‘Don't make me kill you. Not this time around. Come on, we entered this place together and you…you just gave up. Please. Just snap out of it and we can go back to the Cut Zone. Please bro. Please.’ I asked with the white hockey mask on my face and sharpened machete in my hand. The neon effects on my mask let my victims know where I was when I was close enough to strike. I'd deactivated the lights for the moment.

There was no blood splashed across my mask and body yet but it was only a matter of time. This early in the Viewers could tolerate a little hunt and search but I'd need a [Bodycount] soon. I'd made my way through the way through the local area without alerting anyone in the [Neighbourhood Watch]. The threat response would remain low until my first real kill. My clothing was rough but hard wearing, it'd take on plenty of cosmetic damage and I could always trade some of my view figures for new gear back in the Cut Zone.

Blood and flesh were harder to remove from thick jeans, a wool coat and long sleeve shirt than I had first assumed. My heavy leather boots would last me for far longer unless I damaged them kicking in barricaded living rooms. The house was beautifully decorated and largely undamaged except for the mess in the kitchen. My fault that.

My heavy leather boots crunched half spilled boxes of cereal into squashed matter. Better than brains at least. Ugh. That stuff does not clean easily. Bodacious uses of violence were popular but made me want to blow chunks when it ended up in my ponytail. A half-conscious young man in his late teens cowered before me with a hand raised up. A victim, just another casualty or someone who would try to stab me in my guy and run.

Then he'd change his role into a [Haunted Survivor] and I'd need to kill him before they transformed into something resembling a real threat. Except that this was different, this was somebody I'd spent the last year searching for since we entered this place together with his friends. My only family inside this place. My younger brother. Zen. I knew my kid brother wouldn't recognise me when I was wearing my slasher equipment and mask but I saw the tattoo on his arm and recognised him despite his change of clothing.

My little kid brother. My parents had odd naming concepts. My name doesn't matter. Not out here. Only my [Killer Identity] mattered and only those who were [Viewers] were aware of it. The rest of the NPCs just knew that I was another psycho killer out to kill more people than the plague. A threat. Nothing more.

Out of loneliness and desperation for normal conversation I'd tried talking to them once when I'd broken into an office building to leave bodies stuffed in supply cupboards. I found a late night worker office manager to explain myself to, reassuring him that I wasn't a threat as long as he sat and listened. The killer part of me wanted to sever his head from his shoulders and leave the body sitting on his office chair for an early morning work surprise but I retrained myself.

I explained to the wide eyes middle aged man that as a Player forced to kill and commit violent acts just to stay in the game and stay alive for more day. The [Viewing Count] on me had continued to drop but I kept on talking. Retelling how I ended up here and how my first few kills had been messy and partially accidental.

The man had pretended to listen to me and when his eyes had widened beneath his glasses when I'd removed my mask and showed them a smile I thought I'd found an ally. Even a friend. I could be a human for a little bit and escape from the cycle of brutal kills and escape.

Just someone to talk to normally which didn't involve talking about horror film scenarios and kill and evasion techniques would have been great. But the fact that he'd listened tore open my hardened emotions, made me more vulnerable than I should have been.

His rough hand gently lay across the bare skin of my cheek as tears, real tears appeared in my eyes. Genuine tears flowed from my eyes. The man showed me kindness, appreciation even. I was reminded of my Father.

He had even offered to pour me a glass from the drinks cabinet inside his private office. I'd stupidly let my guard down and dropped my [Makeshift Weapon] on the grey carpeted flooring. I'd ripped the small wooden handled fire axe from a display cabinet on the way here. I knew that it would break after a few strikes but it would last for a single kill at least.

Psycho killers in the horror movies of the eighties had to work with makeshift weapons, I was the same but it always came with a cost. You needed to property brand yourself and use a signature weapon. I knew that my overall [View Count] was going to drop further but the [Hidden Hunter] scene was boring for me and I'd been half-awake.

As I poured my heart out and tears, literally, the man switched the mood by saying he needed to grab another drink from the cabinet and for me to keep talking he decided to a bottle of strong proof alcohol across my face and had thrown a lit lighter at me laughing as I caught fire.

