At the highest point of the city.
In the office, only a single, warm yellow desk lamp was lit, casting long shadows across the walls. Behind an expensive red sandalwood desk sat a slightly chubby man, holding a cigar that was mere seconds away from burning out between his fingers.
His eyes, framed by sharp gold-rimmed glasses, were fixed unblinkingly on the monitor in front of him. On the screen was the development log for Outlast.
A solitary, flickering light in an abandoned hospital.
Frantic scratch marks on the walls.
The suffocating sound of something being dragged through the ventilation ducts.
At first, only a playful, cynical smile hung on the man's lips. His name was Barney Qian, but in the industry, everyone called him Fatty Barney. He was a legend in the investment world, known for a shark's eye and moves that were as ruthless as they were profitable.
He scrolled with his mouse, taking in the escalating feud between Singularity Studio and Xunyou Network. He watched the clips of Director Zhang's arrogant face at the press conference and listened to the guttural, righteous roar of Big Mike's viral video.
Slowly, the playful look on Barney's face faded. He abruptly snuffed out the cigar in a crystal ashtray.
Amidst the lingering blue smoke, he picked up a black private phone from his desk and dialed a number.
"Find a contact for me," he said, his voice low but vibrating with unquestionable authority.
"Singularity Studio. Get me Grant."
In less than thirty seconds, a string of numbers arrived via encrypted message.
---
Inside the cramped, dusty air of Singularity Studio.
The internet's explosive anticipation for their game had certainly lifted the team's spirits, but the cold reality of funding remained a mountain they couldn't climb. Sophie sat with her head lowered, her long hair concealing her expression as she stared at her drawing tablet.
Grant had considered the "Earth strategy"—releasing a semi-finished Early Access build and perfecting it through updates later. It was a common tactic for survival, but his heart balked at the idea. Wasn't that just a polite way of deceiving the players? How disappointed would they be when they finally saw the "masterpiece" they had championed, only to find it a hollow, buggy shell?
Just then, his phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number. He hesitated for a moment before swiping to answer.
"Grant?"
On the other end was a voice he didn't recognize, carrying a heavy, magnetic sense of pressure.
"Speaking," Grant replied cautiously.
"How many people are on your team?" The question came fast and direct, cutting through any pretense of pleasantries.
Grant was momentarily stunned, answering on instinct. "Three."
A second of silence followed.
"How much money do you need?"
The question hit like a clap of thunder in the quiet room. Grant's mind raced. How much did he want? He had thought of fifty thousand, maybe a hundred thousand—just enough to keep the lights on and buy ramen for another two months.
But then he looked at the Outlast development log on the screen. He saw the concept maps that carried all his ambition, all the "dimensionality reduction" weapons from Earth that were still locked away. An unprecedented boldness surged from the depths of his soul.
Gritting his teeth, he blurted out a number that felt absolutely insane.
"Three million."
After the words left his mouth, he stopped breathing. Arthur and Sophie snapped their heads up, looking at him in utter shock.
From the other end of the phone, however, came a light, amused chuckle. Then, the final question—the one that pointed straight to the heart of the matter.
"Do you have the confidence to crush Xunyou Network?"
This wasn't about money anymore. It wasn't about the size of the team. It was about the kill.
Grant's hand tightened around the phone until his veins bulged. He remembered the feeling of his hard work being stolen, the weeks of living in a crawlspace of an apartment, and the sneering face of Zhang Wei. All his resentment and ambition converged into a single, powerful word.
"Yes!"
His voice wasn't a shout, but it was firm enough to shake the air.
On the other end, a hearty, boisterous laugh erupted.
"Good! I'll invest three million for a 10% stake! Go and crush those idiots who think they can rule the world with reskinned garbage!"
Click.
The line went dead. The busy tone—beep, beep, beep—echoed in the sudden silence of the studio. Grant remained frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear.
Arthur's mouth hung open in a perfect 'O'. Sophie had her small hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and shimmering with disbelief.
Reality had just become more absurd than any dream.
---
One week later.
In front of a gleaming, brand-new office building in the city's High-Tech Zone.
Grant, Arthur, and Sophie stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the glass curtain wall shimmering in the afternoon sun. Fatty Barney's efficiency was terrifying. The funds had arrived in less than twenty-four hours. Immediately after, his team had secured an entire floor of this building for them.
"An… an entire floor?" Grant pushed open the heavy glass doors.
Empty. Silent. Sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden spots on the polished floor.
Arthur walked to the glass, overlooking the bustling city below. For the first time, he wasn't looking at a brick wall or an alleyway. The height seemed to symbolize the new realm they were about to enter.
Sophie carefully stroked the surface of a brand-new desk, her fingertips tracing the smooth wood grain. She was already imagining this space filled with high-end drawing tablets and the creative energy of a full art department.
Grant stood in the center, his gaze sweeping over every corner—from the reception area to the conference rooms. For months, they had been squeezed into a room where turning around was a luxury. Now, they had enough space for a hundred employees. This wasn't just a change of scenery; it was a total transformation of their destiny.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of new carpet and infinite possibility. The three million was the rain his parched ambitions needed. The grand blueprints he had once guarded as delusions were now within reach.
In his mind, the suppressed ideas from Earth surged like a flood. He thought of the original, complete vision for Outlast. No more cut corners. No more "good enough."
Every room in the hospital would have a unique, horrific backstory. Every patient would have a tragic history behind their madness. He envisioned a complex interaction system and multi-ending plotlines that had been stripped due to the lack of a budget. Now, everything was on the table.
Grant walked over to Sophie and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Sophie, I'm putting you in charge of recruiting the design and art departments."
Sophie looked up, her eyes sparkling with a fire he hadn't seen before.
Arthur turned around, his face set. "What about programming and testing?"
"I'll oversee the programming department myself," Grant said with a confident smile. "As for testing, we need the most rigorous, hardcore players to hunt down every last bug. And most importantly…" He paused, looking around. "We need a full sound effects team."
A huge part of Outlast's terror would stem from the auditory experience. The wail of the wind through broken glass. The heavy, wet sound of something being dragged across a floor. The faint, insane whispers in the distance. Every detail had to be a psychological hammer.
Singularity Studio's recruitment ads soon appeared on every major forum. Unlike the corporate fluff of companies like Xunyou, their notice was jarringly simple.
Only one sentence:
[We are creating a true horror game.]
It was a magnet. It drew the young developers who were tired of the assembly-line life, the veteran devs who had resigned from giants out of sheer boredom, and the fresh graduates who still believed games could be art. They had all seen Big Mike's video. They all wanted to know what kind of studio dared to vow they would "Crush Xunyou."
Grant, Arthur, and Sophie spent every day in the interview rooms. They were no longer a crew struggling for survival; they were the helmsmen of a legend.
Grant would ask one question:
"Do you love games enough to give everything for the 'hardcore' truth in your heart?"
Sophie would show them her concept maps and ask them to create something "desperate" on the spot.
Arthur would throw technical nightmares at them to see whose logic wouldn't break under pressure.
Slowly, the empty floor began to hum. The sound of clicking mice and intense technical debates filled the air. Singularity Studio was no longer three people in a room. It was a ship, and it was finally gathering its crew.
Grant stood in the center of the bustling office, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The shackles were gone.
"I'm going to make Outlast its original, most complete form," he whispered to the glass.
"And then, I'm going to show this world what a real nightmare looks like."