The call ended, and a flame—a burning desire for proof—ignited simultaneously in the hearts of the three young people.
Grant looked at the phone, his admiration for Sophie nearly overflowing. He had always known she was a genius, but he hadn't expected her to possess such resolute courage. She wasn't just a timid artist hiding from the world; she was a creator ready to fight for her vision.
"Since you've made your decision," Grant said, his voice steady and formal, "why don't you visit the studio tomorrow? I think it's time we all sat in the same room."
On the other side of the screen, Sophie's eyes flickered away. She bit her lip, her posture shrinking slightly. "Um... is it possible... to collaborate remotely for a few more days?" Her voice was thin, a mere whisper of sound that carried a hint of desperate pleading. "I'm... I'm not very used to being in the same space as strangers. Not yet."
Grant understood instantly. He didn't press her. He knew that for someone with her level of social anxiety, even the video call was a mountain scaled. He simply smiled warmly, as if it were the most natural request in the world.
"No problem at all," he said. "Between creators, communicating through our work is often the best way anyway."
He hung up decisively and immediately sent a file over. It was named simply: 'Outlast' Level 1 Design — Mount Massive Asylum Lobby.
"Let me see what the despair in your eyes looks like," he whispered as the upload finished.
Night deepened, draping the city in a heavy, humid silence. In Sophie's room, the only light source was the cold, ghostly glow of her monitor. She clicked open the document Grant had sent.
"Decaying iron beds, with dark, long-dried stains remaining on the sheets. The air is permeated with the pungent smell of disinfectant mixed with dust. The only light source is a flickering fluorescent lamp at the end of the corridor with a poor connection, cutting human shadows into fragmented, jagged pieces."
Every word was like a key, precisely unlocking the darkest corridors of her own heart. Oppression. Distortion. Pure, unadulterated madness. This was her true canvas. The inspirations she had forcibly suppressed for years—covering them up with pink kittens and sparkling social media avatars—broke out like beasts escaping a cage.
She gripped her digital pen, her hand trembling not with fear, but with an electric, frantic energy. The world outside her window vanished. Time ceased to exist. In her eyes, the only thing left was the entrance to hell emerging, stroke by stroke, on the digital canvas.
Meanwhile, in the rented apartment that served as their temporary base, a sudden roar shattered the quiet.
"Holy crap! It's alive! It's actually connected!"
Arthur bounced up from his ergonomic chair, his eyes bloodshot but burning with an unbelievable light. The "inspirations" Grant had casually tossed his way had acted like a master key, instantly clearing the technical barriers that had stumped a dozen senior developers at Global Nexus.
The basic rendering framework of the game was officially complete. But when Arthur tried to design the AI for the first enemy encounter—the lumbering, terrifying Chris Walker—his brow furrowed again. He irritably scratched his hair, which was already a tangled mess.
"No, this isn't right," Arthur muttered, pointing at the monster model on the screen. It was currently patrolling a set path back and forth, looking more like a Roomba than a killer. "Ordinary pathfinding is too stupid. It's like a remote-controlled car on a track. Players will figure out the pattern in two minutes. That's not horror; that's just a memory game."
He turned to Grant, his tone full of frustration. "We need that... that sense of being hunted. It needs to feel like there's a real person, a real mind, on the other side of that screen. It should think. It should set traps. It should leave the player with nowhere to hide. That is true horror."
Grant listened quietly. He walked over to his own computer and pulled up the translucent interface.
[Reputation Shop]
[Advanced Predatory AI Behavior Tree]
[Exchange Cost: 20 Reputation Points]
He looked at his balance.
[Current Available Reputation: 20]
This was their last bit of capital. Their entire safety net. Without a second thought, Grant hit confirm.
[Exchange Successful. Current Balance: 0]
[System entering Hibernation Mode until new Reputation is earned...]
Grant felt a cold shiver. The safety net was gone. From this moment on, they were on their own. He disguised the complex core algorithm as a set of logic notes and sent them to Arthur.
"Take a look at this approach," Grant said. "I was reading some papers on predatory behavior logic. Maybe it'll spark something."
Arthur clicked it open skeptically. A few minutes later, the sound of a sharp, inhaled breath echoed in the room. He spent the next three hours feverishly integrating the logic.
