I, Gao Ming

Flesh and Blood had congealed on the cold walls. Every dead Gao Ming was different. Stared down by face after face of his own, Gao Ming's mind began to unravel.

His body touched the wall. As Flesh and Blood met Flesh and Blood, he saw the corpses' memories.

"Doctor, the games I made seem to have become real."

"Isn't that a good thing? People are under so much pressure at work these days, but you can escape all that."

"But I'm a Ghost Story Game designer. I've conceived a hundred and twenty-six murders and created dozens of killers with different personalities. To find material, I've watched ninety-five thriller films, read over four hundred horror comics, and collected more than two thousand supernatural folk tales. Now all of them seem to have become real!"

"Then do I look familiar to you?"

A blade plunged into his neck. Blood stained the medical record red. The memory was unbearably real...

Gao Ming clutched his neck and backed away from the corpse in a hospital gown, but countless hands seemed to have seized his mind and will.

"Mom! Run! There's a Ghost hiding in the house! I'm not crazy! I saw it! Let go of me! Vengeful Ghosts are coming! They want to destroy this city!"

"Sweetheart, focus on getting better. You don't need to worry about things at home."

"I'm not lying to you! Don't stay in the house! Get out!"

"I know you're not lying. But having the same voice and face doesn't mean I'm your mother."

A restraint strap tightened around his neck. Unable to breathe, his entire face turned a deep purple. His hands flailed up and down, but no one would come to save him...

More memories of death surged toward Gao Ming, tearing at his soul and will.