The flames began to melt my skin as I wind-milled around searching for a nearby office pond to drop into as the man fled and screamed and just screamed for help. For anyone to save them. Late at night it was unlikely but there would have been security guards in the building.

I managed to douse some of the flame with a water cooler in the hallway

and made my escape. My skin smelt of burnt bacon and my clothes entirely ruined as I was mocked by fellow Player Killers inside the Cut Zone. A few of them took pity on my and handed me medicine to heal but I was scarred emotionally rather than physically.

I'd learnt my lesson about NPCs the hard way. You could go amongst them as one of them if you were gifted a skill by [Viewers] but you could never talk to them. Not like you could to a normal person on the street. Zen was was extremely lucky I missed and knocked him out by reflex. He'd be easy meat for any other Player. Just another chopped up or half-eaten corpse.

The tattooed mark on his arm I had given him a year back if my sense of time wasn't completely lost. We had found a tattoo artist shop on the drive here and I had convinced all of us to get matching ones in case we became lost in the desert festival.

I was totally lucky that when I had silently entered looking for victims he had been alone in the kitchen. His shirt had torn when my machete had narrowly missing slicing into his bicep.

‘ZEN! Try and calm down. Safe…safe…got it. Engage [Emergency Hiding

Space].’ I said with some regret.

A rush of adrenaline flowed into my blood stream as my strength increased and I ripped open a series of lower cupboard shelves and shoved him in. Zen would be uncomfortable but alive and I'd need to select a victim inside this house before the audience grew aware of my hesitation. Using one of my emergency trump cards was dangerous I knew. I should

have kept it in reserve in case an [Armed Vigilante] turned up with a gun and a taste for revenge but this was my kid brother. I settled for opening cupboard and throwing out the plates and dishes to smash on the yellow laminate flooring. The noise would eventually draw a victim

to me soon enough.

The house with a picket fence was one of a dozen replicas along the same road. Each house had a red Chevy and a few bicycles with red

tassels on the handlebars. Very in tune with the eighties theme. Thankfully it wasn't Christmas or another holiday season. Those were the times I both loved and hated the most. Too many Player Killers out for kills ruined the atmosphere in trying to build Christmas trees made from human flesh and bone and then leave them all lit up in back gardens and shopping malls.

I had been fortunate to stay away from the Fun Zone of Joy. The killing rewards were better there but the loss of humanity and morals put me right off. Even they were mindless NPCs I had my limits. No was a hard no. I wasn't going to sacrifice what was left of my moral standards for bonus viewers and better gifts. For all my appearance as one as a main antagonist from an eighties horror film the only true way to be safe was to act as one of them. To butcher in creative ways.

Even if I was forced to hack apart innocent NPCs who screamed and whose blood flowed until they turned into faceless, lifeless mannequins who just flopped on the floor. I had even developed my own [Catch Phrase] and [Killer Nickname]. The Griefer. I would cry after killing each victim thus allowing them an opportunity to inflict a [Temporary Lethal Wound] on my physical form. Allowing a basic weakness as a common practice as it kept the victims alive long enough. Pretending to be a lethal robot covered in a meat substrate suit was a fast way for Views to drop you faster than

spilled coffee.

I was taking a risk talking normally to Zen this time but for good reason. As long as I stayed in my [Silent Killer Character] I received sufficient protection during the scenario film running time. I had my own fans in the audience who gifted me and I had to keep them happy. I raised my reliable [Blooded Machete] above my head and prepared one of my most-used skills at my disposal. Even retelling my same origin story barely brought any new Fans but it kept my viewer numbers sustainable. I tended to lean into the classic Eighties Horror Classics for good reason.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

invisible Viewers (12) Visible Fans (2) 80s_Film_Fan8,

GutzGutzLiver_23, Guests Viewing (3) Invisible Guests Viewing (14)>

I was especially lucky that my personal fans allowed me [Introspective Recall] as a gift. The few who bothered to send me messages or even took an interest. Guests were Viewers who drifted in and out. If they took a valid interest and liked my work then they paid the Management a fee for access to my profile.

