Nailed it!
Silent Hill P.T.!
A demo crafted by Hideo Kojima in Gus Harper's past life.
Never fully released, it became a haunting regret in horror gaming circles, stuck in limbo.
Gus had long toyed with porting P.T. to somatosensory cabins.
A standalone demo? Too short, too obviously incomplete.
Fleshing it out? Gus knew his limits—he couldn't match Kojima's genius.
So, it sat locked in his system, waiting for the right moment.
Now!
Komina's rebooting Silent Hill!
And they need a trial version!
P.T. checks every box.
It's a horror benchmark, the gold standard for psychological fear.
Its fragmented story, mind-bending puzzles, and cryptic vibes? Perfectly vague, dripping with metaphors.
Players wake in a dim, claustrophobic storage room.
Push the door, enter a villa, walk an L-shaped corridor, pass a staircase.
Open another door—back to the corridor's start.
Yup.
The whole demo's just that L-shaped loop.
Players must escape the villa through a disorienting cycle.
Each loop shifts—subtle, creepy changes.
Ghostly women in white, deformed fetuses, bleeding fridges, murder echoes, eyeball photos, chaotic rampages.
Piece by piece, players uncover a brutal wife-murder case.
Yup.
Killing his wife.
Like Silent Hill's main plot, P.T. hinges on a man's descent—murdering his pregnant wife, turning the villa haunted.
Players witness this otherworldly nightmare, distinct yet tied to the main story's core.
Two games, worlds apart in Gus's old life, now fused in this one.
Gus knew he couldn't complete P.T.'s vision.
But he could weave it with Silent Hill, letting both shine.
And this mashup? Unless Gus spills, no one—no one—will guess the main plot.
Relief hit, then excitement.
This was his best shot—respecting the originals while flexing his edge.
"Hell yeah," Gus nodded, grinning. "Perfect. Freaking perfect."
Mid-thought, the study door clicked.
Zoey Parker's head poked in, big eyes blinking. "Done working? Calling me?"
Gus met her gaze, startled, then cracked up.
This kid's a riot.
"What's so funny?" Zoey huffed, nose wrinkling.
"Nothing, haha," Gus waved it off. "Just hit a creative spark."
"Liar!" Zoey checked her clothes, snapped a selfie—no weirdness. "You plotting something? Spill it!"
Gus stood, stretching. "Not you, swear. Just hyped about a game idea."
He headed for the door, curious what Zoey prepped for dinner.
Zoey grabbed his wrist, leaning back. "Nuh-uh, explain!"
Gus, a solid dude, barely budged. Zoey, under a hundred pounds, got dragged like a puppy.
"Hey! You jerk! No escaping!" Zoey jumped, latching onto Gus's back, arms around his neck. "Spill! What's the laugh?"
Gus carried her to the kitchen, chuckling. "Told ya, it's the game idea, not you. I said 'miaomiao' 'cause I'm pumped about the Komina project."
"Liar!" Zoey pouted. "What's the idea?"
"It's the Komina collab," Gus said. "Demo and main game will echo each other. Main game's protagonist smothers his wife, lands in the afterlife. Demo's guy, paranoid and jealous, hacks his pregnant wife with a cleaver, making a haunted house."
Gus grabbed a kitchen knife, sharpening it twice—shink, shink.
"Keeps 'em separate but linked—"
He froze.
His shoulders lightened.
Zoey was two meters back, eyes wide, pure panic. "I-I'm sorry… was just joking…"
Terrifying!
What'd he say?
Pillow-smothering? Cleaver-murder?
Psycho-level plot!
And sharpening a knife while saying it?
Zoey's skin crawled, chills racing from feet to scalp.
Huddled against the wall, she was a living scared.jpg.
"What's wrong?" Gus raised the knife, confused.
Zoey yelped. "Oh god! No, no, no!"
"My bad! Won't climb you again! I didn't even choke hard—put the knife down!"
