The day Vanessa found Rusted Blood on Steam, she knelt beside the dog bed where Simon slept and rubbed him behind the ears to remind herself that she was real. A fit of rage, brought on by having this thrown in her face after six months of working so hard to rebuild her life, overtook her. She probably should've called her therapist, but she took to Instagram instead. She snapped a dimly lit photo of herself on the couch and captioned it with one-hundred and thirty-five words that only scratched the surface of how she felt because in such a heightened state, anything more than what she'd already managed to say escaped her. Sometimes, feelings could be so intense that words could do them no justice, but she had to say something, so she scrounged up those one-hundred and thirty-five.
I found something on Steam tonight, and I'm at a loss for words. Basically, there's a new game out called Rusted Blood, and it's based on something that happened to me, something that I've spent the past six months trying to convince myself didn't happen the way I remember it.
DO YOUR RESEARCH! The people who went through this with me, people who STILL haven't been found, look exactly like the other people on the cover for this awful game. I'M on the cover of the fucking game.
I'm tired of being gaslighted and lied to. I'm tired of feeling like reality is broken. I'm so fucking tired. This game was produced and released without my permission. Unfollow me if you support this exploitative shit.
Oh, and of course it was put out by SilberLab.
If anything had happened between making that post and getting a message from Tanya, it was lost to time. According to her phone and her computer, calendar days had passed. She was sure she had gone to work, taken Simon for walks, and otherwise carried on her routine. She simply had no memory of doing so. It wasn't like they were simply mundane things that caused one day to bleed into the next. Instead, it was as if someone had flipped a switch and turned her off until Tanya reached out.
Now, after ending that second call with Tanya, she finished her walk and went home. As she reached for the doorknob, Simon began to growl. He sniffed and glared at the base of the door, baring his teeth, then let out a thunderous bark that made her jump. She'd never heard him bark like that before. It wasn't the playful woof of a dog chasing ducks in the greenbelt. This was a guttural warning from an animal who aimed to protect its territory and loved ones.
Vanessa almost didn't go in. She contemplated calling the police and having them clear the apartment first, but the door was locked. No way someone could've gotten inside. Still, Simon's temperament scared her. This was not the cuddly rescue she'd gotten to know over the past few months. He'd become a beast, ready to fight anyone he deemed a threat.
It was this sudden protective demeanor that made her feel okay with making entry. Anyone who meant her harm would meet Simon's teeth. Even hooded superhumans. And if they were here, she doubted anyone could protect her, not dogs or police, and choosing not to enter her apartment now would only prolong their eventual capture of her.
Of course, they weren't real.
But they were in that fucking game. And so was she.
Just how broken was her reality?
She unlocked the door and pushed her way inside. Simon slipped past her, but as soon as he entered, his demeanor changed again. Barks of bravado became whines of submission. Square shoulders slumped. Vanessa followed Simon's gaze and saw a dead woman on her sofa.
Hannah … No fucking way.
Everything about her presence was wrong and not simply because she was dead. She appeared as a black-and-white, two-dimensional hologram but had no visible source of projection. Even the static and moments where she glitched couldn't cover up the dried blood on her clothes and around her mouth. Or the look in her eyes. A look that said, You know better. You can only leave so many people to die before you have to acknowledge you should've died in that amusement park like the rest of us.
"You bitch, you better not fucking leave me!"
The apparition remained long enough for Vanessa to register the look and the meaning behind it. Then it blinked out like a switched-off television.
"Fuck," Vanessa said, and dug out her phone.