“Didn’t I tell you to get ready to open your legs?”
“…Okay.”
And so, the endless days of being held by Silas continued.
“Nhhng! Ah! St-stop, ah!”
“When you’re biting down on me like this?”
He took pleasure not only in driving into her while holding her in his arms, but also in hoisting her hips like a beast to penetrate her from behind.
He would pry open the legs of the woman who had only just awakened, thrusting himself right back into the passage he had thoroughly explored until dawn. Now, he had even forced her to witness the spectacle of his cock entering her, forcing her legs wide before the bedroom mirror.
“Describe what your pussy looks like right now.”
Her eyes, hazy and flushed red with pleasure, met Silas’s in the glass. He smiled with dark satisfaction, driving in deeper. The breathless moans escaping her trembling lips filled the room, and with every heavy thrust of his hips, a wet, slick rhythm echoed through the air.
Sensing that this torment would never end unless she gave him what he wanted, Rachel opened her mouth, trembling under his unyielding command.
“Ngh, your cock… ha, it comes in while you spread my legs wide.”
“And?”
He let out a low exhale, pressing her slender waist firmly against his hips as he drove deeper still. Rachel’s back arched sharply. A pale fluid of unknown origin trickled from their point of contact, only for his column of flesh to plunge back in, severing the thin stream.
“My hole is… gaping, nhhng! Ah!”
Rachel’s hands clawed blindly at the air. Silas looked down at her, a quiet sneer lingering on his face. He knew that the only anchor she had in the world was him. Just as he anticipated, her searching hands scrambled to grasp his solid forearm.
“Gaping what?”
He deliberately pushed in slowly, carving deep inside her while delicately stroking her clitoris with his fingertips. Whether it was the sharp contraction of her inner walls squeezing his shaft or the obscene words falling from her lips, the length inside her swelled even larger and harder.
“Your cock… Ahk, why… why did it get bigger… Heuk!”
As she squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed, Silas cupped her chin, forcibly turning her face back toward the mirror. Her trembling, panting reflection stared back at her with vivid clarity. Silas seemed to relish the sight, a dark grin spreading across his features. He buried his hips all the way in and leaned down, whispering low against her ear.
“Because now the real fun begins.”
Something was wrong.
Her official cause of death as the first victim was supposed to be stab wounds. She remembered the game's commentary vividly: she had been mercilessly butchered with a sharp weapon. Yet if she were to die in this situation, it wouldn't be from a blade. It would be from pure exhaustion.
In the original game, Silas had claimed countless other victims besides her, plunging the local community into sheer terror. Yet strangely enough, this version of Silas never left the mansion.
Should she consider herself fortunate that no new victims were dying, or unfortunate that it left her with zero opportunity to escape?
Regardless, Rachel refused to lose herself in this distorted reality.
The food Silas prepared was unbelievably delicious, and the nights she spent locked in his embrace were thrilling beyond anything she had ever known. But he was far too dangerous. The very knife he used for cooking could pierce her heart without a moment's notice, and in the heat of passion, he might just as easily strangle her to death.
So, whenever he was occupied in the kitchen, she searched the mansion. As long as she stayed far away from the central staircase leading to the first floor, he didn't suddenly appear.
Taking meticulous care to skirt around the stairs, she methodically mapped out the second floor. The mansion was a labyrinth, and unlike the game, there was no mini-map hovering in her peripheral vision. Progress was agonizingly slow. But eventually, she found it.
Silas’s computer.
‘Finally! I can report him to the police from here. All I have to do is survive until they get here!’
When she booted it up, the login screen demanded a password. Panic flared for a second, but then she remembered—whether by stroke of luck or sheer misfortune—she had memorized it after dying countless times in the game trying to uncover it.
0, 3, 2, 8.
One by one, she keyed in the digits. The desktop interface loaded.
“Yes! …What the hell—!”
Rachel nearly shrieked, clamping a hand over her mouth just in time. Staring at the screen, a bitter curse slipped through her teeth.
‘No way. They actually implemented this, too?’
Lockpick (Can open locked doors)
Flashlight (Blinds Silas for 0.3 seconds)
Smoke grenade (Blinds Silas for 3 seconds)
Disposable camera (Records a scene. Can be retrieved from the album)
Fingerprint kit (Collects prints from a crime scene)
First aid kit (Restores 15% health)
Small bag (Expands inventory by 5 slots)
Large bag (Expands inventory by 8 slots)
In the game, “Silas’s Computer” was used exclusively for trading items. Unsurprisingly, reality had mirrored the code: there was nothing here except an in-game store interface.
No matter where she clicked, there was no option to contact the outside world, no way to dial the police. With a heavy, hollow sigh, Rachel resorted to purchasing a few items that seemed marginally useful. Yet there wasn't a single realistic tool for escape. No radios, no cell phones, no way to signal for help. The realization made her stomach drop into a cold abyss.
“What are you doing in here while I’m cooking?”
The bone-chilling voice struck her like ice just as she was frantically clicking through the menus.
“Si—Silas.”
“What did you do?”
Step by step, he closed the distance like a predator cornering its prey. His hands were empty, but towering at over 190 cm against her modest 163 cm, he could end her life effortlessly without her putting up the slightest fight. Rachel struggled to draw breath, forcing herself to sound calm.
“I—I was just… buying a few things.”
“Things?”
Rachel nodded rapidly. Standing right beside her now, Silas cast a cold glance down at the monitor.
“A first aid kit, a bag, a disposable camera… Why these?”
“My health… isn’t doing very well…”
“And the bag?”
“It’s a gift. For you.”
“…And the disposable camera?”
“T-to… capture our memories together?”
She threw out whatever desperate excuse came to mind. The first aid kit, at least, was genuinely for herself. After every night spent in his bed, she was left so utterly drained that the thought of running away was impossible. She desperately hoped the kit might help her recover enough strength to survive.