"Gus, you're young! Don't go full criminal!"
Gus glanced at the knife, replayed his words, and got it.
Stone-faced, he said, "Sing. Happy Sheep and Pretty Sheep, twenty times. Go."
"I can't…" Zoey whimpered.
"Sing!" Gus pressed.
"Happy… Happy Sheep… Pretty Sheep…" Zoey sang, voice breaking. "Don't see me as just a sheep…"
Gus grinned, slicing beef for tonight's stir-fry.
"New song!"
"Uh… Dad's dad is Grandpa… Dad's mom is Grandma…"
"Another!"
"Little Sparrow… in a flowery dress…"
"Haha, next time you want a piggyback, bring your own tunes—I'm done!" Gus laughed.
"Fine… fine…" Zoey mumbled.
Gus had a blast but worried he'd spooked Zoey too hard.
Dinner was tense—Zoey's eyes darted, serving drinks, piling food on his plate, hyper-attentive.
Gus, half-amused, half-guilty, explained the misunderstanding and his Komina plan.
Zoey exhaled. "Phew—thought you were threatening me."
"You? Scared?" Gus sipped his drink. "Didn't peg you for a chicken."
"Chicken? Bro, your plot's deranged! Only a psycho dreams that up!"
"That's why I'm the only one who can nail it," Gus smirked, smug.
"Fair, psychos like you are rare…" Zoey muttered, then got serious. "So, this design's to keep Komina from bailing later?"
"Can't say for sure, but their track record's shaky. Gotta stay sharp."
Gus reached for his cigarette case, ready for a post-meal smoke in the bathroom.
Zoey swiped it, popping a green grape in his mouth. "No smoking after eating. Have fruit."
The sweet grape juice hit, warm and soft. Gus paused.
"You worried about me?" he teased, grinning.
Zoey froze, cheeks pink, then scoffed. "Pfft, just don't want my cash cow keeling over early!"
"Tch, Zoey, so blunt," Gus said, grabbing another grape. "What boss says that to their team?"
"Honest ones," Zoey shot back, loading the dishwasher. "Every boss thinks it."
"Solid. I respect that," Gus nodded. "I'll push WindyPeak higher, make killer games, turn us into a profit legend."
Crash!
Zoey nearly faceplanted into the dishwasher, then waved frantically. "No need for that! Don't stress yourself!"
Dishes done, they flicked on the projector, picked a variety show, and chilled.
"Plans for tomorrow?" Gus asked, eyes on the screen.
"Dude, you're clueless! You're Japan-bound Monday, and you're asking about plans?"
Zoey gawked. "We're shopping tomorrow! You're gone a month, maybe two. I need gear—clothes, gadgets, you name it!"
"What?" Gus blinked. "I'm gone a month-plus, and you're shopping here? Japan's got stuff. I'll grab it there."
Zoey choked. "Uh… because…"
She floundered. "Because Japan's stuff ain't as good as ours!"
Gus's face went deadpan. "Your Shiseido skincare set says hi."
"Cough…" Zoey scratched her cheek. "That's… an exception! My face uses their stuff, but my heart's all-American!"
Gus gave a slow thumbs-up. "Epic."
Suddenly, Zoey's phone blared—beep, beep!
Gus glanced at the clock: nearly 8 p.m. "What's the alarm? New episode drop?"
Zoey leapt from the sofa, smacking her thigh—whack!
"Ow!" She winced, waving at Gus. "Quick, ditch the show, pull up WindyPeak's data platform!"
"Why?" Gus grabbed the mouse, puzzled. "What projects we got?"
"Not that! Apex's ours, right?" Zoey rubbed her thigh. "Don't you track its profits?"
"It's been a week," Gus shrugged. "Apex's free-to-play. No weekly stats for those—usually monthly or quarterly. Too short for solid data."
Gus was right.
But he didn't factor in Zoey's angle.
Because, in two minutes…
Her first sub-project—Apex!
Final settlement's dropping!