Horror Game Designer

Chapter 14: The First Chain

Zhao Xi’s cellphone, a repository of his life’s fragments, slipped from his wound amidst the torrential downpour, plummeting from the height of a five-story building. As it crashed to the ground, the phone shattered into countless pieces, utterly obliterated by the impact.

This phone had held much more than digital data; it was a vault of Zhao Xi’s life. It contained videos and images, the silent words he whispered to himself in his loneliest moments, his aspirations, his envies, and even the darkest, most brutal thoughts that he harbored deep within. As the phone met its end on the rain-soaked ground, these intimate shards of Zhao Xi’s existence dissolved into the relentless rain.

Drenched to the bone, Gao Ming was jolted into action by the sound of the phone’s demise. He commenced his ascent only after this auditory cue.

“Hold on tight! You reckless man! Did you really dare to jump?” the investigator shouted.

“Be careful! You’re still not past the fifth-floor window!” another voice added.

The investigator and Teacher Yao, soaked through by the relentless rain, used all their strength to haul Gao Ming upwards.

Clutching the rope with all his might, Gao Ming exerted every ounce of his strength. Ironically, it was as if Zhao Xi himself had orchestrated the destruction of his own cellphone.

Back on the fifth-floor balcony, Zhao Xi stood there, his expression a mix of confusion and pain, a stark contrast to his earlier numb, cold demeanor. He seemed lost, his gaze lingering on Gao Ming, reflecting a turmoil of emotions.

Trapped in a web of relationships with friends, family, and neighbors, Zhao Xi had found himself cornered, unable to discern a path forward, eventually leading him to the brink of the building.

In life, he seemed to have been overlooked, and even in death, he was the subject of complaints, with people wishing he had chosen a more distant place to die. “Such bad luck,” they lamented, concerned about the impact on property values.

During the final chapter of his life, Zhao Xi had met many who, albeit unintentionally, nudged him closer to the window’s edge. Gao Ming was the only exception.

The phone’s videos had chronicled Zhao Xi’s hidden desires and the malice that an otherwise honest man harbored. Now, this malice was symbolically annihilated by Zhao Xi’s own actions.

From his body emerged a dense, black shadow, possibly signifying a connection between Zhao Xi and an unknown realm or some mysterious energy.

In room 2507, his solitary sanctuary, Zhao Xi stood. This room had been his abode, and on that rain-drenched night, he had remained standing there, just as he was now.

Tugged along by the rope, Gao Ming gazed intently at Zhao Xi inside the room. After a brief moment of contemplation, he made a pivotal decision.

Positioning himself on the windowsill of room 2507, Gao Ming readjusted his stance, released the rope, and leaped back into the room.

This unexpected action left Teacher Yao and the investigator utterly stunned. Teacher Yao, who hadn’t cursed in over thirty years, couldn’t help but let slip a swear word.

“SHIT! Why did he go back in there?!”

“I’ve never witnessed anyone dare to jump back and forth like this on a fifth-floor window ledge,” remarked the disfigured investigator, who, despite his exhaustion, held fast, fearing Gao Ming might leap out again.

Gao Ming was aware of Teacher Yao and the investigator’s comments, but he chose to ignore them, advancing step by step towards Zhao Xi.

“Since your youth, you’ve always been the one to endure, to avoid troubling your family. Even as life dealt you blow after blow, you simply dusted yourself off and persevered,” Gao Ming declared, stopping in front of Zhao Xi. “I will make sure everyone knows what you’ve endured. I will be the family you never had.”

Instead of extending his hand for a handshake, Gao Ming opened his arms and tenderly embraced Zhao Xi, offering words of empathy, “You’ve already endured so much.”

In moments of profound vulnerability, people often seek not just comforting words, but the physical comfort of a familial embrace.

As their bodies awkwardly intertwined, with Zhao Xi’s neck contorting uncomfortably, it was evident that he was unaccustomed to such closeness.

When Zhao Xi retreated, the dark shadows that had been emanating from his body seemed to detect their target, beginning to flow towards Gao Ming.

These shadows, unable to penetrate Gao Ming’s body, accumulated on the surface of his skin, forming patterns akin to living, moving black veins or minuscule chains.

Touching them, Gao Ming felt the surge of oppression, pain, and despair. These shadows were an amalgamation of Zhao Xi’s tormented memories.

Gao Ming’s arm was wracked with intense pain, making his breathing labored. He attempted to grasp at the chain-like shadows. He harbored a peculiar intuition that capturing the chain might bestow him with abilities akin to Zhao Xi’s. However, it could also lead to Zhao Xi’s disappearance.

