Grant's face was so dark it looked like it could drip ink. The lively atmosphere that had risen from the studio's renovation—the smell of fresh paint and the hope of a new beginning—quietly vanished. The smiles on Arthur and Sophie's faces froze before they even had a chance to fade.
"What happened?" Arthur pushed up his glasses, his coder's intuition sensing a system-wide crash before a single word was spoken.
Grant didn't answer immediately. He stared at his phone, then slowly clicked the screen off. "It was a call from Xunyou Network." His voice was a low rasp, each word sounding as if it were being ground between tectonic plates. He repeated the HR woman's threat word for word.
> "Protecting the company's trade secrets and intellectual property is a 'necessary measure' taken by every large corporation. We... don't want to see anything unpleasant happen."
>
The shrill, corporate-sanitized voice seemed to linger in the air of their dilapidated building. Arthur's expression shifted instantly. He knew better than anyone what a giant corporation's "necessary measures" meant. It wasn't just a polite disagreement; it was a scorched-earth policy involving frivolous lawsuits, public character assassination, and backroom deals to blacklist developers from major distribution channels.
Any one of these was enough to crush their budding Singularity Studio into fine dust.
"They're warning us not to make Outlast," Arthur said, slamming his fist onto the makeshift desk with a dull thud. "We have to act. Now."
He stood up abruptly and began pacing the narrow space, his mind racing through contingency protocols. "We need to apply for the software copyright immediately. The art assets, the trademark for 'Outlast'—register everything. We need a legal leg to stand on before they tie us up in red tape."
Grant remained silent. He knew Arthur was right about the paperwork, but he also knew it wouldn't be enough. Passive defense against a behemoth like Xunyou was a slow death sentence. They would be dragged through bureaucratic processes until their bank accounts were empty and their passion was a memory.
Sophie, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, suddenly raised her head. Her eyes, which usually darted away from direct contact, were exceptionally bright—blazing with a cold, focused fire. She looked at the two men, then at this humble, hopeful place they had built with their own hands.
"Instead of waiting for them to move..." Sophie took a deep breath, as if drawing on every ounce of courage she possessed. "...we should take the initiative. We make a trailer. We release it now. We let everyone see exactly whose idea Outlast is. We make the entire market our witness."
The girl who was usually the most timid had proposed the boldest strategy. Grant and Arthur were stunned. In her eyes burned the light of someone ready to burn their bridges and dance in the heat.
Grant felt his heart skip a heavy beat. He smiled—not a bitter smirk, but a genuine, predatory smile from the bottom of his heart.
"Okay," Grant whispered. "Let's show them what real horror looks like."
The next seven days were a blur of caffeine and desperation. It was a race against the corporate clock. The lights in the small building stayed on twenty-four hours a day. The bitterness of black coffee became the studio's signature scent.
Arthur's keyboard clattered like machine-gun fire as he used Earth's core algorithms to construct every heart-pounding scene. Grant worked the storyboards, obsessively refining the rhythm and emotional beats of every frame.
But it was Sophie who truly exploded. It was as if she were purging years of suppressed talent onto the screen. Every piece of concept art she produced carried a hauntingly beautiful aesthetic that struck the viewer like a physical blow. In her hands, a simple hallway became a living nightmare where the stains on the walls seemed to crawl and unspeakable horrors lurked just beyond the reach of the light. The monster she designed—Chris Walker—was a masterpiece of distorted features and unnatural limbs, a creature designed to make a player's sanity crumble at a glance.
Watching the art assets she submitted, Arthur gasped more than once. "This... this is beyond triple-A. This is a soul-shattering level of detail."
In the early morning of the seventh day, the final frame finished rendering. Exhausted, the trio gathered around Arthur's monitor. On the screen lay a four-minute video file. Grant moved the mouse and pressed play.
There were no cheap jump-scares.
The video began from the perspective of a dilapidated hospital ward. The shaky, green-tinted night vision and the sound of heavy, panicked breathing created an immediate sense of suffocation. Light and shadow flickered as a blurry silhouette flashed by at the end of a long hallway. An eerie, distorted nursery rhyme played intermittently, echoing through the empty rooms.
The scene shifted. The protagonist was crawling frantically through a maze-like air duct, the piercing screech of metal scraping against metal coming from behind. Finally, the camera suddenly zoomed in on a stitched-up, featureless face occupying the entire screen.
The screen went black. A line of blood-red text slowly emerged:
OUTLAST
When fear becomes the only reality.
The room was deathly silent. Only the rapid, synchronized breathing of the three developers could be heard.
