Boss, You're on TV [R18]

Ninety percent completion snags an extra prize? Chen Ge's pulse quickened as he registered the hidden item's unlock—a rare boon from the black phone's twisted game. Excitement flared, bright as a spell's spark, only to gutter out as he skimmed the description. Wang Qi's Missing Person Notice? Is this blasted phone off its rocker? That's no reward—it's a hex! The words oozed malice, a venomous gift he'd rather chuck into a bog.

A new riddle wormed in: Malice Points—what in blazes are those? The phrasing hinted at a measure of Wang Qi's spite, distilled into numbers. No use to the living—so it's for the dead? He flicked a glance at his shadow, trailing dark and silent on the police car's floor, and shook his head, banishing the chill that prickled his nape.

The car rolled into New Century Park at 7 a.m., dawn bleeding faint gold over the gates. Chen Ge trudged to the guard, snagging the Haunted House's spare key with a mumbled thanks. Exhaustion gnawed his bones—after a night of running from cleavers and killers, his frame felt ready to splinter like a snapped wand. In the staff breakroom, he collapsed onto a cot, its musty embrace a grim comfort.

He fished out his phone—dead as a doornail, livestream snuffed out. Plugging it into the charger, it hummed awake. The pedometer blinked: ten thousand steps and counting, a night's mad dash etched in digits. Top of his friends' list—Xiao Wan had even liked the feat. Gotta train—outrun the lot next time, and I'm golden, he mused, half-serious.

Thumbing to He San's number, he tapped a cautious message—no sense rousing the lad if he's out cold—but the phone rang not three seconds later. "Bloody hell, Boss—you're alive‽" He San's shout blasted through, loud enough to summon a migraine.

"Wishing me dead, are ya? Pipe down—your mates'll curse you awake," Chen Ge groaned, rubbing his temple.

"Sleep? Fat chance! We were glued to your stream—waiting for word!" He San's voice crackled with relief.

Chen Ge's chest warmed—loyal lot—and he opened his mouth to ask He San to thank them, when the lad barreled on: "Stream cut, and they swore you'd copped it—started betting on it. Cheers, Boss—you've bankrolled my grub for the week!"

"So my neck's worth a few plates?" Chen Ge deadpanned, floored by the bluntness. "Keep your glee to yourself—I'm fine without it."

"Anyhow, Boss—thank the stars you're breathing! I was half-dreading you'd end up slabbed in our labs. You know, our prof snaps pics of stiffs at their last tick—'fresh corpse clarity,' he calls it…" He San's voice buzzed, relentless as a pixie swarm.

"Spare me the gore," Chen Ge groaned, massaging his temple where a dull throb pulsed like a hexed drum. "You're a big reason I'm not a cadaver—cheers for that. I'll treat you to grub sometime."

He cut the call, thumbing open his video app page. Blimey! His followers had spiked—over 3,000 new souls hooked. A blacked-out stream nets this? His inbox blinked, stuffed to bursting—most messages a chorus of "Host, still kicking?" Bloody vultures—itching for my demise! Relief washed in when he saw his Haunted House profile stood firm, unblocked—his digital lair intact. He tossed the phone aside, burrowing his face into the pillow's musty embrace, limbs sprawling like a felled troll. Time to shut off. A day's rest—earned it.

Clothes shed, eyes shuttered, he sank into sleep's dark tide.

The sun clawed up, heralding day with a golden sneer. Light seeped through the blinds, gilding the bed's edge like a potion's gleam—serene, deceptive.

Bang!

The protective railing outside the Haunted House screeched apart, iron groaning like a crypt gate unlatched. Light, urgent footsteps pattered up the stairs—a flurry of pixie wings in the gloom. The staff breakroom door burst wide, slammed open with a force that rattled the walls. The bed jolted—a troll's stomp!—and Chen Ge shot upright, heart lurching, fright snapping him from sleep's grasp. Before a word escaped, a warm, soft figure crashed into him—Xu Wan, straddling him, her lithe frame a sudden, fragrant storm. Her voice rang, sharp and thrilled: "Boss, you're on the telly!"

Two, three seconds ticked before his fogged mind cleared. Xu Wan loomed above, scantily clad—cool fabric teasing his skin—her head tilted back, unguarded. From his angle, her plunging neckline offered a brazen view, a shadowed ravine that quickened his pulse. Her shampoo's scent—fresh, bewitching—swirled like a potion's vapor. A rogue grin split his face as he pinched her pert rear, fingers sliding under her shirt's hem to seize a tender breast. "Growing again, eh, you minx? Slow down—what's this about me? Still sore from last night? Why'd you not crash here?"

