Chapter 1: The Dead Are Watching
The night air in Casablanca was sharp, cutting through Adam's thin hoodie like a rusted blade. He stood before the iron gates of the "Black Villa," a crumbling mansion hidden behind overgrown weeds. For decades, the neighbors spoke of the screams that once echoed from its walls—a father who had lost his mind and slaughtered everyone inside.
Adam wiped the grime from his phone screen. His fingers were trembling, and not just from the cold. His bank account was sitting at exactly zero, and his landlord had threatened to throw his stuff on the sidewalk by Monday. This "Ghost Hunt" livestream was his last-ditch effort to survive.
He took a shaky breath and tapped the [LIVE] button.
"Yo, what's up, guys? It's Adam 'The Ghost' here," he whispered, forcing a grin that felt like a mask. "Tonight, we're not just talking about legends. We're going inside. The Black Villa. They say if you enter after midnight, the house claims your soul. Let's see if the house is hungry tonight."
A notification pinged.
[Viewers: 7]
User_X: Another fake clickbait. Leave if you're scared.
DarkNight: $5 tip if you go into the basement.
Adam's heart hammered against his ribs. Five dollars? It was barely a meal, but it was more than he had. He pushed the heavy oak door. It didn't just creak; it groaned—a long, agonizing sound that seemed to vibrate in his very marrow. The air inside was thick, smelling of wet dust and something metallic. Like old coins. Or dried blood.
"Check out this hallway," Adam said, his voice dropping to a whisper. The beam of his flashlight cut through the dark, revealing peeling wallpaper that looked like hanging skin.
Suddenly, the screen of his phone flickered. Violent static hissed through his headphones.
[Glitch... Glitch...]
"Guys? Is the connection dropping?" Adam asked, panic rising.
He stepped into the grand salon. In the center sat a massive, ornate mirror covered in decades of filth. As his flashlight hit the glass, the world seemed to freeze. For a split second, the reflection didn't show him.
It showed a girl.
She was standing directly behind him. Her skin was a sickly, bruised grey, and she wore a white nightgown drenched in fresh, glistening red. Her eyes were nothing but hollow, black pits staring into his soul.
"What the—!" Adam spun around so fast he nearly tripped.
Empty. The room was empty.
"Did you see that? Tell me someone caught that on the stream!" Adam's voice cracked. He backed away, his boots skidding on a loose, rotted floorboard. His heel caught, and gravity took over.
CRASH!
His back slammed into the mirror. The glass exploded like a gunshot. A jagged shard sliced deep into the palm of his hand. Pain flared—hot, blinding, and electric. Adam gasped, clutching his bleeding hand as he slumped against the broken frame. His warm, crimson blood smeared across the silver shards.
Suddenly, the world turned grey. The sound of the wind outside vanished. A cold, mechanical chime rang inside his skull, vibrating his teeth.
[Ding!]
[Ancient Blood Type Detected: Soul-Carrier Genes...]
[Initializing the "Ghost-Streamer System"...]
Adam stared at his phone. It wasn't showing the camera anymore. Instead, glowing crimson text burned through the darkness of the screen:
[Mission: The First Viewer]
[Objective: Survive the "Bleeding Maid" for 5 minutes.]
[Reward: Permanent Unlocking of the System & 100 System Points.]
[Failure: Permanent Soul Erasure.]
"System? Soul erasure?" Adam stammered, his vision blurring from the pain.
From the shadows of the hallway, the girl from the mirror emerged. This time, she wasn't a reflection. The sound of her wet footsteps—squelch, squelch—filled the silent room. She tilted her head at an impossible, bone-snapping angle, her jaw unhinging as she let out a shriek that sounded like grinding metal.
[Timer: 04:59... 04:58...]
Adam tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs felt like lead. The girl—the "Bleeding Maid"—wasn't walking; she was gliding, her feet barely touching the floorboards. With every second she got closer, the temperature in the room dropped. Adam's breath began to come out in white puffs.
"Help me…" a voice whispered. It wasn't the girl. It was coming from his phone.
He looked at the chat. It was moving so fast he could barely read it. But these weren't his usual viewers.
Ghost_Walker: Run to the kitchen, boy. Iron burns her.
No_Face: Look at his blood... it smells delicious.
The_Hanged_Man: Don't die yet, the show is just starting.
[New Feature Unlocked: Ghost Chat]
[Warning: The Maid is 3 meters away.]
The girl lunged. Her fingers, ending in jagged, broken nails, swiped the air where Adam's head had been a second before. He rolled across the floor, glass cutting into his knees, and scrambled toward the kitchen.
He grabbed an old, rusted cast-iron skillet from the counter. As the Maid flew through the doorway, her face twisted in a mask of pure hate, Adam swung with everything he had.
CLANG!
The moment the iron hit her ghostly skin, a hiss erupted like water on a hot stove. The Maid screamed—a sound of pure agony—and recoiled into the shadows, her form flickering.
[Timer: 00:10... 00:09...]
Adam stood there, panting, gripping the skillet until his knuckles turned white. His blood was still dripping onto the floor, but it was glowing now, a faint gold light.
[00:01... 00:00]
[Mission Complete!]
[Reward: 'Ghost-Eye' Skill Unlocked. 100 System Points Granted.]
The Maid vanished into a cloud of black mist, leaving only the smell of burnt hair. Adam slumped against the wall, his heart finally slowing down. But the screen of his phone didn't go back to normal.
[New Mission Detected: The Owner's Secret.]
[Current Viewers: 1,042 (1,030 are Deceased)]
Adam looked at the camera. "I... I'm still alive," he whispered.
A new comment appeared in blood-red text, pinned at the top of the chat:
The_Admin: "Welcome to the real world, Adam. Keep the camera running. They want to see how you die."