"HOLY CRAP!"
"Chills, man, CHILLS!"
"This is MESSED UP! Why's the audio in surround sound?!"
"Felt that ghost breath in my headphones!"
"SlickRick got yeeted offline, LOL!"
"Not his fault, I'm shook and I'm just watching!"
"This game's EVIL!"
"SlickRick didn't even see the ghost!"
"What happens when it actually shows up?!"
"Gus Harper's out here dissecting human fear."
"Someone check Gus's mental state!"
Chat on Twitch went wild.
Phasmophobia's "hear but don't see" ghost vibes were light-years beyond this era's jump-scare snoozefests.
No weapons, just pure dread, cranked to eleven in the VibeX1 cabin.
Gus Harper's $2,000,000 upgrade turned it into a psychological gut-punch, stomping old-school jump-scare games.
Real horror wasn't a ghost in your face—it was your brain conjuring nightmares from subtle cues.
Gus nailed that, planting hints like creaky floors and flickering lights, letting players' imaginations do the heavy lifting.
That ear-breath moment? A masterstroke.
Chat, hyped like they'd found gold, spammed Twitch and X with clips, screaming about WindyPeak's latest banger.
"A horror game?" Yin scoffed, eyeing the Phasmophobia hype flooding his Twitch chat.
"Nah, I'm good. Boring!"
Pointing at himself, he grinned. "Old-school fans know me. Back in the day, I was the horror game slayer."
"Yin, the fearless!"
"Name a horror game from back then—I crushed it."
"Ghosts heard my name and ghosted me."
He wasn't totally flexing.
Yin had binged every horror game when jump-scares were hot.
Early on, they spooked him, but once he got rifles or knives, the fear faded.
As cookie-cutter jump-scare games flooded the market, he got numb.
Now, he low-key hated them.
Same old, same old.
Waving off chat's hype, he said, "My CloudWave Tech rig's in the shop. Only got the VibeX1 at home, and it barely runs anything."
Big mistake.
Chat pounced:
"Perfect timing!"
"You walked right into it!"
"Yin, fearless? Prove it!"
"Phasmophobia's on VibeX1!"
"Yin's stream just flipped, LOL."
"WindyPeak's got the sauce!"
"Guaranteed banger (or regret)."
"Half these guys are from SlickRick's stream!"
"SlickRick crashed, time for Yin to step up!"
Yin, ready to shut it down, hesitated.
What's got chat this unhinged?
"WindyPeak? They made a VibeX1 game?" he laughed. "A horror game? That's a wild pivot."
To Yin, WindyPeak was the king of quirky indies—Cat Leo, Who's the Daddy, Vampire Survivor.
Abstract, fun, innovative.
Three months quiet, and now a horror game?
In a VR cabin?
He hadn't seen a cabin horror game in ages.
"Really that scary?" he asked, skeptical, but stood up.
WindyPeak's track record—Vampire Survivor's 43,775 single-day sales, $199,995 revenue—gave them cred.
Even if it was a stretch, he'd bite.
His VibeX1, a bubblegum-pink hand-me-down from Jada Brooks, sparked chat's "so cute" spam.
"It's Jada's for movies and online shopping," Yin chuckled. "Me? Pink? Nah, I'm a CloudWave guy."
While the VibeX1 synced to his stream, Yin browsed IndieVibe's Phasmophobia page.
The trailer's absurdity cracked him up.
"No way WindyPeak's doing a straight horror game," he said. "This looks fun. Multiplayer too? I'll grab a squad."
WindyPeak's rep pulled in a dream team:
ShuBro, the hype maestro.
Jada Brooks, gaming's queen bee.
Tank, indie game god.
Yin, self-proclaimed ghost-buster
As the truck's hum hit all four streams, the gaming zone's epic ghost-hunt kicked off.
Yin, cocky as ever, skipped the tutorial.
"I'm a vet," he bragged. "Tutorials are for noobs."
His squad—veteran streamers who'd tackled Resident Evil and Dead Space—agreed.
No biggie.
They picked a medium-difficulty map and rolled out.
Hiss.
The truck's tailgate opened, revealing a rundown school in the wilderness.
A midnight breeze tossed a tattered soccer ball against a rusty fence.