He'd staggered back without her—Xu Wan absent when he'd returned. She'd once been a waif, alone and penniless when she first joined the haunt. His parents, soft-hearted, had rented her a nook beyond the park's bounds. "N-not sore," she stammered, cheeks flaring crimson at the memory of their wild night. "Got spooked here alone—so I bolted home."

"First time I've seen someone I know on screen!" she gushed. "Your face's all mosaicked, but I'd know you anywhere!"

"Mosaic?" Chen Ge's brow furrowed—her words carried a strange, slippery weight.

"Look!" She thrust her phone at him, heedless of his stirring heat pressing against her belly. "Snipped this from the web—Jiujiang Morning News, twenty-third minute, emergency flash." He tapped play. Ping An Apartments loomed onscreen—a bleak silhouette under dawn's pall.

"Right triumphs!" the anchor crowed. "Five years on, the Fu An Apartments massacre breaks open—a family of four torched. With a citizen's valor, police have snared the true killer!" A clip trailed: Chen Ge trudging beside a Western Precinct cop, his face a pixelated smear. Caption: "One suspect roams free—witness identity veiled for safety."

"Boss, that's you—height, build, even the clothes match!" Xu Wan beamed.

"Let me dress first," he muttered, shaking off her spell—this vixen'll be my undoing. Clothed, he unspooled last night's tale for her—Ping An's horrors spun as a quest for Haunted House fodder, the black phone's truth buried deep. Her grip tightened on his arm, eyes wide with aftershock. "You're mad—reckless! What if you'd… if something…" Her voice broke, half-scold, half-sob.

He silenced her with a kiss, lips claiming hers—red as spellfire—his hand roving, practiced, to tease her quivering core. "No guts, how'd I dare bed the ghost bride here, eh?" he chuckled, dark and coarse.

Her blush deepened, a flush creeping from her cheeks to her trembling thighs—her body answering where words failed. She pressed against him, hands on his chest, eyes molten with want. Chen Ge drank in her curves—flushed face, delicate frame—and pulled her close, tongue delving into her sweetness, a greedy dance of lips and breath. Wet, eager sounds filled the air as their tongues tangled, her soft whimpers stoking his fire.

Xu Wan melted under his assault, desire flaring like cursed flames—breath ragged, chest heaving, her secret hollow flooding with need. Her collar slipped, baring a creamy valley that wafted a heady scent—milky, intoxicating—straight to his senses. His arousal surged, pressing hard against her plush rear, its yielding flesh a trap of satin and sin, swallowing him through her skirt.

He thrust against her, heat sinking into her cleft—warm, tight, a velvet vise. She shuddered, legs quaking, nearly collapsing—but he caught her waist, tumbling them onto the bed. Her thighs coiled around him, breasts crushing soft against his chest, her sodden heat cradling his length. A slick pop—her lips parting—echoed as he nudged deeper, poised at her brink.

"Too much… gentle…" she gasped, but he couldn't hold back. His hand yanked her lace aside, and with a fierce thrust, he plunged in—deep, relentless. She arched, a moan spilling free, her hips rocking to meet him, a rhythm of raw surrender.

Pleasure crashed over him—her tightness a dark enchantment. He gripped her hips, driving upward, each thrust a claim. "So… good… Boss… I love you…" she panted, words fracturing amid gasps. "Since… you first… took me… I'm yours… forever… your little worker…"

Her confession—shattered, fervent—fueled him. He pounded harder, her flesh yielding, glistening, a symphony of wet slaps and cries. "Tell me… feels good, eh? I'll flood you… make you drip for me," he growled, relentless, her walls clinging like a charmed snare., but visitors jolted him awake like a shot of Pepperup Potion. "How many?"

"More than yesterday," she chirped.

"Then what're we dallying for? Hoist me up!" Chen Ge shooed Xu Wan to the entrance, then bolted to the loo, splashing water on his face—cold as a plunge into the Black Lake. He fished out the black phone, its sleek menace humming, and tapped Murder by Midnight.

"Murder by Midnight (Scream Factor 1 Star): Scenario complete. Explore the third floor at your leisure.

Warning: Haunted House space nears capacity. No new scenarios unlockable without expansion!"

Chen Ge blinked. Thought I'd need to rig it myself—when'd it set this up? Shoes slapped on, he charged to the third floor, shoving the door wide. The world beyond warped—a transfigured nightmare.

Gone was the prop-clogged junk heap. A corridor stretched before him, long and shadowed, its air thick with a creeping chill—like a dungeon's breath. The new scenario sprawled vast, gobbling half the third floor, plus chunks of the second's Minghun and the first's Night of the Living Dead. Three floors now—first and second a teaser, third the terror's heart. His pulse quickened. It's Ping An reborn—how?