"Hey! Harry, everything going smoothly?"
The speaker was the president of the Ouroboros Brotherhood.
To make sure this initiation test for new members went off without a hitch, the well-funded Ouroboros Brotherhood had gone all out, renting a broadcast van to livestream the situation inside the mental hospital.
Harry, a media studies student, was put in charge of the livestream. The president had swung by to check on things.
"No issues at all. Our prep work is spot-on, and the actors are killing it!"
The president was pleased.
"The school's BBS is buzzing with excitement for tonight's show. Don't let them down!"
Harry shrugged and pointed to a computer nearby.
"That might be tough. I saw some posts on the BBS saying they're disappointed we didn't get Roy naked. Not exactly something I can make happen."
Two girls had tried to get Roy drunk and failed. Knocking him out wasn't an option either—Ouroboros members ganging up on him might end with them getting knocked out instead!
The president clapped Harry on the shoulder.
"Ignore the thirsty girls and guys. Nothing's ever perfect; there'll always be some flaws. You're doing great—keep it up!"
"No problem!"
Just then, the president noticed one of the camera feeds turning blurry and filling with static.
"What's up with this feed?"
Harry noticed it too and switched the small window to full screen, only to find the image frozen.
"The other feeds are fine. Probably a camera glitch. I'll have an actor nearby check it out."
Harry grabbed the walkie-talkie to contact the actors inside the mental hospital.
These actors were also UCLA students, from the same film school as Roy, though they weren't official Ouroboros members. Most were just there to earn some extra cash.
The Brotherhood had members dedicated to equipment maintenance, but they weren't at the hospital, and the issue didn't seem serious enough to bother them.
"Actors near Room B-13, please respond. Check the camera wiring in Room B-13 for issues."
No response came through the walkie-talkie. Harry checked the feeds from Area B and randomly picked an actor.
"You in Room B-9, go check on B-13!"
After being called out, the actor responded.
"Got it! I'm heading over now."
The camera switched back to the mental hospital. The actor who'd just responded on the walkie-talkie, dressed in classic mental patient attire, headed toward Room B-13.
For easier management, Harry had divided the hospital into four zones—A, B, C, and D—to make directing clearer.
"Seriously? I'm a temp actor, and now I'm fixing cameras?"
Clearly, this temp wasn't thrilled about doing extra work. But the Ouroboros Brotherhood paid well—$200 for one night, which was more than most work-study jobs paid in a week, if they paid that much at all.
Grumbling but compliant, the temp actor made their way from Room B-9 to B-13.
Inside Room B-13, the temp found another actor—a woman in similar patient attire—sitting with her back to the door.
"Huh? Isn't there supposed to be an actor here? Hey, why didn't you answer the walkie-talkie? You made me come all the way here to check the camera!"
The female actor didn't respond, just sat silently facing the wall.
Annoyed, the temp walked over to tap her shoulder.
"Hey, why aren't you talking?"
The moment they touched her, disaster struck—their hand passed right through her body.
The temp yanked their hand back, eyes wide with disbelief. Then the female actor turned her head, staring at them with huge, cartoonish eyes that had swollen, red eyelids. It was terrifying.
Yup, this initiation was hardcore—they'd hired an actual ghost as an actor.
The temp actor let out a world-class soprano scream, bolted out of the room, and, in their panic, tripped over something, slammed their head into a wall, and passed out.
That scream was the one Roy and Shorty heard. It wasn't just them—pretty much every newbie and actor in the hospital heard it too.
The newbies frantically contacted each other via walkie-talkies, trying to figure out what caused the scream.
The actors, meanwhile, were more relaxed, joking about who'd gone so hard and whether someone had wet themselves from fear.
Only Harry, monitoring everything, felt a growing unease. He'd seen the temp actor's panicked sprint from Room B-13 and their head-on collision with the wall. He grabbed the walkie-talkie to check on them.
But the young actor was out cold, sleeping like a rock. No response.
With no other choice, Harry considered sending another actor to check.
Then he noticed Roy and Shorty heading toward the fallen temp on the monitor. He decided to hold off and see what Roy would do.
A few minutes later, Roy reached the spot where the temp lay unconscious.
"R-R-Roy, that's not a dead body, is it?" Shorty stammered, his nerves shot.
"Don't be ridiculous. It's probably just one of the Brotherhood's actors."
"But why's an actor lying on the ground like that?"
"Who knows? Maybe they're tired and taking a nap?"
Even Shorty didn't buy that. Roy stepped forward to check on the temp.
After a quick look, Roy saw the actor had some bruising on their forehead but no other injuries. Probably just hit their head.
"Looks like this poor guy just got unlucky and knocked himself out."
"What? Not attacked by a ghost?" Shorty's expression was a mix of fear and… disappointment?
"What's that look? You want him to have seen a ghost?" Roy shot Shorty a glance.
