The neon effects on my mask let my victims know where I was when I was close enough to strike. Just to give them the chance to react or a single weak attack on my form. I'd deactivated the lights for the moment just to let my vision adjust better. I had to make sure that I was right this time and this wasn’t a hallucination or another case of mistaken identity.
The room we were inside was a hallway, nothing special and the light outside was bright enough but it would grow darker in a few hours. Along was the main kitchen of the house. A three bed place with a picket fence and a front and back garden with neatly cut grass.
There would be more occupants inside this place but none of them had detected my presence yet.
There was no blood splashed across my mask and body yet but it was only a matter of time. This early in the Viewers could tolerate a little hunt and search but I'd need a [Bodycount] soon.
I'd made my way through the way through the local area without alerting anyone in the [Neighbourhood Watch]. The threat response would remain low until my first real kill.
My clothing was rough but hard wearing, it'd take on plenty of cosmetic damage and I could always trade some of my view figures for new gear back in the Cut Zone.
Blood and flesh were harder to remove from thick jeans, a wool coat and long sleeve shirt than I had first assumed. My heavy leather boots would last me for far longer unless I damaged them kicking in barricaded living rooms. The house was beautifully decorated and largely undamaged except for the mess in the kitchen. My fault that.
My heavy leather boots crunched half spilled boxes of cereal into squashed matter. Better than brains at least. Ugh. That stuff does not clean easily. Bodacious uses of violence were popular but made me want to blow chunks when it ended up in my ponytail.
A half-conscious young man in his late teens cowered before me with a hand raised up. A victim, just another casualty or someone who would try to stab me in my guy and run.
Then he'd change his role into a [Haunted Survivor] and I'd need to kill him before they transformed into something resembling a real threat.
Except that this was different, this was somebody I'd spent the last year searching for since we entered this place together with his friends. My only family inside this place. My younger brother. Zen.
I knew my kid brother wouldn't recognise me when I was wearing my slasher equipment and mask but I saw the tattoo on his arm and recognised him despite his change of clothing.
My little kid brother. My parents had odd naming concepts. My name doesn't matter. Not out here. Only my [Killer Identity] mattered and only those who were [Viewers] were aware of it. The rest of the NPCs just knew that I was another psycho killer out to kill more people than the plague. A threat. Nothing more.
Out of loneliness and desperation for normal conversation I'd tried talking to them once when I'd broken into an office building to leave bodies stuffed in supply cupboards. I found a late night worker office manager to explain myself to, reassuring him that I wasn't a threat as long as he sat and listened.
The killer part of me wanted to sever his head from his shoulders and leave the body sitting on his office chair for an early morning work surprise but I retrained myself.
I explained to the wide eyes middle aged man that as a Player forced to kill and commit violent acts just to stay in the game and stay alive for more day. The [Viewing Count] on me had continued to drop but I kept on talking. Retelling how I ended up here and how my first few kills had been messy and partially accidental.The man had pretended to listen to me and when his eyes had widened beneath his glasses when I'd removed my mask and showed them a smile I thought I'd found an ally. Even a friend. I could be a human for a little bit and escape from the cycle of brutal kills and escape.
Just someone to talk to normally which didn't involve talking about horror film scenarios and kill and evasion techniques would have been great. But the fact that he'd listened tore open my hardened emotions, made me more vulnerable than I should have been.
His rough hand gently lay across the bare skin of my cheek as tears, real tears appeared in my eyes. Genuine tears flowed from my eyes. The man showed me kindness, appreciation even. I was reminded of my Father.
He had even offered to pour me a glass from the drinks cabinet inside his private office. I'd stupidly let my guard down and dropped my [Makeshift Weapon] on the grey carpeted flooring. I'd ripped the small wooden handled fire axe from a display cabinet on the way here. I knew that it would break after a few strikes but it would last for a single kill at least.
Psycho killers in the horror movies of Belphus cinema had to work with makeshift weapons, I was the same but it always came with a cost. You needed to property brand yourself and use a signature weapon. I knew that my overall [View Count] was going to drop further but the [Hidden Hunter] scene was boring for me and I'd been half-awake.
As I poured my heart out and tears, literally, the man switched the mood by saying he needed to grab another drink from the cabinet and for me to keep talking he decided to a bottle of strong proof alcohol across my face and had thrown a lit lighter at me laughing as I caught fire.
The flames began to melt my skin as I wind-milled around searching for a nearby office pond to drop into as the man fled and screamed and just screamed for help. For anyone to save them. Late at night it was unlikely but there would have been security guards in the building.
I managed to douse some of the flame with a water cooler in the hallway and made my escape. My skin smelt of burnt bacon and my clothes entirely ruined as I was mocked by fellow newbie Player Killers inside the Cut Zone.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
A few of the older ones among them took pity on my and handed me medicine and bandages to heal a little faster but I was scarred emotionally rather than physically.
I'd learnt my lesson about NPCs the hard way. You could go amongst them as one of them if you were gifted a skill by [Viewers] but you could never talk to them. Not like you could to a normal person on the street.
Zen was was extremely lucky I missed and knocked him out by reflex. He'd be easy meat for any other Player. Just another chopped up or half-eaten corpse. Then he’d respawn or be reused in another of the same houses. The chances of me locating him again if that happened were extremely low.
