EM CH39

Chapter 39: Cyber Domestic Violence

Yu An took off his headphones and pricked up his ears to discern carefully whether the sound came from the game or reality.

“Probably knocking inside the game.” Putting his headphones back on, he looked up to see a terrifying ghostly face suddenly pop up on screen, blood oozing from its eye sockets and its complexion deathly pale.

Startled, Yu An scrutinized the face closely—it looked identical to the righteous youth he had just hacked to death.

“Jump scare. What a cheap, low-brow scare tactic.” What little patience Yu An had left for the rest of this game wore even thinner.

The viewers were equally frightened out of their wits by the sudden ghostly face and began cursing up a storm in the bullet chat. A small fraction of viewers countered by asking why they were watching a horror game if they were scared, while another group of startled onlookers had their tempers ignited and started arguing back, even directing their fury toward the game developers and Grey Crow Company.

As the barrage of curses mounted, the frenzy and resentment inside the livestream room nearly reached a fever pitch.

“No, a jump scare wouldn’t linger on screen this long.” Gazing calmly at the monitor, Yu An locked eyes with the gruesome corpse of the righteous youth, refusing to miss a single subtle shift.

Under his meticulous observation, he spotted something suspicious in the lower corner of the screen—a pair of hands resting on the corpse’s shoulders.

In other words, someone was standing behind it, propping the corpse up toward the player’s camera angle.

The corpse’s face slowly shifted away from the center of the screen, revealing another face behind it.

It was the face of a mischievous young boy. Beneath mid-length curly hair, his eyes were heterochromatic—one gold and one blue—with pitch-black sclera, baring two tiny canine fangs in a smug grin toward the audience, reveling in the screams and curses beyond the screen.

Scared half to death by the sudden dead face, Huang Qi was ready to shut down the stream and bolt on the spot, only to be frozen back into his seat by Xiao Qi’s icy glare. Xiao Qi knew the score: with a lucky mascot like Xiao An present, Huang Qi would never become the Aberrant’s primary target, leaving him safe for the moment.

“An NPC or…” Motionless, Yu An studied the anomalous figure inside the monitor.

The curly-haired youth met Yu An’s gaze through the glass. Seeing that he alone showed zero reaction, the boy’s delighted expression turned abruptly gloomy. Raising one hand, he pressed it flat against the inside of the screen, the lines of his palm clearly discernible.

Having cleared over a hundred horror games, Yu An was practically a seasoned veteran. Ordinary spooky scenes couldn’t stir an ounce of fear in him; getting startled by a sudden ghostly face was purely an involuntary bodily reflex, which was precisely why players universally detested cheap jump scares.

Yet what happened next went far beyond Yu An’s expectations.

That hand slowly phased straight through the screen, reaching outward into the room.

Thoroughly astonished, Yu An leaned back instinctively against his chair, his right hand snatching up the Armor-Piercing Awl resting in his drawer and stabbing down ruthlessly at the hand.

However, the hand seemed to be merely an ethereal projection cast from the monitor. The Armor-Piercing Awl passed effortlessly right through the protruding hand, its blade burying deep into the wooden surface of the computer desk.

Flashing a playful smirk, the youth reached toward the webcam Yu An used for streaming and gave it a gentle flick. Tilting upward, the lens locked squarely onto Yu An’s face.

A young, coldly striking face appeared in the livestream feed, white gauze wrapped around his left eye.

Seeing his own face on screen made Yu An pause in surprise as well. The viewers abruptly halted their bickering, the bullet chat falling dead silent for two seconds.

Immediately following that silence came an overwhelming tsunami of “So handsome!” flooding the screen.

Forcibly pinned before his PC with a tear-streaked face, Huang Qi’s jaw dropped as he stared at Coal Blackie’s true face appearing on camera.

The very next second, Huang Qi decisively shut down his stream, latching onto subordinate Xiao Qi for dear life and refusing to let go, insisting on returning to Underground Railway with them no matter what: “He’s that eyeball-gouging maniac from the beauty salon!!”

“Please calm down…” Bending over, Xiao An offered a wry smile to console him.

…

Seeing Yu An caught off guard, the youth gleefully swept his protruding hand across the desk, scattering the items in front of the monitor. Seizing the hilt of the Armor-Piercing Awl stuck in the wood, he wiggled it loose, yanked it free, and brandished it before Yu An’s face.

That was a blade inlaid with a Tier 2 Red core—even without direct contact, the frigid gleam radiating from its edge alone could slice skin open. Yu An retreated in time, yet a tear was still sliced across the chest of his pajamas. Seeing the situation spiral beyond expectations, he casually switched off the webcam.

Growing addicted to the game, the youth pushed more and more of himself out through the monitor, extending even his head and upper torso out of the screen in an attempt to stab Yu An.

Yu An tried fighting back, yet the boy’s body had no physical substance—it was purely a virtual projection. The youth could attack him, whereas Yu An couldn’t touch a hair on his head.