On the screen, the monster was transformed. It no longer moved in circles. It would hide behind doors, waiting for the sound of the player's footsteps. It would make intentional noises to lure a hidden player out to check, then flank them from another direction. Most terrifyingly, if it lost the player, it would pretend to leave—only to snap back seconds later to check the very lockers or beds where a player was most likely to be hiding.
"Grant..." Arthur's voice was trembling. He looked at his friend as if he were looking at a stranger. "What are you? You aren't... you didn't actually transmigrate here with some kind of system, did you?"
"Haha, you've been reading too many webnovels, Arthur," Grant said, his heart hammering as he steered the conversation away.
Ping.
A message arrived from Sophie. There was no text, only an attachment. Grant clicked it, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
It was a painting of the Mount Massive lobby.
In the dilapidated room, every crack in the floor tiles seemed to be seeping with ancient, dried blood. Beneath the peeling wallpaper, one could see the frantic, desperate scratches of fingernails. The flickering light in the distance cast a cold, sickly glow, stretching the shadow of an empty wheelchair into a long, thin shape that looked like a man hanging from the ceiling.
There was no one in the image, yet the atmosphere was so heavy it felt like a physical weight. Countless invisible eyes seemed to peer from every shadow. It was a masterpiece of bone-deep oppression.
"Arthur, look."
Arthur took one look and froze. The exhaustion on his face was replaced by pure shock. As a programmer, he didn't care much for "art," but he understood the world this painting promised. He saw the prototype of a legendary game.
"Call her," Arthur said, his voice firm. "No... invite her. Tell her we're getting a real office. Now."
The video call reconnected. When Sophie saw the two men—looking so sincere they were almost clumsy—the softest part of her heart was touched. She saw that they weren't just looking for an "employee"; they were looking for a comrade.
She did something neither of them expected. She pointed her camera at a banking interface on her computer.
"This is all the money I've saved up from those 'Heart-Kitty' emoji packs," she said. Her voice was finally clear, finally firm. The number was five digits—not a fortune, but a significant sacrifice. "This is my investment in Singularity Studio. I have one condition: I need a separate, private room where I can create in peace."
The three of them hit it off immediately. Using Sophie's investment and the last of the men's savings, they rented a cheap, two-story building in a quiet, remote suburb.
The next week was a whirlwind of manual labor. Arthur handled the wiring and server setup. Grant took on the physical grunt work—painting walls, moving heavy desks, and scrubbing floors. Sophie used her aesthetic eye to plan the layout, creating a comfortable, focused atmosphere with the barest of budgets.
Amidst the noise of hammering and the smell of fresh paint, the essence of a "team" was born. Sophie began to speak more, and she even let out a small, genuine laugh when Arthur told a particularly terrible pun.
On the day the renovation was finished, Grant hung a cardboard sign on the door with "SINGULARITY" written in thick black marker. They sat together in the new common area.
"We don't have the funds to finish the whole game yet," Grant announced. "So, we're going to make a trailer. A vertical slice. Something so terrifying it makes players scream and investors beg to give us money. We use this to knock on the door for the birth of Outlast."
Flames ignited in the eyes of his partners. But as they prepared to dive in, Grant's phone rang. It was an unknown number.
"Hello? Is this Mr. Grant?" A sweet, professional voice came through the line. "I'm from the HR department at Xunyou Network."
Grant's eyes narrowed. Arthur and Sophie went silent.
"The senior management has discussed your case," the woman continued. "We believe you are a very talented planner. There might have been some... misunderstandings. We are formally inviting you back as a Senior Lead Planner. The salary and benefits are, of course, highly negotiable."
"No thanks," Grant said, his tone like ice. "I'm not interested."
The woman's voice didn't falter, but it lost its sweetness. It became cold and sharp. "Mr. Grant, it's wise to leave a door open so we can meet on good terms later. We've heard you're trying to make a game. Who's to say you haven't 'borrowed' our intellectual property? You should know that protecting business secrets is a 'necessary measure' for a company of our size. We... really wouldn't want to see anything unpleasant happen."
Click.
The line went dead. Grant held the phone, his face a mask of grim determination.
"What was it?" Arthur asked, sensing the tension.
"The vultures are circling," Grant said, looking at the Outlast screen. "They're afraid. They want to buy us out or bury us. But they're too late. The nightmare is already built."