The truth was I didn't care at this point. All of my interest in who he was was was was sucked out of me as I stared at his ugly face, as he desperately tried to be funny or edgy.

The man that was going to torture and kill me was trying to be funny. I didn't care who he was anymore. He was a sick freak. He'd always been a sick freak. Just a sad loser, I said in a monotone voice straight to him. I knew I'd pay for my disrespect to his fragile ego,

but maybe he'd kill me on accident and I could forego all the hours. or days of torture that he had planned. His cheerful demeanour was extinguished, and he let out the air he was holding in his lungs in an angry huff. He screamed in my face, spittle, moistening my skin. It was me all along. Herald of the void, you dumb bitch.

It was me. I was playing you from day one. He came around with a slap so hard that I literally saw stars and tasted blood in my mouth. I started your nightmare, and I'll be here long after when I finally have had enough of you. Another slap landed. You all cursed the day you ever decided to become an actress, because that was the day you doomed yourself to fall into my notice and into my hands.

Another strike to my stomach. Something heavy, a knee may be. I'll make sure to keep you for as long as possible. Kind of like your gorilla friend over there. I'll cut off the pieces I don't like. He grabbed me by the throat and began to squeeze. I'll cut out that sassy tongue first. Maybe cut off your hands and feet so I can store you in boxes and take you with me places.

Maybe I'll send the pieces I don't like back to your son. A new body part for each new birthday. We'll have to think of something special for his 18. My son, his 18th birthday, his whole life without me. This caused a wave of nauseating panic within me. My captor, herald of the void, let go of my neck just long enough for me to vomit into his smug face. I would have felt some satisfaction in this if I hadn't immediately started to hyperventilate

and pass out soon after. It was terrible. I thought I was dying. but the truth was my ordeal was far from over. I'd wake up to Herald, setting up more of his torture games for me. Little did I know at the time, but I was entering the final stretch of my terrible adventure, the terrible and bloody finale.

Part six, troubleshooting, I found myself stuck in a nightmare, unable to wake up. It was a colourful, sickening dream. Most likely it was brought on by the fear, pain and drugs being pumped and forced into me at the time. I become lucid at some point in my waking nightmare. I found myself in the incredibly real feeling, Kilbrough. I could feel the tiles underneath my bare feet,

staring at the bright light, made me squint my eyes. Just like in real life or in the video game that Herald had sent me, I was stuck in another simulation like a prison, another reality of hell created just for me. I could hear my song crying for me, And somehow I knew it was my funeral. I could hear Tony screaming that it was all Mel's fault. No, Tony.

Mel was tricked too, I told him as he lay bleeding on the tile floor next to me. And who killed Stinton, you idiot? Who got him killed? Tony screamed and pointed behind me. I turned to see Stinton standing right next to me, his breath as bad as Herald's was in the waking world. Half of Stinton's face was missing, and he just stood there.

gargling blood out of his mouth. Hours passed within the dream. Oh, days passed. Damn, maybe only seconds, but my stomach had railroad spikes sticking in them, and Harold teased me by pouring bleach down my throat. It's why it hurts when you breathe, he smiled at me. Chug it like a good girl.

He would cut his face with a knife and then cut mine. He would bust out his front teeth and then bust out his front teeth, and then bust out mine. We share everything, he croaked, his green eyes glowing a sinister glow. We'll be a Hollywood power couple. You will even have a new better son with me. There was a prick in my thigh in real life,

and the nightmare faded away as I awoke to the actual nightmare standing right in front of me. Herald of the void stepped back from me, placing a syringe into his pocket. His goofy attitude was all gone, now replaced with a grim darkness in his countenance. Both he and I were cleaned up from the vomit, but I was still tied up in my Y position on the slanted table.

I thought long and hard about what to do with you once I finally had you here with me, Harold said with a deadpan concern, staring holes into me. I considered using a light touch to break you in, but maybe you need something harsher. Your own personal growth in life is over now, but you still have a lot more days ahead of you, Pat. He explained like he was talking to a school child. Our own journey in life ended the moment you were brought here. Now you exist for the fulfillment of my life.

So I wanted you to slowly bend, bend to my will, and not let my excitement get the best of me and accidentally break you. I needed you to forget yourself and embrace pleasing me. Do you understand? I didn't answer. See, he sighed. That's the sort of attitude I'm talking about. You're stubborn. I blame elitist third-wave feminism and you're pretty privilege.