To be clear I was an average level killer with a body count below the mid-hundreds but I remained consistent and rarely drew the attention of law enforcement. Aside from the one mistake which had left me badly burned and scarred inside for mistaking the fake tenderness of an NPC for something more real I always killed my selected victims. Except

this time. Not to Zen.

In my mind it was one of the few barriers which stopped me from going completely insane and surrendering to the mercies of the Horrors of the Night. Inside Cut Zone a few of the other Players who stayed inside the Contemporary horror film zone grouped up. I'd been warned to strike a balance and not overreach or I'd either be relegated to

another genre zone like Science Fiction Horror or worse. A scream came from my immediate left as I selected a random helpless screaming NPC who was running into the Kitchen from the Attic, the Basement or the usual Hiding Place.

My actions had already poked the inhabitants of the house awake. I was lucky one of them had run into me. I hated chase scenes, all those obstacles and hide and murder made

for tedious work.I had found Zen so I need to satisfy my fans, the [Viewers] and any lingering [Invisible Guests]. They wanted blood and gore and I needed a distraction. This time I shoved them hard against a wall cracking a bone in their face. The sickening crunch of flesh of wood made me shiver involuntarily with pleasure as I heavily leaned into my role as The Griefer.

Drops of water trickled down through the eye holes of my white mask as

the waterworks turned on and my face crunched up. My slasher muscle memory kicked in and the first slash from my machete cut an arm off flopping it to the floor. A single swipe was all it took with a [Blooded Machete].

As long as I kept the weapon fed with enough blood and gore the edge remained sharp enough to slice through flesh and bone with relative ease. This time blood sprayed from the fresh wound all over my face and mask. The tears from my eyes continued leaving streaks of red water which dropped to the laminate floor of the kitchen. The satisfaction levels from the viewers were reflected in my own abilities and I mechanically dismembered the still living body of the NPC making sure that my cuts were a little less shallower than usual. I needed to put on a decent show while my most useful skill [Origin Story Mode] was engaged.

You want to watch it again you sick freaks? So do I. If only to remind me to save him this time and take him to the Cut Zone. Enjoy it! Only a repeat of my life before this hell!

I just hope that my parents never come looking for us. My boss on the

other hand…

[When we had first received tickets to the Ultimate 1980s Horror Marathon held out in the desert my younger brother had literally screamed with delight. He had loved the genre more than me and my parents didn't want to drive him out there so it fell to me as his big

sister to take it on.

I was taking a working sabbatical from my job in the biggest city in our County. My boss was an uneducated moron who thought that I needed to make connections, not hard work to progress up the corporate career ladder.

The sad part was that she was right. Small town girl from the countryside hitting up Country Clubs and showing her horse riding and golfing skills was all in my favour.

After she told me to my face that my last promotion had been denied due to my lack of engagement with clients in after-work parties I had taken my case to Human Resources and immediately applied for a paid sabbatical.

Warning: Viewer Engagement Dropped. You have a comment from a Guest. (Ugh, grody. I'm out of here Dudette.)

In the end I had paid for gas money, snacks for my brother and two of his friends and driven the entire six hour journey to the Ultimate Horror Marathon where we weren't disappointed.

A ton of people all dressed up in costume and make-up prepared for the largest outdoor viewing on massive screens projected into the desert skies. Then it went wrong after the first three or four films during a break.]

I disabled [Origin Story Mode] having given my audience and the [Guest Viewers] enough of my back story to leave them wanting more. As I looked at the scraps of flesh which had once been an NPC I ripped the straps off one side of my mask showing my face to the Viewers and allowed tears to fall and roll down my face.

Warning: Viewer Engagement Increased. You have a comment from a Guest. (A girl?? What? Guys, she’s totally a girl. Who knew that? Totally hot. I'd ask her for a date if she wasn't a Player.) Unknown Guest (1) wants to give you a gift. Accept?

I wiped the blood of my clothing as best I could and reached underneath the counter where I had stashed him and dragged him out of the house. I made sure my machete cut through a gas pipe in the kitchen.