"We... we did it," Arthur murmured, his eyes wide with shock at his own creation. A tired but satisfied smile played on Sophie's lips.
Grant didn't say anything. He logged into the country's largest game platforms and social media sites. He hit "Publish" on all of them simultaneously.
The first hour was agony.
Views: 12.
Comments: 0.
The second hour was worse.
Views: 87.
Comments: 2.
"First."
"Reported for clickbait."
The cold numbers were like a bucket of ice water dousing the flames in their hearts. The atmosphere in the studio shifted from anticipation to a heavy, crushing depression. Arthur kept refreshing the page, muttering about platform bugs. Sophie curled up in her chair, hugging her knees, retreating back into her shell. Grant leaned against the wall, smoking one cigarette after another, his brow furrowed in the swirling smoke.
Had the gamble failed? Was the market really so numb?
Just as the silence was about to become unbearable, Grant's phone vibrated. It was a notification for a special follow. He grabbed the phone, and his entire body froze.
"Old Game Ghost," a legendary critic with tens of millions of followers, had reposted the video. His caption read:
> "It's been a long time since a concept has given me chills. No cheap jump-scares—just pure, atmospheric psychological horror. The art style is haunting, and the 'powerless' concept is a stroke of genius. 'Singularity Studio'? Never heard of them. But as of today, I'll never forget them."
>
This repost was a depth charge in a calm lake.
The view count didn't just climb; it exploded.
1,000...
10,000...
100,000...
500,000!
The comment section became a war zone of excitement.
"Holy crap! Even Old Ghost is spooked?"
"This art style is insane! Every frame belongs in a museum!"
"Is this really an indie game? It looks better than most triple-A titles!"
"When is the release? Take my money!"
"Are we... are we viral?" Arthur's voice trembled as he watched the background data surge. The light returned to Sophie's eyes, brighter than the monitor glow.
Grant stubbed out his cigarette, a dangerous grin forming on his face. "This is just the beginning."
Arthur let out another exclamation. "Quick, look at Spark!"
Spark, the largest domestic indie game platform, had just posted a massive announcement:
[The Inaugural 'Spark' Cup Creation Contest is Live! Grand Prize: 500,000 Yuan and an S-tier Featured Slot!]
"This is it," Grant said, his eyes burning with ambition. "We're going to use this stage to bury Xunyou."
As he spoke, a translucent notification appeared in his vision:
> [Milestone Achievement: Center of Attention!]
> [Outlast trailer views have exceeded 500,000.]
> [Reward: 500 Reputation Points.]
>
Grant clenched his fist. He could now unlock even more of Earth's treasures. But fate is a fickle mistress.
The next afternoon, a sharp knock echoed against the studio's door. A courier in a crisp suit handed over a stiff envelope embossed with the seal of a major law firm. Grant signed for it and closed the door. He pulled out the documents. Cold, black-and-white legal jargon formed a formal Cease and Desist letter.
> "...The game 'Outlast' developed by your party seriously infringes upon the trade secrets and intellectual property of our client, Xunyou Network. Our client, Mr. Leo (Zhang Wei), as your direct supervisor, can testify to your theft of concept..."
> "...Cease all development within three days and issue a public apology, or we will pursue all legal measures to the fullest extent of the law..."
>
"A lawyer's letter?" Arthur leaned over, his face turning pale. "They're actually doing it. They're trying to sue us out of existence!"
Sophie's face went white. The courage she had spent a week building wavered before the intimidating weight of the law. The dark clouds were back, heavier than ever.
But Grant was surprisingly calm. He looked at Leo's name on the letter, his gaze as cold as a mountain peak. He had expected this. In fact, he had counted on it.
"What's the panic?" Grant asked, placing the letter on the table with a soft thwack. "This isn't a lawsuit."
"It's a gift."
Arthur and Sophie looked at him like he had finally lost his mind.
"They want to use their size to bully us in the dark?" Grant asked, his mouth curling into a predatory arc. "Fine. We'll take this fight into the light. We'll make a scene so big that they won't be able to hide behind their lawyers."
Grant sat at the computer and logged into the Spark developer community. He took high-resolution photos of the lawyer's letter and uploaded them, word for word. He then disclosed the full development log, the early sketches from Sophie, and the core code timestamps from Arthur.
Finally, he typed a manifesto that would become legendary in the indie scene:
> "True horror doesn't come from games. It comes from the giants who try to stifle innovation to protect their profits."
> "Xunyou Network claims we stole their 'idea.' We invite the public to look at our work and look at their 'Chibi Mecha' project. You decide who the thief is."
> "We aren't stopping. See you at the Spark Cup."