The question wasn't just who was behind this nightmare—it was how to stop it. Ghost, human, or rogue AI, I needed to know why Emily died, why my life was spiraling into a low-budget horror flick. The studio was a ghost town, shuttered since Ethan's death. With the landlord breathing down my neck to clear out for new tenants, I had no choice but to face the wreckage. Ryan had to check in with his precinct, so Tim tagged along, his Taoist vibes a stark contrast to the sterile office.
I slumped into Emily's old chair, memories flooding back—her laughing over bad coffee, her focus as she coded late into the night. My chest tightened. Tim's voice cut through the haze. "Jake, don't linger there. That spot's got bad energy, trust me."
I nodded, not in the mood to argue with Mr. Mystic. I started packing her stuff, pulling open her desk drawer. Papers, pens, a stray Post-it with her doodles—then my fingers brushed something odd. A worn leather notebook, edges frayed like it'd been through a few wars. I'd never seen Emily use it. Curious, I flipped it open.
The first pages were sketches, crude and old-school, like something from a 1980s comic book. But as I turned more pages, the vibe shifted—drawings grew darker, jagged lines forming demonic faces and fiery pits. Then, words appeared, scrawled in Emily's neat handwriting: "Make the world feel Hell's wrath."
My hands shook, the notebook slipping onto the desk with a thud. Tim spun around, his eyes narrowing. "What's that?"
I pointed, my voice barely a whisper. "Emily… she was in on the game. This is hers. It's got notes, sketches—stuff straight out of the game's levels."
Tim grabbed the notebook, his face tightening as he scanned it. "This isn't just a diary, Jake. It's a grimoire—ritual stuff, summoning vibes. Heavy, dark magic." He flipped to a page detailing "Hell's Gate Protocol," with diagrams matching the game's torture scenes. "Your girlfriend wasn't just coding. She was conjuring."
I staggered back, my mind reeling. "No way. Emily was… she was normal. She binged rom-coms and burned toast, not summoned demons!" But the evidence was staring me in the face. Emily had helped build the game, kept it secret, and handed me the USB like it was a birthday present. Why?
Ryan showed up, his face a storm cloud. He glanced at Tim, who was still poring over the notebook, and muttered, "You still buying this guy's ghost-buster act? It's 2025, Jake. We need facts, not fairy tales."
I clutched Emily's old scarf, her scent still lingering. "Facts? Ethan's dead, Ryan. He built the game, and now we find out Emily was in on it. Mike's death might tie to his crush on Claire, but Emily? She's the first victim, and I've got no clue why. The game's stalled, the studio's done, and we're chasing shadows. What else can I believe?"
Ryan lit a cigarette, exhaling frustration. "I get it, man. This sucks. But we stick to logic. Tim might have tricks, but don't bet your life on his hocus-pocus."
Before I could argue, Tim yelled, "Cheat Pass!" We rushed to the computer, where the game's infernal interface glowed. A treasure chest icon blinked, labeled "Cheat Pass Acquired." My pulse spiked. "Open it," I said, leaning over Tim's shoulder.
He clicked, launching the third level—Iron Tree Hell, where liars got impaled on spiked branches. The usual gameplay was a nightmare, impossible to beat without the pass. Tim activated it, and the screen shifted to two headless demons dragging in a chained figure. My heart stopped. It was Lila.
Her face was pale, eyes vacant, like a puppet with cut strings. Ryan cursed, slamming his fist on the desk. "How the hell is Lila in this? She's in the hospital, not a damn video game!"
I flashed back to Ethan's ghost in the hospital, hissing, "Next, it's you." Was the game targeting the whole studio? "We gotta get to her," I said, my voice tight. "Max and Ethan died after their levels. We're not losing Lila."
Ryan was already moving, keys in hand. "Hospital, now." We raced out, Tim trailing, his sword strapped to his back like he was ready to slay a digital dragon. The drive was a blur, Ryan weaving through traffic like he was auditioning for Mad Max. At the hospital, we sprinted to Lila's room—empty. The bed was made, her stuff gone.
A nurse passed by, and I grabbed her arm. "The patient here—Lila Bennett—where is she?"
She blinked, confused. "I saw her head to the elevator, maybe to see her doctor. She was alone."
Ryan's eyes narrowed. "Alone? Which way?"
"Elevator," the nurse said, pointing. "Came down from the eighth floor."
I felt a chill. "Eighth floor? That's one step from the roof." Ryan and I locked eyes, the same thought hitting us: suicide. The game wasn't just killing—it was driving people to their deaths.
We bolted for the elevator, Tim close behind. The eighth floor was quiet, the air thick with disinfectant and dread. A stairwell led to the rooftop, and my gut screamed that Lila was up there. We burst onto the roof, the city skyline glittering below, white hospital sheets flapping like ghosts in the wind.
"Lila!" I shouted, scanning the shadows. Ryan took one side, I took the other, weaving through drying laundry and rusted vents. Then, behind a concrete pillar, I saw her—Lila, teetering on the edge, her hospital gown fluttering. One step, and she'd be gone.
"Lila, don't!" I yelled, inching closer. Her eyes were glassy, like she was sleepwalking through a nightmare. The game's influence was written all over her face. Ryan flanked her, his voice low and steady. "Hey, Lila, it's us. You're okay. Step back, alright?"
She didn't move, her lips trembling. "It… it told me to come here," she whispered. "The game… it's inside my head."
Tim stepped forward, pulling a paper talisman from his robes. "Hold tight, Jake. This ain't just her." He muttered something in a language I didn't catch, slapping the talisman on Lila's forehead. She gasped, her body jerking like she'd been shocked, then collapsed into Ryan's arms, out cold but breathing.
"What the hell was that?" Ryan demanded, cradling Lila.
Tim's face was grim. "The game's not just code—it's a curse. Something's latched onto her, feeding off her fear. We need to destroy that USB, Jake. It's the anchor."
I nodded, my mind racing. Emily's diary, Ethan's death, Lila's near-jump—it all pointed to the game as more than a program. It was a gateway, and I was running out of time to close it.