I guess I'll have to use a hammer to break your shell. We'll see if you're hard the whole way through. So, here. is the game, he exclaimed with crazy further, fully embracing the dollabin Joker-stick again, or maybe it was more like Jixil. He stormed out of the room, throwing back the black tarp, just to come back with Mel in that awful wheelchair. For such a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a man, you sure have left a lot of dead or disfigured men in your wake. Yes, I considered myself a feminist, but I'd never said I never

needed men in my life. And yes, I was very aware of how many people that just happened to be men that had been hurt or killed trying to protect me. I grieved even now for Stinton, I only knew him for the one day before he was murdered in front of me. I worried for Tony's recovery as he fought for life in the ICU. I worried for my son, all alone without his mother. I worried for Mel, having been poisoned and tortured long before a finger was laid on me. Where was this asshole getting this from that I hated men? He was projecting his own insecurities onto me. Well, I hated him, I was for sure.

I can have ourselves a game of choice, a game of decisions and consequences, Harold said, moving out from right in front of me so I could see Mel tied to the wheelchair behind him. Harold positioned us to facing each other, only feet apart. I know we probably both look terrible, but Mel looked. like he was barely clinging to life. How much longer could he last? You see this tray of goodies right here? Harold said as he slid a metal tray over on a rolling stand. A couple of scalples, loaded syringes, pliers, cloth, and biggest of all an industrial nail gun. He gave me a beaming smile with his

immaculately white tea. See these three syringes? He waved his hand over them nonchalantly, and I gave them a passing glance of distaste. He was one of them to wake up your former employer. Sergeant Kylo, Marine, sir. He laughed and gave a mocking salute. He should be coming around surely. I need him to feel every bit of what you are about to do to him. It's the green one, okay?

Harold said to me in a mocking baby tone. A little syringey with the green cap means it's good for you. Green for go, okay, Blondie? Some up is to make sure you don't. don't pass out on me, okay, so we can keep playing. Mel was indeed waking up. I was so glad he wasn't dead. He was blinking away his groginess and was trying to see through his two swollen eyes.

Dry blood caked his entire body, and he was still nailed to his chair by large spikes through his hands and metal wire wrapping around them. Now this one, he held a yellow cap syringe in front of me. This one is for caution. Wherever I stick with this syringe will go pretty numb, take all the feeling away. This little yellow beauty can be a blessing or a curse during the game we're playing. It can grant you temporary relief from your pain.

I manufacture the numbing effect to wear off quickly, so we can continue playing many rounds of our game. So be sure to keep that in mind before you start being a smart ass with me just because you think I can't hurt you once you get the yellow prick. I can always wait about ten minutes. is for the serum to wear off. And then I'll hurt you again. What about the red one? I asked evenly.

I was tired of his routine and I wanted him to get to the point, but I didn't want to incur his wrath again. I'd have to find more subtle ways to rebel against my captor. This one? He asked loudly, grabbing the red syringe and feigning like he was going to stab the needle right into my left eye sockets. He stopped his strike only two inches from my open eye. I wouldn't have been able to defend myself or dodge any attack if he really wanted to follow through.

But still I flinched like I was shocked by lightning and my body tensed up like twisted cables. But I didn't give him the pleasure of screaming or turning my head away. Ah, this little red devil makes the heart go bob. He announced with a self-satisfied grin. Instance. Mostly painless death. One second you hear the next. He snapped his fingers loudly, hearing the arms of Jesus, just like the rapture. Harold laid the syringe down neatly beside the others on the tray and retrieved a pair of pliers.

I noticed Mel was awake now, too, and vaguely watching me and Harold. Oh, I know you recognize these, Harold said with venom in his voice. You used them enough on your NPC while playing my game, didn't you? My heart dipped as I remembered all the atrocious things I commissioned. to my virtual body during a countless play-throughs, looking for clues. I remembered a lot of those

heinous acts were completed the use of plies, exactly like the ones in front of me now. I'm going to start slow with you. I know divas like you prize their looks above all else, so I'll rip off something that will grow back eventually.

I'm going to rip off a fingernail, he told me with manicly. I'll start with the least useful finger and move onward in importance, he explained, pointing at my left hand and smiling. So let's see. Pinky finger of your left hand will go first. Harold announced, jumping over to my left hand that was tightly restrained above me to grab my open palm before I could clinch it into a fist. I tried to dig my fingernails into his skin and he was wearing leather gloves. This little piggy's Time is up.

