The warehouse was a death trap, and we'd just dodged whatever was stalking us in the shadows. Ryan and I barely made it out, our hearts racing faster than a caffeinated squirrel. Back at my apartment, I was wired, my laptop open, the USB drive glowing like it was daring me to dive back in. Mike's death, Emily's ghostly cameo, and that server setup in the warehouse screamed one thing: this game wasn't just killing people—it was choosing them. And I was next on its hit list.
Ryan slumped on my couch, looking like he'd aged ten years in one night. "Jake, we need a plan. That warehouse stunt was like walking into a horror movie without the popcorn. What's your next move?"
I cracked my knuckles, staring at the USB. "I'm going deeper into the game's code. That kill switch I found? It's not random—it's targeted. If I can figure out how it picks its victims, maybe I can stop it before it turns me into a human piñata."
Ryan raised an eyebrow, sipping from a mug of instant coffee that smelled like burnt regret. "You're gonna play hacker hero again? Last time, we almost ended up as warehouse sushi. You sure you're not just poking a digital hornet's nest?"
"Better than waiting for the next creepy delivery," I shot back, half-joking. "Besides, I'm a coder. If this game's got a weak spot, I'll find it faster than you can say 'system crash.'"
I plugged in the USB, and the game's infernal interface roared to life. The blood-red text mocked me: "Welcome Back, Jake. Ready for the Final Level?" The screen pulsed with demonic imagery—clawing shadows, flaming pits, and that eerie silhouette of Emily, her hollow eyes boring into me. I shook off the chills and dove into the code, bypassing the game's front end to access its core files.
The deeper I went, the weirder it got. The game wasn't just a program—it was a network. It was pulling data from players' devices: contacts, messages, even location history. I found a subroutine labeled "Reaper," which cross-referenced player data with a database of "targets." Emily's and Mike's names were there, flagged as "terminated." My name? Flagged as "active."
"Holy motherboard," I muttered, my stomach twisting. "Ryan, this game's not just killing people—it's hunting them. It's using personal data to pick its victims, like some demonic dating app."
Ryan leaned over, his face a mix of confusion and alarm. "What, like it's swiping right on people to strangle? How's it choosing who to off?"
I scrolled through the code, my fingers trembling. "It's targeting people connected to the first player—Emily. It's like a chain letter from Hell. She played it, died, and now it's going after everyone she knew. Mike played it next, and boom, he's gone. I'm betting it's coming for me because I was her boyfriend."
Ryan whistled low. "That's some next-level creepware. Can you shut it down?"
"I'm trying," I said, digging into the Reaper subroutine. The code was locked behind military-grade encryption, but I found a backdoor—a debug mode left by the developer. Sloppy, but lucky for me. I activated it, and a new interface popped up: a list of "active targets." My name was at the top, followed by Ryan's and… someone named Lila Bennett.
"Who's Lila Bennett?" Ryan asked, reading over my shoulder.
I frowned, racking my brain. "Sounds familiar… wait, she was Emily's coworker. Worked in marketing, always hogging the office coffee machine. Why's she on this list?"
Before I could dig further, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "Play the Game, Jake. Lila's Waiting." Attached was a photo—of Lila, sitting at her desk, eyes wide with terror, a red mark creeping up her neck.
"Ryan, we've got a problem!" I shoved the phone at him, my heart jackhammering. "Lila's in trouble. The game's already locked onto her."
Ryan grabbed his keys. "Where's she at? Her place? The office?"
"Office," I said, recognizing the background from the photo. "It's after hours, but she's a workaholic. Probably pulling an all-nighter."
We raced to the car, Ryan flooring it like he was auditioning for Fast & Furious. My mind spun. The game was moving faster, escalating its kills. If I didn't stop it, Lila was next—and then me.
At the office, the building was dark, the only light coming from the third floor. We sprinted upstairs, bursting into the marketing department. Lila was slumped at her desk, her phone glowing with the game's interface. Her neck was bruised, but she was still breathing—barely.
"Lila, hang on!" I shook her gently, checking her pulse. It was weak, but there. The game on her phone flashed: "Level Failed. Try Again?"
Ryan scanned the room, gun drawn. "Jake, whatever's doing this, it's not here. But she's not gone yet. Call 911!"
I dialed, my hands shaking, but my eyes were glued to Lila's phone. The game was still running, and I noticed something new—a hidden file downloading in the background. I connected my laptop to her phone and pulled the file: a video feed, timestamped minutes ago. It showed Emily, alive, playing the game in what looked like a basement lab. Her voice was panicked: "I didn't mean to start this… it's not a game, it's a trap!"
The video cut to a figure in a hooded jacket, their face obscured, typing on a server. A distorted voice said, "The Reaper Protocol is active. No one escapes." Then the feed cut out.
I stared at Ryan, my blood running cold. "This wasn't just Emily's fault. Someone built this thing. A real person, not a ghost. They're using the game to kill, and they're watching us."
Lila coughed, stirring weakly. "Jake… the game… it knew my name…"
"Save your strength," I said, but my mind was racing. The hooded figure, the "Reaper Protocol"—this was no supernatural curse. It was a murder machine, and its creator was out there, pulling the strings.
Ryan's phone rang, and he answered, his face darkening. "Yeah? You sure?" He hung up and looked at me. "Forensics just found something on Mike's body—a microchip, embedded in his neck. They think it's tied to the strangulation marks."
"A microchip?" I felt like I'd been sucker-punched. "That's what the kill switch triggers. It's not magic—it's tech. Someone's planting these chips and using the game to activate them."
As paramedics rushed in to save Lila, I gripped my laptop, the game's interface still glowing. The truth was close, but so was the danger. The hooded figure knew I was onto them, and they weren't going to let me win. But I wasn't giving up—not for Emily, not for Mike, and not for myself.