Suddenly, the youth’s frame shuddered. His gaze shifted past Yu An, landing on Zhao Ran standing behind him with his elbows propped on the chair backrest, a flash of confusion flickering across his gold-and-blue eyes.

Zhao Ran parted his lips slightly, separating his fangs by a narrow gap, emitting a strange static rumble from an unusual vibration of his vocal cords that sounded like a distinct language.

“Pupa.” Turning wary, the youth kept a respectful distance and swiftly retracted back into the screen. The Armor-Piercing Awl didn’t follow the boy’s projection inside; blocked by the glass, it clattered down onto the desk.

Once back inside the monitor, the youth bolted out of the game interface and vanished without a trace. Viewers were left baffled, assuming it was a game bug. Because Aberrants were rarely spotted in cities outside Hongli City, ordinary people never thought along those lines.

With Huang Qi scared out of his wits and unable to continue streaming, Yu An willfully ended his broadcast and closed the game.

“Was that the Aberrant Grey Crow Company hired us to hunt down? Why didn’t you make a move just now?” Picking up the Armor-Piercing Awl from the desk, Yu An hastily tucked it back into the drawer—thankfully his treasure wasn’t lost.

“You tried it yourself. In the physical world, nobody can touch them.”

“Them?”

“We’ve confirmed that the Aberrants causing horror anomalies inside games are a pair of twins, the J.S. Brothers. Parasitizing virtual spaces, they feed on human terror and fanaticism; the denser and more intense the cluster of emotions, the easier they are drawn in. Gaming livestreams, movie theaters, or household appliances in the homes of people harboring deep resentment—wherever they wish to go, they can reach.”

“How does the company plan to deal with them?”

“The Security Technology Team will find a way to trap them inside a scenario, and then our people will enter Grey Crow: Dollhouse, dive deep into the game environment, and kill them. For the next few days, you’re temporarily responsible for streaming this game while I test out the linking equipment ahead of time for you guys.”

“Not streaming,” Yu An slumped his head back against the chair. “I quit.”

“Not streaming works too. Head upstairs and train combat and physical conditioning with me.” Zhao Ran flicked his left hand lightly; Kaopu flew up and snapped a flick squarely onto Yu An’s forehead.

Clutching his brow, Yu An glared silently at him—a boss abusing his combat superiority to beat up an intern at whim, ruling through violent coercion and abusing authority for personal gain.

“Do I have to enter the game scenario too?”

“That’s the final exam of the intern assessment meeting: the Rescue Simulation.” Zhao Ran answered breezily, “Once you successfully pass probation, you’ll unlock plenty of useful company privileges.”

Yu An showed little interest: “What kind of privileges?”

“For instance, the company’s internal marketplace—our own people always get first pick of firsthand goods.”

“Mm…” Halfway through listening, Yu An zoned out again, mulling over the single word the youth had uttered upon seeing Zhao Ran.

Pupa.

That youth seemed filled with awe and dread toward Zhao Ran.

…

On Wednesday, the Security Technology and Mechanical Logistics teams initiated the first linking trial—a full day ahead of the earliest projected schedule, demonstrating astonishing efficiency.

Grey Crow Company’s commission became the very first live-fire field operation for several interns. Seated before his computer, Yong Zheng’s ten fingers flew across the keyboard, injecting complex code into Dollhouse‘s program and debugging it repeatedly.

Leaning over the desk, the Security Technology Team Leader watched his apprentice work.

“I implanted a one-way gate at the scenario entrance of Dollhouse—entry only, no exit. When the time comes, severing this link will seal off the entire scenario instantaneously.”

“How is the stability?”

“No issues.” Yong Zheng’s laptop was an Aberrant-powered piece of gear possessing blazing computational speed and vector space, capable of sustaining any massive program execution.

Sprawled amidst piles of spare parts on the floor, Ji Nian inspected microscopic solder joints inside the linking headset, humming a little tune with his calves kicked up and swaying in midair.

The double doors of the debugging lab parted, and Zhao Ran strolled in with both hands tucked into his pockets to avoid accidentally brushing against anything.

“How’s progress?” Walking over near Ji Nian, he crouched down to watch him work. “Where’s your master?”

“He’s out.” Ji Nian tilted his face up, his lips curving into a sweet, well-behaved smile.

“Can you handle it on your own?”

“Pretty much—we’re already at the final stage.” Scrambling up from the heap of parts, Ji Nian brushed metallic dust off his denim overalls. “There’s one issue right now: if we rely purely on spiritual linking to project our operatives’ consciousnesses onto in-game avatars, they’ll be restricted to fighting the Aberrants using only the avatars’ preset animations.”

Worried Zhao Ran might not grasp the technical nuance, he explained patiently: “Meaning, take the Fierce Witch character, for example. When she swings her staff to strike, she can only raise her hand to swipe left, then swipe right—her movesets are pre-programmed by the game developers. Once our people go in, their movements get locked to those animations, leaving massive blind spots in both offense and defense.”