Time to go to the market. He squealed as I felt the metal pliers grind against my left pinky fingers nail. Harold was fishing the pliers around, the rough metal trying to fire the lip of my nail to hook onto. Oh, you son of a bitch. You dirty son of... I started screaming at him in complete panic. I was frashing around futilely in my restraints trying to escape the oncoming pain. Don't scream.

Harold demanded in a firm voice. His green eyes looked into mine and I could see the flames of insanity dancing within them. That's another rule in this game. You scream, something worse happens. So it would behoove you to be quiet during my adjustments of your person. I tried to bite back my screams as the rusty metal pliers again found the lip of my well-manicured fingernail. Harold was completely focused as he leaned in. holding my hand still with one of his hands,

while the other began to pry the small, painful dome off the top of my finger. I felt the pliers catch, and the nail come loose. My mind gave me the mental pitch of a car hood being popped open, an electric fire burned up my hand from my pinky tip, and I screamed. As soon as my high-pitched yelp of pain escaped my lips, Harold stopped his painful pry at my pinky nail,

and looked at me sternly. I bit my bottom lip and whimpered to myself, not knowing what was coming, but knowing it would be bad. Without hesitation, the deviant herald of the void, replaced the pliers on the metal tray and grabbed the heavy nail gun. He heaved it up and placed it almost point-blank at Mel slumped in his chair. With the loud pop, the nail-gun fired its namesake to a six-inch distance to impact into Mel's tattoo belly, causing his skin to ripple from the impact. Mel screamed. He was fully awake now.

The nail seemed to have disappeared into his massive belly, but as he screamed and constricted his stomach muscles, the metal tip of the nail became visible around the violent leakage of blood. You scream. He suffers with you, Harold said, and slammed the nail gun back down on the tray. And he picked up the pliers again.

I'll go through both of your hands and both of your feet. Let's just say I don't like the colour you chose for them, because it's all coming off. He laughed. And every time you shout or scream, I'll pop a cap in old Mel here, Harold said, backing away from me and straightening his gloves and apron. I knew one of his speeches was coming. Let's just say I began to grow a fondness for Mel. Harold chuckled, gesturing with both hands at Mel, as he struggled and breathed deeply. Like a big Samoan teddy bear, I'm right.

He kind of fell into my lap. It's my first torture victim that wasn't an animal or a cadaver. I went my first to be you, but I was nervous. So I popped my torture cherry with this big old love. And you know, Harold laughed. I guess I caught feelings. So he's your prize. You can keep him as a pet if you win the game.

Didn't know how I felt having another man get in between. but well he isn't technically a man anymore so i guess i have nothing to worry about with horror i just realized the truth man was a bigger guy in his belly obscured a lot and i respect him too much to look at his private region during such an inappropriate time but now i had to look and harold was telling the truth he'd mutilated mel down there what tears flow from my eyes this was all my fault he was kidnapped because his job was to protect me. I gave him the Griffith treatment. Pre-e eclipse, mind you.

The psycho standing in front of me laughed, although I had no idea what he was referencing. I took his manhood, slashed his Achilles' tendons, removed his tongue. All he can do is mumble and pull himself around like a big gorilla, a peck gorilla. Through my tears, I saw tears on Mel's eyes too.

He was once a proud warrior, a Marine, a protector, a professional. How much I wished I could protect him now. If you keep screaming during your nail removal, I'll keep plugging away at him with a nail gun. Now for a nail, you see. At the end of the whole thing, you get to take care of what's left, a poor old male. I'll let both of you share a cell together. I'll even throw in some first aid for you to patch him back up. Let's see how long.

you can keep your pedal. Harold said, jumping towards me again and grabbing my left hand with one hand while angling the pliers towards him with the other. Don't you scream, okay? Wait, please, Harold with the void. Don't do this to him anymore. Leave him out of it. He was just doing his job, I pleaded.

To my surprise, Harold stopped and listened. I saw things about you and me, right? Can we just leave him out of it? I'll do anything, I begged. Harold straightened and sighed dramatically. Well, I almost forgot to tell you what the red and yellow syringes were used for during the game. It's the second option. You can select death for Mel.

I'll numb your hand and we'll move forward in this relationship together. Just the two of us, alone, with no distraction. Why didn't you tell me that first? I asked, trying to understand him. I studied his face for signs of deception, but he only stared back blankly. I thought you'd choose to keep, Mel. You're strong-willed and fight me on just about everything.

