Obtained the Hypnosis App (2)
In the now-silent living room, Ha Ohu sat on the sofa, phone clutched in his hand, leg jittering uncontrollably.
Should he call the cops right now? Or dump the bodies and run? Even if he bolted, he'd be under suspicion, chased down by the police. Reporting it meant enduring brutal interrogation as the first discoverer of this horrific double murder. Either way, it was a crossroads that would break a normal mind.
Suppressing his anxiety, Ohu tapped the icon for his newly acquired Hypnosis App.
The screen flashed purple for a split second with a low whirr, revealing a highly intuitive, minimalist UI. Ohu scrolled through it, letting out a deep sigh.
"Ah, fuck…… If I'd known it'd be like this, I would've played through to the end."
He'd only gotten through the intro in the game itself—the first episode where his mother, Shooting Star, met her ruin. All the heroes and events that came after? His knowledge was just skimpy scraps from trailers and reviews. No way could he fumble his one weapon.
Ohu focused, dissecting the app's system.
"Target registration first…… As cliché as it gets: show the spiral image on-screen directly to the subject's eyes."
Tapping 【 Target Registration 】 activated the rear camera, overlaying a creepy vortex mark in the center. Showing it induced stage-one hypnosis.
"Commands via text input or voice recognition. Save frequent ones to macro slots…… The system's dead simple, just like in the game."
He tapped 【 Target Logs 】 next. Traces of the app's previous owner, Ha Deok-gu, remained intact.
"……What the hell. Max six slots? Shit, this ain't no Pokémon party."
A realistic penalty he hadn't known from the game: no infinite targets, just simultaneous control of up to six.
Ohu slowly scanned the six names Deok-gu had registered.
Slot 1:Han Sara (Shooting Star)
Slot 2: [Unknown civilian female]
Slot 3: [Unknown civilian female]
Slot 4: [Unknown civilian female]
Slot 5: [Unknown civilian female]
Slot 6: [Unknown civilian female]
His brow furrowed. Deok-gu's trashy tracks were laid bare. As a psychological counselor, he'd ruthlessly exploited his position—women with depression, panic disorders, dating violence trauma, seeking help in their vulnerability. He'd feign therapy, show them the app, and turn them into sex slaves for his urges.
Aside from Mom—Sara—the other five were all such pitiful civilians.
"What a fucking piece of shit. Deserved to die."
Sneering at Deok-gu, Ohu's face suddenly twisted.
"Urk……!"
His hand had slipped from pinching his nose while staring at the phone. The horrific stench stabbed his lungs again, seeping stronger into the living room.
The blood and brains from Deok-gu's corpse were nauseating enough, but the real issue was elsewhere: that black sludge pooled in the master bathroom tub. Han Sara's corpse reeked unbearably. Her power had rampaged at death, liquefying her body into concentrated rot. The toxic, corpse-gas fumes from that black water muddled the mind viciously.
His head spun, vision blurring. Stay like this, and he'd poison himself or choke on vomit before calling the cops.
Ohu crammed his sleeve over nose and mouth, staggering up. He lurched across the master bedroom to the bathroom threshold.
Dark water sloshed in the tub, heat haze shimmering above. An extreme impulse flashed through Ohu's brain.
'Can't I just pull the plug and drain it down the sewer?'
Just water now, unrecognizable. Drain it, rinse with tap water—the stench would vanish instantly.
He started rationalizing. Sure, playing the game, he'd pitied Shooting Star's pathetic arc. Twenty years ravaged—tragic. But that was pixels and text on a screen.
Now, before his eyes: just stinking sewage. Not the mom who birthed him. Not his life. He was just a possessor.
To breathe and survive, dump the foul water. Decision made.
'……It was just game data anyway…. No need to honor the dead.'
Muttering, he reached a trembling hand toward the chained rubber plug in the tub, hooking a finger to yank it.
But as he pulled, his hand froze stiff.
Right after possession, scavenging his dying phone on the street for identity and address—he'd frantically dug through messages. Dozens flashed back.
Records brimming with blind, devoted love and worry for her son. Undeniable—real mother's love.
"……Haa."
Gripping the tub edge, Ohu heaved ragged breaths. Trembling free hand flicked on the Hypnosis App, frantically scrolling Shooting Star's command log in slot one.
