"Hah! 99! 100! Fuh!!". I never thought I would ever be able to do 100 pushes up in a single session. But, I did it just now.
This body were once swimming in my old clothes because the clothes were too big, other than those girlish clothes of course, now strained against the fabric of my t-shirt. The sleeves dug into my biceps, the hem rode up to expose a strip of toned stomach, and the pants were comically short, ending well above my ankles. Damn. I looked awesome, every time I flex my muscle would peek out and say hi. But, although I am loving my new looks, the bad side of it, is that it happened way too fast. Too instant, 2 nights ago, I was still scrawny, now in just 2 days, I looked like a normal body that Is showing the result of working out.
Luckily, the Hardcox's, although loving my changes, the still decided to not jumped on me, on everything. My reclusive habits were so well-established me holing up in my room was normal. So, no one came barging in. So, this give me enough time to adapt to my new frame, the unfamiliar weight of muscle, to practice moving my taller, broader body, I need time to get used to it. luckily, I was able to do so quickly. And honestly, I feel alive again, it felt good to no longer have the feminine habits of old Sael, sneaking up, my newly growth muscle overrides those actions.
Also, a quick online order solved the immediate problem of my clothing problem, this new sweet body instantly left me with no fit shirt and pants, thankfully, with just Fifty dollars I was able to bought a simple wardrobe of large-sized shirts and jeans. I wanted to show everyone my new body, but at the same time, if I walked out and said, 'look everyone, boom! Biceps!' I was guaranteed to be sent to a hospital. Intentionally I wore baggy clothes, but even that can only hide my new frame slightly, but it was enough, beside it was quite comfortable.
I took all my meals in my room today, because I was busy doing something. Mom and Aunt Vera didn't question anything, I did show them that I am changing, and they trusted me for it. The entire family were filled with happiness that It was palpable, a warm current running through the apartment. Thanks to me being, normal again.
As night fell, the glow of my computer screen is the only light in the room. Before me was my magnum opus, my ticket to immortality in this world: the VR adaptation of Silent Hill PT. I have been working on it all day.
After the conversion, which further amplify the game, it became a masterpiece of terror, reborn anew. I had taken Kojima's chilling concept and weaponized it for full virtual immersion. The endless, shifting hallway wasn't just on a screen; it surrounded the player, pressed in on them. The sound design was a psychological scalpel—every drop of water, every distant whisper, every distorted radio crackle was engineered to fray the nerves. The Lisa creature didn't just appear and with enough time anyone can get used to her, no; her presence becomes more amplified, a suffocating pressure change in the air, her breathing a moist, ragged sound that seemed to come from right behind your shoulder. I had coded her AI to be unpredictable, her pathing a thing of malignant genius. She could be anywhere. She was always watching.
I'd done too good of a job. I admit it. I'd play tested it myself, armed with the full knowledge of every scare, every trigger. And I'd barely made it through. My heart had been a frantic drum against my ribs, my palms slick with sweat, a cold dread coiling in my gut that no amount of rational thought could dispel. The fear I felt was primal, bypassing the brain and speaking directly to my spine. It was a perfection to me. It was glorious. I am sure that, if I released this, it would be the best horror game ever.
"Sunday, Run a comparative analysis. Horror genre. Top-rated titles of the last five years. Critical reception, player metrics, streamer reactions. If we are going to launch the game…we need to understand the landscape, we are getting into…". I said as I leaned into my chair.
"[Compiling,]" her voice responded, smooth and efficient. Windows bloomed across my screen, a waterfall of data, video clips, and reviews.
The picture that emerged was one of staggering, profound mediocrity. Horror was popular, sure. It was a massive genre. But the bar for quality was buried six feet under. I found the reigning champion, the undisputed king of terror in this world: The Suffering of Duke Winston. Price tag: a jaw-dropping 1,999 dollars. Critically acclaimed. Ten-out-of-ten scores across the board. Winner of countless "Game of the Year" awards.
I pulled up a gameplay walkthrough. The premise was solid enough: trapped in a gothic Renaissance castle, solve puzzles to escape. Then I saw the puzzles. "Match three" gem games. childish picture sliders. The "horror" consisted of a cheap-looking spectral model—the ghost of the Duke, I presumed—placed in fixed locations. The player would walk down a corridor, and upon reaching a specific trigger point, the ghost would slide out from the side of the screen with a loud screech. That was it. Always from the side. Never from behind, never from above. And in countless instances, if you bothered to look, you could see the ghost's pixelated elbow or the glow of its aura clipping through a wall long before the "scare" was triggered.