I didn't believe you were ready to choose to be alone with me just yet. I was going to let you have a pet for a while, Harold said, actually looking at the ground like an insecure child that was called to stand in front of the class. I thought the burden of keeping me. him alive and fed and clean, would slowly cause you to resent him. Eventually, you'd see all the wonderful things I'm willing to do for you.

After, I've remade you. But I want you to choose to be with me. To be honest, Harold spoke barely above a whisper as he leaned over me, just inches from my face. I know why God gave us free will. He could have just programmed us to love him like obedient little robots. That's not real love, though. That's just following orders or genetic programming.

No, he continued. God wants us to choose to love him, even through all his perceived faults and our own faults. He wants to be chosen to be loved. That's the makings of true love. True love is sometimes born from something that was once a burning hate. Harold finished then, silently proud of himself and nodding slightly to his own genius.

"'Anyways,' he said, snuffing out of his twisted reverie and holding up the pliers to my left hand. "'Let's get on with the game. For Mel's sake, I hope you're less gabby than I am right now.' "'Don't,' I said, but my voice cracked midway through the syllables and I began to sob. "'Now, now, Penn. I'll have to punish him once you keep speaking out at turn,' Harold said, turning to get the nail gun once more. "'No,' I cried. "'I locked eyes with Mel, and he stared back solemnly. "'He nodded to me slightly, accepting his face.

"'Give him the red syringe. "'Let him die. "'I don't need a pet. "'It only needs to be the two of us.' "'By this time I was a sobbing, snot-bubbling mess "'as Harold stood back to observe both of us. "'He wore an expression of shock "'that slowly turned into a reassuring smile.

This is a great first step-bats, he cooed softly to me. Freeing yourself from past attachments will better help you accept your future. This great progress you've made, I'll end Mel's sad existence, and you'll get a brief respite from your transformation today. I would stalk over to me and stuck the yellow syringe into the fat of my left thumb. Within seconds my whole hand went numb, and Harold grabbed my dangling pinky. Nell and ripped it off with his own fingers.

I felt nothing. You see, pet, well served to two-prong purpose. You're supposed to be your pets. Supposed to show you what you'll become for me in the future. Use a teaching tool for you to better understand me. Harold sighed and leaned against me, his hand stroking my head.

But since you've chosen to end the experiment with Mel early, I'll guess I'll just tell you the play. I have for you. But first, Harold announced, I just administer the fatal dose of Mel. I want him to still be semi-conscious when he hears my plans for you, but I want him to feel the poison's bite at the same time. The madman laughed as he walked over to Mel and stuck the red needle right in Mel's right pack. Mel didn't flinch, just gave Harold a death step. Wait, I don't. I don't. I don't I don't get it, I asked through my sniveling and tears. Isn't the red syringe supposed to kill Mel immediately?

Oh, that, Harold said, tossing both a red and yellow syringes back down on the metal tray between us. I lied to you about it being an instantaneous death. Yeah, he'll die a lot quicker this way, but no, it won't be painless. In fact, I decided to be extremely painful. Two or three hours of intense agony. Harold giggled as he bent down to look in Mel's eyes. I mixed in some venom from a boomslang snake. You're going to experience headache, muscle spasms, nausea, and my favorite.

He smiled wickedly at Mel, bleeding from your paws. Mel lunged forward in an attempt to headbutt Harold, but Harold retreated just in time. All Mel got for his efforts was the nail in his hand and wire around his wrists to dig in deeper. Eventually, your lungs will fill up and fluid, and your throat will swell, Harold said, addressing Mel. That's if the convulsions don't kill you first. Harold ended the talk by slapping Mel lightly on his sweaty cheek with his leather, gloved hand. And it's game over for you. But you, Pat, Harold said, spinning back to face me. I want him to hear this. I want you to take

the time to fully grasp your situation. Remember, when Mel is gone, it's just you and me. And nothing will stop the future that I have planned for you. Nothing. Once your mind has been broken, you've fully accepted me as your God. I'll transform you into my plaything. Harold said, reaching out to play with my head. Just imagine, you with no arms and no legs,

no responsibility you'll carry in the world. I'll probably break all your teeth out too. I can't have you biting me. My stomach convulsed and I instinctively started pulling at my restraints. I'll take care of you, feed you, clean you, carry you. Eventually the pub will forget about you. Even your son will have weeks or months where the thought of you never crosses his mind. You'll be lost, fallen out of existence, but still mine.

and no one else is. I began to scream at him, not words, just primal screams of fear and rage. He'd taken everything from me, and I saw no way of escaping the morbid future he had planned for me. Well, sorry to cut off like this. I felt like I could just tell the rest of what happened tonight, but this is a lot longer than I remember. Also, all this has brought up some painful PTSD memories. I need to lie down. I'll tell you the rest next time. I promise.