Shorty scratched his head, embarrassed.
"I've never seen a ghost. Just curious, you know!"
Sure, he said that, but if Shorty actually saw a ghost, he'd probably lose it. Then again, maybe not—after all, in Scary Movie 2, Shorty played a ghost knight. If it was a pretty female ghost, he might get excited instead.
Come to think of it, Roy and Shorty had a lot in common—both were ghost knights who wouldn't even spare a female ghost.
Just then, a woman in patient attire stepped out of a room ahead. Even the baggy outfit couldn't hide her stunning figure, instantly catching Shorty's eye.
"Whoa! Is that another actor? Her figure's insane!"
Roy activated his True Sight and frowned.
"Nope. That's a real ghost."
"What?" Shorty thought he'd misheard, glancing at Roy in shock.
Just then, the woman turned to face them, revealing swollen eyelids and hollowed-out eye sockets.
It was downright creepy. Shorty nearly pulled off a backflip in fright.
"What the hell is that?!"
"Looks like the ghost of a mental patient who underwent a lobotomy."
Roy knew a bit about the infamous ice-pick lobotomy. The procedure involved inserting a metal pick above the eyeball, under the eyelid, straight into the brain's frontal lobe, then hammering it to sever nerve fibers. It was often done in non-sterile conditions, sometimes with the patient fully conscious, leading to severe complications or accidents.
Back then, mental patients had no rights, and no one cared what happened to them in asylums.
The female ghost didn't speak, just turned and walked away.
"Let's follow her!" Roy said.
"What? Are you serious? That's a ghost!" Shorty stared at the ghost's retreating figure, her curves still captivating.
"Hmm… if you ignore the face, it's not that bad!"
(Scary Movie 2 vibes.)
Meanwhile, other newbies were getting pranked by actors, creating hilarious moments that had UCLA students watching the livestream in stitches.
But Harry, overseeing everything from the broadcast van, noticed more cameras malfunctioning. It started with Room B-13, but after Roy and Shorty found the temp, that camera came back online—only for the hallway cameras outside to start glitching.
This was because the ghost from Room B-13 had left, causing electronic interference with other cameras.
Then, the nurse's station in Area A started experiencing widespread interference. Two hallway cameras and the one at the station showed heavy static and screen tearing.
Harry was furious. He'd planned a big scene at the nurse's station, and now the cameras were ruining it.
"Damn it! Who bought these crappy cameras?"
With no choice, Harry grabbed the walkie-talkie to tell the actors at the nurse's station to check the cameras.
But no matter how much he shouted, no one responded.
"Damn it! Do they not want their pay? Brandy, get over here!"
"What's up, Harry?"
"Take a few people to the nurse's station in Area A. Check the cameras and chew out those actors—they're ignoring my calls!"
"Got it!"
Harry grumbled, taking the nurse's station feed offline, praying the newbies hadn't reached it yet, or the whole script would be wasted.
At the nurse's station, three hot female students were dressed as ghost nurses, styled a bit like the faceless nurses from Silent Hill, but with more conventional makeup—think bleeding orifices.
They weren't ignoring Harry's calls on purpose. Their walkie-talkies had been emitting weird, screeching static for the past ten minutes. To avoid alerting the newbies, they'd turned them off.
Bored, the three girls started chatting to pass the time.
"Why's it taking so long? I'm about to fall asleep!"
"Yeah, the nurse's station is so close to the entrance. I thought we'd be done early!"
"Did those idiots take another route? Are we stuck here till the end?"
Just then, one girl tilted her head, listening.
"Shh! I hear footsteps!"
The other two hushed up and listened. Sure enough, faint footsteps echoed.
The Brotherhood had stripped the newbies of their clothes but left them their shoes—after all, the abandoned hospital was littered with hazards like glass or nails.
"Quick, get into position! Showtime!"
The three girls hid according to the script, ready to give some unlucky newbie a scare.
But as the footsteps grew closer, something felt off.
Why did they sound like high heels clicking?
The initiation was all-male. Who'd be wearing heels?
The girls exchanged glances. One stepped out early and saw a woman's figure sashaying down the hall, her silhouette flawless.
"False alarm. Probably another actor like us."
The other two were disappointed, eager to finish and leave.
"Hey, which zone are you from? Why're you here?" one called out.
The figure didn't respond, just kept walking with her head down.
Curious, the girl shone her flashlight on her. The woman was wearing a revealing leather nurse outfit, with matching gloves and stockings—super provocative. Her makeup was sultry and mature.
"Hey, why aren't you in makeup? What if you blow our cover?"
The figure stopped under the flashlight's beam and looked up at the three girls.
That's when they saw her eyes—pitch-black, like an abyss.
"Those contacts—where'd you get them?" the bold girl asked.
But her two friends sensed something wrong. The flashlight's beam seemed to pass through the nurse's body.
(Chapter End)