“The game environment is already the J.S. Brothers’ home turf; sending our people in like that guarantees they’ll be on the back foot. Dying inside the game inevitably inflicts mental backlash on the linked operative. We can’t brush it off just because game characters can respawn—in severe cases, they might never wake up again.”

“Makes sense. What’s your solution?”

“I believe we should locate an Illusion Chamber to serve as the linking medium, allowing our people to move freely inside it.” Ji Nian’s logic was crystal clear as he laid it out smoothly. “We need an Illusion Chamber whose guardian has already departed, yet remains uncleared.”

The baseline condition for an Illusion Chamber to form was an Aberrant having killed or devoured living humans within that space. Clearing an Illusion Chamber required slaying its guardian Aberrant or unraveling its governing rules; occasionally, however, the creating Aberrant wandered off, leaving behind an empty Illusion Chamber—which proved comparatively safer.

“Oh… finding one of those won’t be easy.” Zhao Ran stroked his chin in contemplation.

“Easy! I’ve been searching for days—take a look!” Eyes sparkling, Ji Nian pulled a photograph from the front pocket of his overalls and held it up before Zhao Ran. “It’s the abandoned amusement park where you busted those Aberrant pet smugglers earlier—inside the deserted circus tent.”

“Quite a coincidence, though I have no idea how an empty Illusion Chamber popped up there.” Ji Nian scratched his head.

“Indeed, I wonder why.” Zhao Ran curled the corners of his lips, the tips of his fangs peeking out. “Rather strange.”

“…” Hastily picking up the linking headset, Ji Nian said, “Anyway, test the gear first… To be safe, it’s best to link onto a boss rather than a fragile character that dies too easily.”

With Ji Nian’s assistance, Zhao Ran put on the linking headset. Yong Zheng ran a quick diagnostic: “Attempting link to the boss, Screaming Jailer. Team Leader Zhao, due to animation constraints, you can currently only counterattack using the Screaming Jailer’s moves and animations, so proceed with caution.”

“Got it.” Zhao Ran closed his eyes.

…

After three days of practice, Yu An had largely adapted to working as a streamer. So long as he ignored the fact that the viewers across the screen were living people, all he had to confront were lines of text popping up endlessly in the bullet chat.

Interacting with chat had become second nature to Yu An.

“Folks in chat, streaming the same game every single day gets pretty dull, but the boss insists I play nothing else. Let’s try something fun today.” Expressionless and aloof, Yu An loaded into the game, selecting Pumpkinhead Warrior as usual.

“Watch this: speedrunning the final boss of the Plague Village stage, the Screaming Jailer.”

The Pumpkinhead Warrior deftly acquired his signature weapon, the Noble Flintlock, though it only came with four bullets. In the Plague Village scenario, slaying the righteous youth yielded four spare rounds, and hacking the charred corpse on the altar dropped one bullet per strike, up to two strikes total.

Without exploring the map, the Pumpkinhead Warrior only had eight bullets at his disposal.

“Chat, let me teach you how to exploit the charred corpse glitch. It drops one bullet every time it registers a hit. The corpse has roughly 100 HP—one swing of the cleaver takes off 50, and once shattered, it stops dropping ammo.”

“So we do this.” Running to the edge of the village, Yu An picked up a ubiquitous, prickly hedgehog weed bundle off the ground and shoved it right against the charred corpse.

The hedgehog weed continuously dealt 1 point of damage per second to anything touching it—meaning every time it pricked the corpse, another bullet glitched out onto the ground.

Question marks flooded the bullet chat.

Scooping up fifty rounds of ammunition and skipping every other piece of gear, Yu An sprinted straight for the Screaming Jailer’s cottage.

“The Screaming Jailer is the final boss for beginners, and she doesn’t aggro players on her own. Before attacking, she extends a hand asking for an item. Handing her anything at that moment triggers her berserk cutscene and initiates the boss fight.” Yu An’s voice remained flat and calm. “We can glitch this part too—we give her nothing.”

“Just do this: jump up and wedge yourself as close as possible. If it doesn’t clip right away, keep jumping.” Piloting the Pumpkinhead Warrior, Yu An leaped upward and pressed tightly against the Screaming Jailer.

An unbelievable glitch occurred: the Pumpkinhead Warrior clipped straight onto the Screaming Jailer’s outstretched hand, standing directly atop it and pinning her motionless.

“Stepping on her hand prevents the combat cutscene from triggering, so we can unload point-blank right through the crack in the door.” Raising the Noble Flintlock, Yu An jammed the barrel through the doorway and opened fire furiously on the Screaming Jailer, reloading whenever the chamber ran dry—he had ammo to burn anyway.

Explosion effects from flintlock blasts filled the entire screen, flames erupting violently as intense visual clutter caused the frame rate to stutter intermittently.

He even remembered to read a viewer’s question from chat: “Why is the stream lagging? Because my graphics card is exploding.”

Having linked his consciousness into the Screaming Jailer, Zhao Ran was booted right back out in less than half a minute.

Clutching his hand and propping up his splitting headache, he groaned: “What on earth just happened…”