Part 7. Release date. Are you done screaming? My torture asked me as I shook with rage, tied in that damned Y position. I'll leave you a Mel alone so you can enjoy your last moments together. Harold said with satisfaction.

Oh! Oh, Harold chided me. It's your last moment with anyone else beside me for the rest of your life. When he finally dies horribly in front of you, I'll be your last memory. Finally, I'll come back in and throw you in the dark cell for a while, so you can fully digest the sweet despair I've blessed you with. Maybe I'll leave you in the dark for a week. Maybe just a day.

I don't know. Depends on how much I start to miss you. He sat to himself, mostly. as he walked away from Mel and me. I watched him through shivers of panic and fear, while Mel began to fidget uncomfortably in his wheelchair across from me. He was already sweating profusely and having trouble breathing. Harold had almost completely exited the kill-room,

but stopped after throwing back the tarp wall. He was obviously trying to remember something, like how you go through a mental checklist before you leave the house. Oh, yes, he snapped his leather gloves, and walk back to Mel. The snake venom will make you feel drowsy, but I want you to at least give my ped here a solid farewell. You then grab the green syringe from the tray and stuck Mel.

So this will be sure to keep you awake and your big heart pump end for a good long while. Mel growled at him and lunged forward again, only to you up in pain because of his restraints. Harold laughed and pointed at both of us with a stupid grin on his face. This is the part in your movie where the villain leaves the captured hero long enough for the hero to make a dare in escape, huh? Too bad this is real life, and that day of six mashing of bullshit doesn't work here. I'm the only god in this machine.

He pointed at the top wall behind me. I'll be watching you two the whole time, so don't get smart with me or you'll be punished. As I looked to where Harold was pointing, I could see a circular hole cut out. out of the top, just big enough for a camera to film through. It was accompanied by the faint glow of a red record light from somewhere on the other side.

My side and despair and my heart turned cold. Harold was right. It wasn't like the movies. I guess in real life the villains probably win most of the time. I'll be watching the YouTube on my phone so... Harold shot finger guns at us.

Behave yourself. With that smug comment delivered he walked out of the room to prepare my dark self. Me and Mel stared at each other for a few seconds. I could see the pain written all across his face, but yet he carried on, trying to remain stoic. He was sweating heavily and randomly twitching or seizing up in pain. I'm so sorry, Mel, I started to tell him.

My voice already beginning to crack. Mel actually smiled at me, sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. In slow, precise movements he lifted both of his hands upwards from their position of being nailed palms down to the arm of the wheelchair. His bloodied hands moved upwards, painfully sliding their way up the large nails which impelled them. Mel didn't have much slack to lift his forearm off the arm of the chair due to the tightly wrapped wire, but I realised Mel had gained a lot more wiggle room from before by his constant attempts to attack Herald. Also, conveniently, most of the muscle twitches seem to be suspiciously centred around Mel's arms, further pulling the wires loose.

With the flexibility most likely caused by adrenaline, the fear of imminent death, and the uppers Harold had stupidly given him, Mel bent his hands upwards and out from beneath the wicked bite of the nails. Shaking horribly, Mel angled both of his arms inwards towards his chest, and the best he could without giving away what he was doing to the camera behind him. Both thumbs met each other and then pushed them outwards towards me. He opened a hand and held it bladed towards me as he attempted to lift it up to his mouth as he scrunched his head down towards it.

Keep talking, is what Mel just said to me in sign language. Oh my God, when did he learn ASL? So keep talking I did. and Mel told me what we were going to do. I'm not going to tell you the whole plan Mel worked out with me. I'm still an actress at heart and want a surprising and satisfying conclusion for my viewers and listeners. But still, it was hard to decipher a lot of what Mel meant through his very real convulsions, restricted range of motion and shaking and bleeding hands.

Okay, Mel signed to me. Let's go. Mel had gone over the plan three times. 15 minutes had passed him, and Mel was looking like he was on death's door. Already blood was seeping from his sweaty forehead. It had to be now, or we were both doomed. He began shaking the wheelchair violently back and forth, being sure to make a good scene for the camera behind him.

