Why the Hell Is This Real?
I've heard "sucker" so many times in my life. It wasn't that I was particularly nice or soft. It was just... my face, or rather, my vibe was way too pushover-ish.
"Aigoo, you look like you'd ace your studies."
"You really have such a kind face."
"Sorry, let's break up. You just don't feel like a man to me."
That's probably how this happened.
Guess I've been kidnapped or something.
When I opened my eyes, I was inside an abandoned building. My hands and feet weren't tied, and my mouth was free. The kidnappers seemed oddly sloppy, but...
That just means they're that confident.
Even stranger was the internet window floating right in front of me. It looked exactly like some community site—a gallery. When I poked it with my finger, it reacted like a tablet.
Posts poured down like a waterfall. Why the hell was this floating in front of me? Without thinking, I tapped one.
Press.
The transparent window reacted to my touch.
"What the...!"
I yelled without thinking. Aigoo, if the kidnappers were nearby, I'd be screwed. Luckily, it was still quiet around me.
First, assess the situation.
I pulled my eyes from the window and looked around. I was in a building that screamed "haunted house experience"—the kind used for cheap thrills. I'd blacked out after heavy drinking with college buddies last night, and woke up here. Outside the window was blindingly bright, like midday. Somehow, that brightness felt even more unsettling.
First things first, call the cops.
I stood and patted my pockets. No phone. Wallet gone too.
Yeah, no way kidnappers are that sloppy.
Still, leaving me unbound made no sense. Selective incompetence? Whatever. I decided to escape this factory-sized space. Peering out, it was a multi-story building—not the first floor. I mapped an escape route in my head, holding my breath. Move carefully. Running into kidnappers on the way down would suck.
Right then.
"Grrrrowl."
A low growl rumbled from the broken window gap. An animal's snarl. I checked outside again and froze.
No, fuck! What the hell is that?!
A pitch-black figure staggered like a drunk. Its movements were... well, zombie-like. You know, the classic disaster flick shamblers.
Eyes totally glazed—not booze. Drugs maybe?
I sucked in a ragged breath. The dread thickened. Was I tangled in some drug ring? Kidnapped to mule product?
That doesn't even make sense in real life.
I focused outside. On closer look, it wasn't just one or two. I'd mistaken them for discarded clothes at first—they were people, crawling on the ground like beasts.
"Those are legit zombies."
I swallowed hard, patting my pockets. Oh, right—phone's gone. That's when the gallery caught my eye again.
"Uh."
The gallery window lingered in the corner of my vision. Does it follow my gaze? A light touch, and it minimized, maximized, even zoomed like a PC screen. Cool. What else?
I spotted a camera icon in the interface. Tapping it turned it into a smartphone camera.
"Whoa, it works."
Admiration short-lived, I snapped pics of the scene outside and posted to the gallery.
I attached photos of the shambling "druggies." They'd have to believe zombie-lookalikes. But despite my desperation, views stayed at zero.
"What? Why's no one clicking?"
New posts flooded in too fast. Low-effort bait gets ignored, naturally.
Fuck. Time for plan B.
I went incognito, changed the title.
Views spiked way faster than expected. Comments too.
They treated my post like a joke. Before attention faded, I desperately replied.
Replies hit quick.
Still seeing me as a troll.
What the fuck, these guys.
Then someone replied normally.
Question's weird.
I paused. Should I play along with this madness? Then I answered honestly.
What's so jackpot? Real psycho?
Wait, should I trust this psycho? As I hesitated, glowing text appeared.
Goinmul has sent you a gift.
Accept the gift?
Uh, what? I hit accept on reflex. A massive box dropped—er, materialized—before me. More like it spawned: a holographic dot expanded into a cube, then thunk, a box.
"What is this...?"
I nudged it with my foot. No explosion. Yeah, not a bomb. Carefully opening it revealed tons of stuff.
"This a real sword?"
A sharp longsword, assorted weapons, a medieval-style shield, armor, defensive gear, hardtack-looking rations, and water bottles—probably purified.
I snapped back to the gallery.
Context says Goinmul sent this. How? Questions later—I replied.
What?! Stunned, Goinmul spammed replies.
Backrooms?
My face drained to a deathly pallor.