I disabled [Origin Story Mode] having given my audience and the guests Viewers enough of my back story to leave them wanting more. As I looked at the scraps of flesh which had once been an NPC I ripped the straps off one side of my mask showing my face to the Viewers and allowed tears to fall and roll down my face.

Warning: Viewer Engagement Increased. You have a comment from a Guest. (A girl?? What? Guys, she’s totally a girl. Who knew that? Totally hot. I'd ask her for a date if she wasn't a Player.) Unknown Guest (1) wants to give you a gift. Accept?

I wiped the blood of my clothing as best I could and reached underneath the counter where I had stashed him and dragged him out. I made sure my machete cut through a gas pipe in the kitchen and grabbed a knife sharpening tool and a dishcloth. A small oil can completed the mixture.

Funny how the Killing Zone always had items that Killers like me could use if they really needed it. The old phrase of it makes sense in the movies was right. In the real world, out of this hell, I wouldn’t be able to grab random items like I was Macgyver, make something up and escape.

The Viewer Engagement Numbers would drop but the gift offers always remained. If they thought I was taking a trophy for an after-kill I'd make it this time. I just needed to get my younger brother to the Cut Zone long enough for him to shake his NPC status.

Warning: Viewer Engagement Increased. You have a comment from a Verified Viewer Fan 80s_Film_Fan. (A twist this time. I like it. Tell you what, you escape with him and I’ll grant you a gift. A good one this time. Oh, hear those sirens, emergency services are on the way. Better run. Starting a fire? I thought you knew better than that Beauty Vee. Give me a Fist Pump if you agree. Come on my Dudette. Five-Oh is on the way...)

I relied on Viewer Numbers to survive, got enough and they took care of you. Failed to catch their attention and you got side-cast to one of the support roles as just another NPC victim. This one was one of the few who’d stuck with me.

All I knew that they liked my role and my name. I told you that my parents had an odd naming sense. There was no way I was going to risk talking to Zen again inside one of the [Kill Zones]. I wasn’t going to lose him again even if it cost me a few shots to the torso.

Grabbing the items, I threw them together just in time as the smell of gas from the kitchen became stronger.

Some of the Viewers had sick senses of humour. If they found out I had rescued my brother they’d use him as bait against me until he totally lost his identity. I knew it would happen because it’s exactly what happened to his two friends who came along for the trip.

Outside of the burning house I jumped over the small white picket fence in the front garden and saw red and blue sirens in the distance. Fire, police or ambulances. All would prove a challenge.

I could always opt for a rampage, it’d be a risky maneuver but it would draw a great deal of wanted and unwanted attention. I’d gain [Temporary Madness] as a side-effect and be able to chop my way out and cause a massive bloodbath in the process but Zen would be dead.

In pieces or decapitated with one blow from my [Blooded Machete]. No. Even if I was killed the NPCs would haul me away to the morgue and I’d be reborn. All of it would cost though. My presence would be sky-high and I’d need to spend a long time without walking around during the day time.

Maybe some of the complete psychos in the Cut Zone would do it, I was sure that was the reason that they stayed in that place near permanently except for leaving weeks at a time. I killed, I dismembered, I caused carnage but it was to survive the living hell that was this place. Looking back at the sirens and the unconscious Zen heaped over my shoulder I made my decision. I raised a fist pump in agreement as a dose of power surged through me and shook my body. The Viewer who had just commented could wait for a little bit for my response.

Always leave them wanting a little bit more. Don't overreach.

The fire and explosion would draw others Players in looking for any [Last Minute Survivors]. I would have searched and cut the throats and done the job myself but I needed to bring Zen away from this place.

The [Viewer Engagement Numbers] would drop hard but the gift offers always remained. If they thought I was taking a trophy for an after-kill I'd make it this time. They didn't care if he was a former Player. All they wanted was to see my kill on screen through a bright neon display and to be entertained.

I just needed to get my younger brother to the Cut Zone long enough for him to shake his NPC status. I struck a spark with my machete on the metal tin and threw it with enough force as it hit the gas-filled room. Then I threw Zen over my shoulder and jumped through the kitchen windows.