Once he slipped his hands free of the wiring, he held them out to his side and screamed like an animal, like the beast herald was treating him as. We were only a couple of feet away from each other, but I knew Mel couldn't warp because of his Achilles' tendons being cut, so I knew he was going to have to throw himself at me, and it was going to hurt. Mel grabbed the syringes left on the tray between us in his left hand and flung himself at me. Oh, 300 pounds of him smashed against me,

but through the pain I felt the rays of hope. Mel grabbed me around the waist and shook the table we were on as he pulled himself up. Another one of Mel's giant arms hooked around my neck and shoulders, and I tried my hardest to use my body to help brace him as he performed the most delicate part of the escape plan. Both of us were squished together, face to face, and I was right arm angled around the back of my head. He secretly grabbed the yellow syringe with his left hand

and hid it between my panties and butt and pressed against the table. With that work done, he used his left arm to steady himself by holding on to the Y-frame that helped my right arm suspended. This took most of his pressing body weight off me. I began to do my part of the plan. I had to do what I did best. I had to act.

Kill me, Mel, I screamed in panic. Do it quick before he comes back. Please, I don't want to be his pet forever. Mel, with a red syringe in his right hand, stuck the needle into the exposed top of my left breast. He was careful not to push down the pump. "'No, Mel, not the syringe. "'I don't want to die like that.

"'Not like you!' I screamed and thrashed against him. "'Just do it quick, please. "'Not like you. "'Stangle me, break my neck, please, something, quick!' "'So now Mel changed tactics. "'He'd listened to my pleas for mercy. "'He'd grant me a quick death, "'unlike the one he was doomed to suffer.

"'So he steady his hanging, propped up position, with his left hand and placed his right around my throat. I began the greatest act of my lifetime by pretending I was dying. In the relative quiet of Mel flexing his forum and pretending to choke me and me letting out occasional gagging noises, we had no idea if a charade had worked.

So we listened for the echo of footsteps approaching, and finally we heard them coming rapidly towards us. Now came the next stage of the plan as Harold of the void burst through the black tart wall to scream in defiance at Mel. Let her go, you stupid bastard. She's mine. Mel whipped his head around to face Harold. No longer acting, he let out a primal growl of hatred. Harold saw the red syringe sticking out of my skin, and his eyes went wide with shock. Harold lunged at me and Mel, but Mel quickly retrieved the syringe in an attempt to stab his hated enemy, who would fool

run in without thinking. But the psycho bastard reacted quickly by closing the distance and catching Mel's raised right arm with both of his own. Mel shifted his body weight against me and pushed off me to lunge at Harold. Harold caught Mel, but Mel's body weight pulled them both to the ground. On the way down, Mel grabbed my left arm around the wrist and pulled down as quickly and as hard as he could. There was a wicked pop as my thumb dislocated and, skin tore off as my left hand was ripped down and free from the restraint. Oh, thank God the numbing effect from the yellow syringe was still affecting the pain levels in my hand. My left hand was still completely numb, and most of the pain was coming from around my wrist where Mel had grabbed me.

I had no way to know how damage my hand really was from the stunt Mel Paul. O Mel and Harold tussled on the ground. Harold was smart enough to realize he was in a major weight disadvantage, and in a ground fight with the enraged and dying bodyguard, so he quickly tried to slip out from underneath Mel. He almost got away. Herald quickly tried to scramble to his feet with Mel laying on the ground between us, but Mel had tasted blood in the water and wasn't done fighting. Mel's death thore even filled me with terror. Mel sprung upwards on his knees to grab a hold of Harold's belt and pants. This was followed by a massive headbutt tackle to Harold's stomach.

toppling him over with Mel hot on his trail, crawling after him. I began doing my job as the two wrestled on the ground. I shook my left hand vigorously, trying to get the feeling to return to my fingers. The clasp on my right hand restraint and feet were simple and not locked. I guess the all-knowing herald of the void never thought we would get this far. Now all I needed was the feeling to return to my hand, and I could unlock myself and help Mel. I heard Mel scream in pain and I looked up to see Harold underneath him

stabbing Mel with that damn knife he kept showing off earlier. He must have had it in a back pocket and he was giving Mel the prison shank treatment. Blood sprayed out of Mel's side as he launched his final desperate assault. He dropped down all his body weight to pin Harold. Mel's head shot down and took a big toothy bite

out of Harold's pale cheek. I bet he wished he'd knock Mel's teeth out like he'd meant to do to me. Harold screamed and kept stabbing Mal as blood from the bite flooded over his ugly face. Mel started convulsing, but still had lockjaw on Harold's face. Harold kept stabbing, and stabbing had stabbing.