I stared, dumbfounded. This wasn't horror. This was a carnival funhouse with a single, broken jump-scare animatronic.
"Sunday, is this… is this the famous one? The best they have?"
"[Affirmative,]" she replied. "[Metadata confirms: 'The Suffering of Duke Winston' holds a 97% aggregate critical approval rating. It has won fourteen 'Best Horror' awards. It is frequently cited as the pinnacle of the genre.]"
A cold knot of disbelief formed in my stomach. "Show me player reactions… display the top streamers."
New windows opened. I watched a famous streamer, a guy with millions of followers, play the game. He walked down a hallway. A ghost slid out from the side. He screamed "OH, SHIT! AHHH!" and literally fell out of his chair, his chair rolling away as he lay on the floor, clutching his chest in exaggerated terror. The chat exploded with laughing emojis and 'OMG SCARY!'.
Another window: a revered game critic, known for his stoic demeanor, nodded sagely at the screen. "It's the best game ever made, hands down," he said with utter, earnest sincerity. "A landmark achievement.".
Another: a legendary Hollywood director appeared in a promotional clip. "From the music to the visuals, it is professionally done. I'm impressed," he said, his face a mask of genuine admiration.
Then, the kicker: a channel called 'Hot Babes Reviewer', hosted by the stunningly beautiful A-list actress Scarlet Johnson. She and other starlets played the game, shrieking and clinging to each other at every predictable jump-scare. "Let's just say this game should be turned into a mega movie!" Scarlet proclaimed, and her guests all nodded in vigorous agreement.
I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. The sheer scale of the delusion was breathtaking.
"Sunday," I said, my voice flat. "If we released my version of Silent Hill as it currently exists, what would be the projected outcome?"
"[Based on analysis of current player tolerance and physiological data from your own playtest,]" Sunday responded calmly, "[it is projected that approximately 20% of players would be able to play the game for more than fifteen minutes without quitting.]"
"And finishing the game?"
"[Completion rate is projected at 4.7%.]"
A dry, humorless laugh escaped me. "How many would get a heart attack?"
"[For players with pre-existing heart conditions or heightened anxiety disorders, the physiological stress responses recorded during your playtest indicate a 98% probability of requiring medical intervention.]"
"Hah~….".I let out a long, weary sigh, sinking deeper into my chair.
I stared at the screen, at the pristine, terrifying code of my masterpiece. I had created the ultimate horror experience, a game that would be legendary on my old Earth. And I was going to have to nerf it. I couldn't debut with a game that literally hospitalized people. I'd be infamous, not famous. A monster, not a genius.
"Sunday," I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "We need to… recalibrate."
"[Understood. Please specify the parameters for the reduction process.]"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, a profound sense of artistic defeat washing over me. "…Sunday, we have to adjust a lot of things for this game to be sellable…. I got too carried away with creating a game that can spook me… I overlooked the fact that… I was thinking by my old-world standard…"
"[I apologize for not reminding you, sir.]". Sunday offered her condolences.
"Nah… it's okay…. I'll treat this as a learning experience; to just lower my expectation a little bit… maybe someday this world can handle all the game that I wanted to release at its original state….".
I sat in the ergonomic chair; the hum of the cooling fans the only sound in my dimly lit room. Before me, on the main viewscreen, was the code for Silent Hill PT. It was a thing of dark beauty, a meticulously crafted engine of psychological dread. Each line of code was a brick in an endless, shifting corridor of terror. And I was now methodically taking a sledgehammer to it; it had to be done.
"Reduce the Lisa entity's proximity trigger radius by forty percent," I instructed.
"[Acknowledged]," Sunday's voice was neutral, devoid of judgment. On the screen, variables changed. The malevolent presence that was designed to feel like it was breathing down the player's neck was now politely asked to keep a few more feet of distance.
"Next, the ambient auditory layer. Insert three-second pauses of complete silence between the whispering audio cues in Section 4-B. And lower the decibel level of the fetal radio signal by twenty percent."
"[Adjusting.]" The soundwave visuals on a secondary monitor flattened, their terrifying peaks and troughs softened into gentler hills. I was neutering the soundscape, dismantling the constant, gnawing anxiety that was the game's lifeblood.
