sneak peek of the analog horror ghost fic:
You hadn’t programmed him to say that. He was supposed to say that he’d wait for the player.
But this was completely unexpected.
Bravery was never your strongest feat. From the formative age of you-don’t-remember to your adulthood, you have remained a consistent anxiety-stricken and nervous coward. Heart palpitations, cold sweat, and fidgeting were all more like familiar habits than coping mechanisms whenever anything concerning happened in your life. Including now, where you were a blubbering mess on the phone.
“You don't–” hiccup “--get it, Gaz, the presentation is in a week. And I’m finding a mistake in the code, NOW of all times.” You were heaving, trying to make sense of what your computer screen was showing you: Ghost, the video game character you oh so lovingly programmed, was saying something completely different than what he was supposed to.
As someone deeply engrossed in what they did, you always wore your work ethic like a badge of honor, turning you into a nocturnal tornado on the computer, typing away codes for different projects and spending hours trying to find tiny errors. You were a victim of your own discipline, constantly sleep-deprived and delirious during the day. You were sure that you must’ve unknowingly changed something while working the night away. Maybe you mistook Transcendent for another project and wrote something else in its code.
“Hey, hey, hey, relax. Take a few deep breaths first, alright? With me, now, come on, one…” You did as your friend said, finding solace in his soothing voice. Gaz was a fellow programmer and the only one who understood you better than yourself. A true friend when you always needed one. Even though he wasn’t much of a gamer, he helped develop the main codes for the game, even giving you input for the story so you could make it more interesting. He was integral to you in every aspect of your life.
“I’ll drop by your place tomorrow afternoon and take a look, okay?” he reassured. There are contrasts in every duo–complementing figures. Where you lacked organization, there Gaz stayed meticulous, and where Gaz lacked concern, you stood tall with your list of worries.
“You can’t come over tomorrow. I have to go to like, three interviews back to back. I’ll be out all day,” you say as you wipe away your snot and tears, finally done with your wailing now that there’s some comfort for your frenzied mind. “It’s okay. Just text me your apartment’s passcode and I’ll let myself in.”
You agree and then send him your passcode. You could feel the onset wave of productivity. Having Gaz in your life truly was convenient.
You look back at your computer and sigh, the only words that are displayed send chills down your spine and static in your ears.
“I will find you.”
It felt like each and every pixel of his skull mask-covered face was mocking you.