Finally, my heart broke as Mel stopped, convulsing, and laid still. Part of me did feel a sense of relief. He'd gone out like a warrior. he protected me till the very end and I loved him so very much for it. Harold lay under Mel's body and whimpered and let out weak cries as he tried to catch his breath and unpin himself. I watched him pull Mel's jaw off of his face while crying. I almost laughed at the pathetic bastard.

But I couldn't show my cars just yet. I was just starting to begin to feel my fingers after all. A good five minutes went by with hair. Errol struggling to get out from under Mel, but finally he did get free from the corpse and stood up on wobbly legs. Drenched in blood and with his left cheek missing, replaced only by mangled flesh. He stumbled over to me to inspect me with worry, like how a person inspects a prize vehicle after driving it through a hailstorm. He saw my limp and mangled looking left hand and paid it no mind. He didn't injure you with a red one, did he?

Harold asked. Far away like he was in a dream. I'll be able to tell shortly if he did. But the sooner you tell me, the better chances I have to keep the poison from really hurting you. So tell me if you did, or you'll live a truly curse life. Inspiration struck me as I bit my lip like I was indecisive.

My day of acting for my life wasn't over yet. it seemed. He got me. While he tried to hide it, he stuck me in my right armpit, I mumbled. God, I don't want to die like him. Oh no, my pet. Harold mumbled back sweetly to me and leaned in closer, tilting his head to look at my right armpit. God, I hope he didn't hit a vein. That causes a serum to take effect faster. Thanks for the advice. I mumbled back sweetly to him as I looked to the veins in his neck. And my fingers grasped the yellow syringe tucked in my underwear behind me.

Mel knew Harold was smart enough to see a trap coming. If the red syringe was missing, Harold would know we were trying to use it on him. So the red syringe was a false flag to get him to forget about the yellow one. Thank you, Mel. Your plan worked.

I thought through the pain in my broken and torn left hand, just as Mel had done moments earlier to raise the yellow syringe around and stick it deep into a nice blue vein standing out brilliantly on Harold's pale neck. I pushed down the pump and juiced the bastard full of his own medicine. His body went limp and he fell like a sack of garbage, knocking over the metal tray beside us as he smacked the tile grounds. Oh, Harold, the yellow one's a lot more potent than you initially advertised, I said nonchalantly as I began to free myself from my hand and then leg restraints. Herald gurgled and wiggled on the ground, trying to recover

his wits and stand up. In a matter of seconds, I'd freed myself completely from the damn table and kicked Harold in the stomach as he tried to wobble his way onto his knees. Standing over him, unbound, caused the deep anger to burn back brightly within me. I looked over to Mel's naked, dead body, and my teeth started to grind on their own. I knew I was going to kill Harold. I wasn't taking the high road like the heroes in my movies. I wasn't going to show heroic mercy. I was going to pay back all my pain with his death.

Life wasn't like the movies. Harold limply tried to grasp my ankles as I walked away from him to pick up the knife. He'd stab Mel with him. It was practically submerged in a pool of Mel's blood. The floor drain wasn't big enough to drain the blood away quickly enough. A double-sided sharp knife felt good in my right hand as I stalked over to Harold and stood over him as he crawled away.

I grabbed him by his curly, voluminous hair and poured his head up and put my knee in his back. He let out the saddest cry. Right, let's see, I whispered to him as he strolling. struggled in vain. Your little game taught me a lot of cool ways to kill somebody. Which one should I do? Please, came his drunken voice. The yellow serum must be wearing off quickly. Oh, shh, pet, I hissed, already deciding the torture method I was about to perform. There's no stop in the future that's coming for you.

I placed the blade's edge just under his hairline and pulled his head up by a fist of full of his curly bangs. The horrid soaring motion began, and the ripping sound of flesh being pulled away from his skull filled the room. There was a neary moment of quiet as Harold sat in shock, as blood gushed down his face.

And then the screaming began. God, I hope he could feel it. Alas, the act of scalping a man wasn't in me. Oh, I could have mentally done it, but physically my left hand hurt too much to keep pulling. I even tried to switch hands, but still no dice. When I finally gave up, I had done enough damage to Harold anyways. He was half-scout, if that's the thing.

A flap of his skin and hair had been pulled back two inches and flopped around like old lunchmeat. I still wasn't done with him, though. I wanted him to suffer. He didn't get to die quickly. So I walked back to his feet and severed both of his Achilles' tendons with two clean slices. "'That's for Mel,' I said as he began mumbling incoherently to me.