【 Command: Perceive husband's beatings as loving marital relations. 】
【 Command: Feel husband's superiority in relations with other men. 】
【 Command: Forget past glory; content as ordinary housewife. 】
Vile, nauseating commands scrolled on. But to the end—no single order forcing love for her son.
Deok-gu obsessed over turning wife into sex slave and punching bag. No effort wasted making her love the kid. He despised son Ohu as trash.
So those messages' worry…… that maternal love poured on him…… never hypnotically faked.
Bloomed like a miracle amid 20 years' hellish abuse and brainwashing—pure, utter truth for her son alone.
"……."
Strength drained from Ohu's hand. Plug-gripping fingers retreated; head drooped. He stared at his ugly hands.
Body: obese, loathsome trash. Power: vile app raping minds. But heart, spirit—still human, knowing warmth.
The rot-stench throbbed. Yet for petty, selfish escape…… he couldn't flush the world's sole unconditional lover down the sewer like food waste.
No crossing that human line.
Ohu staggered back from the tub. Dry heaves wracked him from the fumes. Tears and snot blurred vision.
Impossible to endure. Even reporting, he'd collapse incoherent—or suffocate.
He needed a way out of this stress and dilemma. Deok-gu's log flashed: 'Turned pain to pleasure…… Sensory distortion possible……'
Eyes flicked to phone screen.
'……No other way.'
Ohu opened target list, tapped non-existent Han Sara, hit delete.
Tap. Slot freed.
No hesitation—【 New Target Registration 】 on empty slot one. Purple vortex spun center-screen. Front camera on.
His haggard, ugly face filled it. Ohu stared dead into the swirl, eyes wide.
Vision spun; faint brain-electricity tingled.
【 Target: Ha Ohu 】
The app for tormenting others now had its first new guinea pig: the user himself.
Trembling fingers hammered commands into text field.
【 Command: Block sense of smell. Feel no corpse stench or foul odors. 】
And…… hesitating over input, heavy fingers resumed.
【 Command: My mother is Shooting Star Han Sara. The one who birthed me in pain. Never doubt. She's the only one in the world who loved me. 】
Tap. Etch fake family bonds as real into the possessor's brain.
"Guhk……!"
Ohu clutched his head, collapsing onto bathroom tiles.
"Hek, heuk…… haa……."
How much time passed? Sprawled on the floor, he slowly raised his torso.
Hypnosis fully set. First change hit: smell. The gut-wrenching rot and blood vanished like a lie. Breathing in sterile room air—olfactory shutdown complete.
Dazed eyes lifted. To master bed…… then tub's black water.
Thud.
Filling the stench void……
"Ah…… aaah……."
Tears welled. With stench gone, so did game-world observer distance. Possessor alienation evaporated.
Artificial hypnosis hammered radiant, warm false memories deep into brain: childhood scrapes soothed by her breath on ointment; cram-school sendoffs with waving smiles; tender hands topping his spoon with tasty sides.
The sole being loving him unconditionally surged: my real mother.
Now, before him: pathetic death, turned to horrific sludge.
And that meat lump on the bed—father. Ravaged gentle, pitiful mother as sex slave for 20 years, brainwashed her to suicide—prime culprit slain.
Heart—not head—ripping loss gripped chest. Rage, grief slammed body amid choking pain.
"Euk…… hwaaaa…… Mommm……!!"
Tears burst. Breathless, he crumpled before sloshing tub, knees buckling.
Fake grief for manipulated soul—real or not, the weight crushing him was true.
Clutching tub edge, he wailed.
"Aaaagh! Mom! Mommm!! Why…… why leave like this…… why leave me alone!!"
Son of tragic hero Shooting Star—brutalized 20 years, slew husband, suicided—now, via self-hypnosis, reborn sole survivor and mourner of this wrecked home.
"Kuhk, heuk…… heung……."
Weeping face-down into tub long minutes, blood-and-tear-smeared, he lifted it. Unfocused eyes hardened with resolve.
Bloody trembling hand opened phone dialer.
Riiiing—
"Yes, 112 Police Situation Room."
Ohu pressed phone to ear, gasping.
"Heuk…… kuhk…… P-Policeman…… please…… my mom…… dad…………!"
Frantic operator voice crackled through. Amid it, pitiful son's wail—mind shattered by parents' gruesome corpses—echoed mournfully in blood-reeking bathroom.