The tattooed mark on his arm I had given him a year back if my senseof time wasn't completely lost. We had found a tattoo artist shop on the drive here and I had convinced all of us to get matching ones in case we became lost in the desert festival.
I was totally lucky that when I had silently entered looking for victims he had been alone in the kitchen. His shirt had torn when my machete had narrowly missing slicing into his bicep. Not a trace of blood meant that he’d be safe even from other killers who tried to invade my screen time and look for an opportunity to harvest a little extra on the side.
‘ZEN! Try and calm down. Safe…safe…got it. Engage [Emergency Hiding Space].’ I said with some regret. Using it this early in the setting was going to take one of my key cards out of play but there was no choice. I had to control my emotions at finally finding my younger brother and focus on getting him out safely.
There was a reason which killers and maniacs were so good at hiding and how the police never easily caught them. My brain switched to autopilot as the Horror Marathon kicked in and took entire control of my nervous system.
A rush of adrenaline flowed into my blood stream as my strength increased and I ripped open a series of lower cupboard shelves and shoved him in. There was no pain or discomfort as my body operated according to the rules of the one-use ability.
Zen would be uncomfortable but alive and I'd need to select a victim inside this house before the audience grew aware of my hesitation.
Using one of my emergency trump cards was dangerous I knew. I should have kept it in reserve in case an [Armed Vigilante] turned up with a gun and a taste for revenge but this was my kid brother.
I settled for opening cupboard and throwing out the plates and dishes to smash on the yellow laminate flooring. The noise would eventually draw a victim to me soon enough.
The layout of these places was always the same with minor alterations, they did change a little more at night though to make it more confusing when killers were breaking in to look for victims.
Security systems, alarms, even guard dogs and additional locks and preventative measures simply appeared when the skies became dark enough and the NPCs locked themselves in their rooms to undergo hours of unconsciousness.
The house with a picket fence was one of a dozen replicas along the same road. Each house had a red Chevy and a few bicycles with red tassels on the handlebars. Very in tune with the home theme of each picket fenced in garden with the same white painted garage.
Thankfully it wasn't a full on holiday season. Those were the times I both loved and hated the most. Too many [Player Killers] out for kills ruined the atmosphere in trying to build Christmas trees made from human flesh and bone and then leave them all lit up in back gardens and shopping malls.
I wondered if some of them had an internal competition going on who could build the most tree with decorations included. The thought of human entrails used as tinsel and eyes attached to diodes wasn’t enough to make me sick. Not these days. Uncomfortable yes.
Thankfully I had been fortunate to stay away from the Fun Zone of Joy. The killing rewards were better there but the loss of humanity and morals put me right off. Even they were mindless NPCs I had my limits.
No was a hard no. The only killers who went to those places had lost all sense of standards, besides killing the same type of NPCs lacked variety.
I wasn't going to sacrifice what was left of my moral standards for bonus viewers and better gifts. For all my appearance as one as a main antagonist from a horror film the only true way to be safe was to act as one of them. To butcher in creative ways.
Even if I was forced to hack apart innocent NPCs who screamed and whose blood flowed until they turned into faceless, lifeless mannequins who just flopped on the floor. I had even developed my own [Catch Phrase] and [Killer Nickname].
The Griefer. I would cry after killing each victim thus allowing them an opportunity to inflict a [Temporary Lethal Wound] on my physical form. Allowing a basic weakness as a common practice as it kept the victims alive long enough.
Pretending to be a lethal robot covered in a meat substrate suit was a fast way for Views to drop you faster than spilled coffee.
I was taking a risk talking normally to Zen this time but for good reason. As long as I stayed in my [Silent Killer Character] I received sufficient protection during the scenario film running time.
I had my own fans in the audience who gifted me and I had to keep them happy. I raised my reliable [Blooded Machete] above my head and prepared one of my most-used skills at my disposal.
Even retelling my same origin story barely brought any new Fans but it kept my viewer numbers sustainable. I tended to lean into the classic Belphus Film Horror Classics for good reason.
People wanted the same story, even re-told as long as a little bit of extra was injected. I wished I could change my Player Name though. I hadn’t chosen in time and had a randomly generated one bonded to me instead.
Truth was that it wasn’t worth my kill count and viewing numbers to access a name change in the store. Replenishing my equipment and maintaining my own sanity had remained top priority. Possibly that could change if I was able to take Zen out of this place and secure him a role as an [Assisted Killer] but all of that was going to have to wait.
I was especially lucky that my personal fans allowed me [Introspective Recall] as a gift. The few who bothered to send me messages or even took an interest. Guests were Viewers who drifted in and out. If they took a valid interest and liked my work then they paid the Management a fee for permanent access to my profile.
The price to pay for it was that I had to remain static as my mind recalled the past, I was going to be vulnerable to any outside threats unless I chose to speak aloud such as hanging the bodies of the inhabitants of the house from the rooftop.
I would have to follow the actions I spoke but roughly and at least I would have limited protection but it would be like watching a character talk about a past memory while performing a physical activity. My [Viewers] would be distracted and annoyed at me.
[Warning: Entering Introspective Recall requires minimal activity and retrospection. All Guests and Viewers for PlayerKiller Hell_ScutzScream will be locked in during process. Proceed?]