I figured now was a good time to figure out how to get out of this hellhole and not completely lose myself to the bloodlost. I pulled the tarp walls down easily to reveal we were in a bigger main room of some sort of warehouse. All the windows were boarded up and I had no idea what time of day it was outside. Some of the things my bodyguards did had finally rubbed off on me as I returned to Harold to pat down his pocket. I swatted away his feeble attempts to grab me and found a key ring holding tons of keys and an old cell phone.

The cell phone had a password lock. It didn't matter. You could still dial out to 911, but that didn't work either. Why doesn't your cell phone work? Tell me and I may call you an ambulance, I demanded of him. I had no intention of upholding that last part, but if he could lie, then so could I.

Building, block signal, he mumbled, still freely bleeding from his head and looking super woozy. Please, I love you, he cried as I walked away from him. He pathetically pulled himself after me, leaving a blood trail behind like some sort of snail. I walked 33 to cross the room to a heavy sliding door with a padlock on it. I could hear Harold's groans as he poured himself after me inch by inch. while I took my time trying out every key on the keychain. Finally the keypad popped open, and I slid the door open to the crisp night air. We're in the mountain somewhere.

I saw a road, and even the lights of civilization out in the distance. I was free, and I would run all night if I had to. Oh, please stay, came Harold's weak voice. I turned to see he was on the ground feet away from me, on the brink of passing out forever. I couldn't think of anything cool to say, so I just told him the truth. You're a loser, Harold.

So just die already, won't you? I closed the heavy door on him as he lay motionless, slightly weeping as the door latched behind me. I vowed to come back for Mel's body with every cop I could find. A couple of feet out from the building, Harold's phone started vibrating. I looked at it to see multiple notifications and incoming text messages. I guess they were flooding in now since I was finally out of the building. One opened itself onto the screen.

Notice of excommunication. The gentlemen have heard about your extracurricular activities concerning a very famous actress that's in the public eye. This is an unacceptable risk to the many crows. Your accounts have been frozen, and you've been excluded from all. all member benefits until you are brought before the gentleman for final verdicts. This phone will be traced and cleanup team is on standby to deliver you in person to the council.

Well, after about 30 seconds of me being terrified by the idea of another black ops team coming my way, I screamed as the phone sparked and started smoking. It is self-destructed like something from Mission Impossible. Well, long story, less long. I got as far away from the warehouse as I could. It was a good hour or so before a passing group of teenagers noticed me running down the road in my underwear. They were even more freaked out when they recognized me as a movie star. I have for the boys a large sum of money not to film me or tweet anything.

I didn't even want them to call the cops. I asked them to drive me straight to the police department in the next town over. I had no idea how far the many crow's assholes would go to keep me quiet. An hour later I was with the cops. And two hours after that, a sizable old. amount of them raided the suspected warehouse where I was being held. Well, I'd been careful, but wasted too much time. There was no evidence to speak of when the cops arrived. Both Mel's and Harold's bodies were missing, and there was a fresh scent of bleach everywhere. But with all

the evidence gone and only eyewitness testimonies, it was labelled as just a kidnapping for me, while Mel and Stinton were only considered missing, and Daniel was a victim of assault. My publicist did a good job keeping the story out of the news, and I paid up with the teenagers that saved me to ensure their continued silence. Daniel and Tony made full recovery, Daniel having a cool scar, and Tony retiring. I took a year off, Matt, to get some much-needed therapy after the whole ordeal. But I realised I had to be a fighter.

I needed a new fight to survive the trauma, so I took up looking after Stinton's wife and two-year-olds. I moved Mel's grandma into a nice arrest home that was also closer for me to visit, and I paid for Tony's retirement home, and never stopped telling Daniel he was my hero. I went back to work for them. I went back to make a living for the ones who had fought for me. I had to honour their sacrifice. And this is also why I'm finally writing this.

I don't want the fame. I'm already famous. I'm doing it to tell their stories. so you know who the real heroes were. My therapist says it will help. I think it already is. But wait, don't you worry about retaliation from those many crows guys? I hear you ask.

Well, let me end all this with a recap of a mysterious email I received months ago before I started writing. Also, said email deleted itself afterwards. Ms. J. The many crows would like to apologize. for the unprofessional behavior of one of our prior members. You can be assured that the whole matter has been dealt with internally, and you will never again be contacted or accosted by any member of our organization. Again, our most sincere apologies and well wishes.

And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small for your review. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.