Zhao Xi observed Gao Ming in silence. As the shadows departed from his body, his wounds and facial expressions gradually normalized. However, his physical form started to take on an ethereal quality. It appeared that Zhao Xi’s complete disappearance would result in the full formation of the black chain on Gao Ming.

“Brother Zhao, my words were sincere. In the future, I could introduce you to other family members,” Gao Ming said, his expression contorted by the agony of a splintering spirit as he tried to steady his shaking arm.

In room 2507, Zhao Xi was confronting his ultimate decision. He stood motionless for an extended period, then slowly craned his neck. He gazed towards the full-length mirror in the living room. The mirror portrayed an inverted world but failed to reflect his figure.

With hands scarred from calluses and wounds, he waved gently, yet his image remained absent in the mirror.

Coming to a realization, Zhao Xi’s damaged form turned silently. He abandoned his earlier plan of leaping from the building with Gao Ming and instead headed towards the stairwell.

The neighbors he knew from the WeChat group chat were all illusions; he had been the sole occupant of the entire apartment building.

Descending the stairs, Zhao Xi’s presence caused the shadows cloaking the apartment to dissipate, and the temperature in the areas he passed through gradually increased.

“Brother Zhao! I haven’t lied to you!”

Upon witnessing Zhao Xi’s departure, Gao Ming promptly followed him. Hearing his voice, both the investigator and Teacher Yao quickly emerged.

“Has Zhao Xi left?” Teacher Yao asked, displaying only mild surprise. In contrast, the disfigured investigator was engulfed in disbelief.

“How did you accomplish this? Quickly, I need to document it! We’ve resolved an anomaly before dawn! This is truly a miracle!” exclaimed the investigator, his excitement palpable as he clutched Gao Ming’s hands.

“Adults, too, crave understanding and solace. I merely wished to forge a familial bond with him, but he departed,” Gao Ming expressed, halting the investigator who had begun to feverishly jot down notes. “Please, don’t jot down inaccuracies! My approach to reach his heart was through intricate analysis, reinforced by the years I spent as Zhao Xi’s neighbor. This technique is unique and inimitable.”

“You possess a remarkable quality! I sensed your uniqueness from our very first encounter!” The investigator, still gripping Gao Ming’s hand, exclaimed with enthusiasm.

“You hardly noticed me when we first met,” Gao Ming countered.

“That detail is insignificant,” the investigator replied earnestly. “Should you be interested, consider joining our Investigation Bureau. I would gladly recommend you!”

“I might think about it if job hunting proves fruitless,” Gao Ming suggested, nodding towards Zhao Xi’s room. “His room may still hold some clues. You should take a look.”

With the investigator’s attention redirected, Gao Ming didn’t stay put. He proceeded downstairs, following Zhao Xi and hoping for a reward at the game’s conclusion.

Upon reaching the ground floor, Gao Ming found that Zhao Xi had already vanished. The dissipating shadows left behind a black and white obituary photo at the stairwell entrance.

As Gao Ming reached to retrieve it, Teacher Yao, standing beside him, emitted a startled cry.

“What’s the matter?” Gao Ming inquired.

Under Gao Ming’s attentive eyes, Teacher Yao raised his hands, his form beginning to blend into the shadows. “It seems… I can no longer leave this place,” he murmured.

“Teacher Yao!” Gao Ming exclaimed.

The stairwell’s temperature rose, and the lights flickered momentarily. In that instant, Teacher Yao’s form fused with the shadows.

When the lights stabilized, Teacher Yao was nowhere to be seen, leaving only his black and white obituary photo behind.

Gao Ming carefully picked up both obituary photos. Teacher Yao’s photo captured his resigned, somewhat helpless smile.

The back bore childlike, uneven handwriting: “Family member’s photo (individual at death’s door). I listened to my inner voice. Rather than passively awaiting death in bed, stripped of freedom and dignity, I yearned to re-experience the essence of being alive.”

In reality, Teacher Yao, afflicted with a terminal illness and confined to his bed, seemed to have reclaimed the feeling of life in the shadow-enshrouded world.

“Was this genuinely Teacher Yao’s own decision?”

Gao Ming then examined the second obituary photo. It depicted a distorted, eerie Zhao Xi falling from the balcony, with Gao Ming at the window firmly grasping him.

In this image, only Gao Ming was depicted in color. His arms, grasping Zhao Xi, were entwined with black, chain-like veins, symbolically binding their arms together.

“Family member’s photo: The ties between family members encompass a promise, a responsibility, and also signify rights and control. I willingly become a part of you, with the hope that my struggles and pain will be acknowledged by more.”

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