A flickering bulb barely lit the sign: Sunshine Elementary.
Gus Harper's custom medium-difficulty map.
Whoosh.
The wind wailed through rusted railings, like a banshee's cry.
The two-story school, a 1970s relic, loomed dark and decayed.
Yin glanced at his crew—cameras, thermometers, EMF readers, notebooks.
No guns.
"Uh… maybe we hit the tutorial first?" he muttered, swallowing hard. "Why no weapons?"
Tank crushed his hopes. "Chat says no guns in this game, Captain Yin."
"What?!" Yin's voice cracked. "No guns against ghosts?"
Tank hesitated. "Dunno. Chat says SlickRick got scared offline before seeing a ghost."
Great.
Yin's confidence wobbled.
Scared without a ghost?
Still, it was multiplayer. Four against one ghost.
He was the tank, the fearless leader.
"Whatever!" he rallied. "No guns, no problem. We got numbers. Scared of one ghost kid?"
He divvied up tasks: "Tank, Jada, sweep the first floor. ShuBro, you're with me on the second."
"The ghost's Benny, in the school. Two minutes safe. Stay on comms."
He raised his walkie-talkie.
The crew nodded, pushing open the gate with a squeak.
Inside, a chill hit hard.
Yin, a horror game vet, felt it instantly.
Most games leaned on creepy music or cheap effects.
Phasmophobia's hollow, low-frequency hum was different—like standing in a void, alone.
It got worse on the second floor.
The dark corridor stretched endlessly.
Glass crunched underfoot.
Yin, with an EMF and walkie-talkie, and ShuBro, with a camera, crept forward like cautious intruders.
Peeled paint and rusted doors lined the hall, some ajar, some slammed shut.
"This place is a dump," Yin whispered, his voice echoing.
"Straight outta a horror flick," ShuBro agreed. "Where's this ghost hiding?"
"Chat says call its name," Yin said.
Clearing his throat, he bellowed, "Benny! Yo, Benny! It's Captain Yin! Where you at? Got your math homework!"
"Benny! Show up! I brought your pop quiz!"
Chat lost it:
"Bro, you're the real monster!"
"Chasing a kid with homework?!"
"No wonder Benny's haunting!"
"Benny: I'm dead, and you're still a jerk."
"Two-minute safe time, Yin. After that, Benny's hunting."
"Benny's probably raging already."
ShuBro laughed. "You're scarier than the ghost. Forget ghost pics, I'm snapping you."
He aimed his Polaroid at Yin, who threw a "yeah" sign.
Click.
The photo developed.
ShuBro shook it, joking, "This'll ward off spirits."
"Yin's face'll scare anything."
He glanced at the photo and froze.
"Yo, ShuBro, what's up?" Yin asked, turning.
ShuBro stood rigid, hands trembling.
"You good? Game glitch?" Yin pressed.
"It's not the game," ShuBro whispered. "It's me shaking."
He handed over the photo.
Yin, squinting under his flashlight, saw himself—pale from the flash, two fingers up.
But next to his face was another.
A boy's face, white as death, no eyebrows, black hollow eyes, mouth stretched in a silent scream.
Blue arms wrapped around Yin's shoulders, like the kid was piggybacking him.
Yin's scalp prickled.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
He jumped, screaming, "GHOST ON MY BACK!"
Beep!
The EMF blared, ghost activity spiking.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Classroom doors slammed shut, like an invisible force raged through.
Their flashlights flickered, batteries dying.
Yin and ShuBro's hearts nearly stopped.
In the strobing light, they saw him—Benny, at the corridor's end, mouth open in a feral screech.
Then—
Their screams drowned his out.
"YIN! IT'S COMING!"
"I SEE IT, SHUBRO!"
"RUN! JUST RUN!"
"Why's every door LOCKED?!"
"Benny, chill! Take the homework!"
"ShuBro, you're DEAD to me!"
No jump-scare clichés.
No corner traps.
But a hundred times worse.
In the flashlight's final flicker, Benny's face was inches from Yin's.
Pale hands reached from behind, covering Yin's eyes.
Crack.
Bones snapped, audible on stream.
Bang.
The lights blew out.
Silence.
Chat exploded.