Noon, next day.
Gus Harper sifted through data on recent VR cabin shooters at WindyPeak's Portland office.
Knock knock knock.
"Come in," Gus said, setting the files aside.
Luke Bennett and Jake Rivers slipped in, grinning like they'd pulled a prank.
"What's up?" Gus asked, eyebrow raised.
These two never knocked.
Sun rising in the west?
Luke flashed a waiter-like smile. "Morning, Director Gus! Good news or bad news first?"
"I'd rather hear your doctor's diagnosis," Gus deadpanned.
"Tch, you're no fun!" Luke groaned.
"Fine, bad news first. Hit me," Gus said, leaning back.
Luke handed over a report. "Day-one sales: 2,085 copies. Didn't break any records for a game this size."
Gus shrugged. "Expected."
Horror games were niche.
Despite SlickRick Brooks and Yin's viral Twitch streams, flipping players' horror game bias took time.
2,085 copies at $45—$93,800 revenue—was solid, mid-tier for the market.
Phasmophobia needed time to snowball.
"Not terrible," Gus said, closing the report. "Good news?"
Luke's grin widened, handing over his phone. "Weekly sales are gonna explode!"
Gus glanced at the screen and gasped.
GameRant Review: Phasmophobia: A Ghostly Ace Redefining Horror (9.8/10)
"A media review?!" Gus blinked.
Media reviews were rare for low-budget VR games.
Mainstream outlets like GameRant or PixelPulse News usually covered big-budget titles.
Reviews drove sales, more than news, with players trusting pro critics.
"We got lucky," Gus muttered.
"Lucky?" Luke shook his head. "Not just one. Eighty percent of major U.S. review sites gave us 9.5+ scores. Even million-follower streamers and X influencers are raving!"
Gus flipped through Jake's stack of reports—over twenty reviews:
PixelPulse News, 9.7: "A chilling masterpiece. Phasmophobia's psychological horror cures my jump-scare fatigue!"
VR Insider, 9.8: "Mind-blowing terror! WindyPeak's creativity has no limit—only your imagination does."
GameRant, 9.7: "A supernova's knockout! Check your heart condition before playing."
Reddit Gaming, 9.7
GamerVibe, 9.5
TechBit, 9.6
All praised Phasmophobia's psychological horror, with the only gripe being its modest budget limiting hardware polish.
Gus's jaw dropped. "This… ain't right."
Small VR games didn't get this love.
One review might spark buzz, then others follow.
But a simultaneous media blitz?
"Someone's pushing this," Gus said.
"Bingo!" Luke snapped his fingers. "Guess who?"
Gus's first thought: Zoey Parker.
But no—Zoey always nixed marketing, funneling every cent into development, like a purist swearing by quality alone.
She wouldn't know media reviews from a hole in the wall.
"Not Zoey," Gus said, shaking his head.
Luke sprawled on the sofa, smirking. "Yes and no. It's… complicated. Zoey's not the clueless kid we thought."
"Quit playing Riddler or you're out of Portland," Gus snapped.
"Chill, chill!" Luke laughed, waving him down. "Here's the deal…"
Luke spilled: Zoey's $150,000 VibeX1 login fee—double the norm—was a sly nudge for IndieVibe Tech to fast-track Phasmophobia's promotion.
Chloe Quinn hadn't been looped in, thinking Zoey was just burning cash.
"She played it smart," Luke said. "Outsourced marketing to IndieVibe, leaned on their Vampire Survivor goodwill—43,775 single-day sales, $199,995 revenue. Skipped our weak promo game and used their clout."
Gus crossed his arms, impressed.
Zoey, Riverside University grad and Mr. Parker's daughter, was a business shark.
No game savvy, but a master at corporate chess.
"Tiger dad, shark daughter," Gus muttered.
"Anything else from IndieVibe?" he asked.
"Oh yeah," Luke nodded. "They dropped a Phasmophobia-themed VibeX1 interface—free for buyers. Plus a X lottery: share clips or screenshots with #Phasmophobia, win a VibeX1."
Gus whistled. Victor Lang was pushing the line, bending IndieVibe's "deep cooperation" rules for a tiny studio like WindyPeak.
Reviews, themes, lotteries—their $80,000 promo budget was peanuts compared to this.
"Victor's a real one," Gus said.
"For real," Luke agreed. "We'd struggle to get one review for $80,000. IndieVibe's got juice."
"Don't sleep on Zoey," Gus added. "She's a damn genius."
Phasmophobia blew up.
Quality plus promo equaled success.
Its psychological horror crushed other games in this world.
Victor's bootlicker-level hustle—reviews, TikTok pushes, lotteries—made it a player obsession in half a day.
By 8 p.m., Twitch lit up with screams.
"WDNMD, Pineapple, you picked this map?!"
Four streamers—P.J. Larson, Winter Melon, Rusty, Nomad—stood frozen before an old manor, paper figures and spectral carriages lining the blood-red gate.
A woman's sob echoed, wreaths rustling, the word "Dedication" flapping in the wind.
P.J. had jumped in, hyped by 9.5+ reviews.
But Winter Melon, stung by Reddit shade calling FPS streamers "cowardly," picked an expert-level map to flex.
Big mistake.
Gus's custom map, packed with zombie-mutant vibes, was a nightmare.
P.J. regretted it instantly.
SlickRick's stream had already spooked him, and now this?
Those paper figures—boy and girl—seemed to stare.
"Winter Melon, this is on you!" P.J. snapped. "Don't chicken out later!"
Winter Melon, cocky at first, faltered. No weapons, just a creepy gate.
"You gotta finish what you start," he coughed, faking calm. "They call us cowards? P.J., you scared?"
"Scared? Me?" P.J. scoffed. "Rusty, you scared?"
"I've seen it all!" Rusty bragged. "Nomad, you scared?"
Nomad, sweating, grinned. "Scared? Nah… well, maybe a little."
The FPS trio backed up, shoving Nomad forward.
"Nomad's fearless!"
"Lead the way, champ!"
"We'll cover you!"
Chat lost it:
"What kinda betrayal is this?!"
"Pocketing your bro to ditch him?!"
"FPS crew ganging up on the League guy!"
"You three are ruthless!"
"Nomad: I need a word worse than 'screwed'!"
"LMAO, savage!"
Nomad, stunned by their audacity, took the lead.
The squad inched up the bluestone steps, pushing open the red-lacquered door.
A three-story manor loomed.
Two red lanterns glowed on the courtyard gate, the word "Union" faintly visible.
"Holy crap," P.J. whispered. "A ghost wedding?!"