I was sanding down the edges of a razor blade, turning a scalpel into a butter knife, so to say. The frustration was a physical ache in my jaw, which I had clenched tight. This was artistic sacrilege. On my old Earth, developers would have killed for the technology and the vision to create what I had built. Here, I was having to actively make it worse.
"[Analysis of player pathing indicates the 'Locker Breath' event causes a 95% spike in heart rate,]" Sunday reported. "[Probability of cardiac-related distress is 87%.]"
I let out a groan, massaging my temples. The Locker Breath was a simple but devastatingly effective scare, which I specifically tailored. The player would hide in a locker from Lisa, pressed into the dark, cramped space. After a moment of silence, you'd hear it: a slow, wet, ragged inhalation right outside the slats, followed by the subtle creak of the locker door handle being tested. It was pure, uncut dread.
"Fine," I relented, the word tasting bitter. "Add a five-second delay to the breath sound after the player closes themselves in the locker. And… remove the handle jiggle. Just the breath. That's compromise enough."
"[Compromise logged.]" Another piece of the masterpiece was chipped away.
I leaned back, the chair groaning under my new, heavier weight. I stared at the ceiling, the absurdity of the situation washing over me. I was sitting on a goldmine of revolutionary entertainment, and my first order of business was to bury most of the gold so no one would be overwhelmed by its value.
"Run a new projection, Sunday. With these adjustments, what's the new completion rate?"
"[Processing… Projected completion rate is now 22.3%. Projected rate of medical incidents has fallen to 45%, primarily among those with known health conditions.]"
"…Still too high," I muttered. "We're not releasing a public health hazard… What's the critical point? Where does it become 'merely terrifying' instead of 'life-threatening'?"
"[Further reduction of the Lisa entity's movement speed by fifteen percent and the introduction of a 'safe room' mechanic—a designated area where the entity cannot manifest—would increase projected completion to 51% and reduce medical incidents to a statistically acceptable 5%.]"
A safe room. In a Silent Hill game. It was like putting a life raft on a rollercoaster. It defeated the entire purpose. A wave of profound tiredness hit me. This wasn't the creative struggle I'd envisioned. This was babysitting. I was the only adult in a world of children who thought a jack-in-the-box was the pinnacle of horror.
"…Do it," I said, the resignation complete. "Implement the safe room. The bathroom at the end of the first hallway. After the player picks up the photo, the entity cannot enter for sixty seconds."
"[Implementing 'Sanctuary Zone' parameters.]".
I watched the code change. My magnum opus was being fitted with training wheels and bumper guards. The relentless, inescapable nightmare was now being given a pause button. "Ahh… at this point, I can't even scare the world, more than the game scared me…".
"[It is a prudent decision, Sir,]" Sunday offered, perhaps sensing my despair. "[Market assimilation requires gradual exposure. This version will serve as a necessary stepping stone, acclimating the population to a new standard of horror. Future iterations can incrementally increase intensity... at that time, you can scare the world the way you wanted…]"
"I know," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "It's just… frustrating. I'm having to hold back because my work is too good… How is that even a problem?"
"[It is the burden of a pioneer,]" Sunday replied. "[You are not lowering quality. You are performing a controlled detonation of a paradigm…. The shockwave must be measured, lest it destroy the very landscape you wish to reshape.]"
I blinked. Sometimes, her analysis was so succinct it was scary. She was right. This wasn't a failure; it was a strategic retreat. A tactical dilution for the sake of long-term conquest. I saved the altered project file under a new name: Silent Hill: First Fear. A title that promised a beginning, not the full, suffocating experience.
"Alright," I said, straightening up, pushing the frustration down and locking it away. "The game is… adapted. Now for the platform. That we want to put our game… any suggestion?"
"[…Unfortunately for now, the only place that is viable for use to sell, is Vapor. Meteor Studio reputation as well as you are 0. Although Vapor took 25% percentage of the sales, it is the biggest game distributor in the internet.]". Sunday said, knowing that when I heard that I was going to be bummed about it.
"Well, not much that we can do about that… for now, we can just use Vapor…". I agreed with her suggestion. That is the only thing I can do right now. setting aside the negativity, at the very least, my first game in this world had finally complete.
"Let's give them a taste of true terror. A carefully measured, medically-safe taste."
The mission had changed. I was no longer just a game developer; I was an evangelist for a new kind of fear. And my first sermon was going to be delivered from my bedroom, directly to the masses, The path to becoming an icon was going to be paved with sanitized nightmares. Sadly, that is.