SLIME_2BE

Steven wasn’t just a pro R.E.P.O. player—he was a world-record-breaking speedrunner, known by his tag: ULTS. His runs were flawless, his knowledge of every glitch and ghost encounter unmatched. But after a real-life expedition into a property that eerily mirrored one of the game’s most infamous levels, he barely made it out alive—dragging a half-conscious kid with him.

That was the day ULTS stopped playing for fame… and started playing for keeps.

The Legend of ULTS

Steven's voice modulator crackled with urgency. "Miles, grab the HDD! Mark, help me with this hourglass!"

The heavy glass timer strained their android arms as they lifted. Raf's vocal processor glitched from the effort, his voice dropping an octave: "Time check?!"

Miles' reply came from the adjacent room, already sprinting: "7:13 remaining. Only $5,595 left!" His footsteps skidded as he threw open the next door, then froze.

The smell hit first—burnt sugar and ozone. Then the giggling.

Steven didn't need to see it to know. The clown was here.

Miles backpedaled, slamming the door shut. His optical sensors flickered wild panic.

"Steven! That fucker's got"

"Backward knees," Steven finished grimly. The memory surfaced unprompted: porcelain skin cracking to reveal circuitry.

The timer ticked to 5:27.

Mark cracked his metal neck. "I'll bait it."

"No—" Raf grabbed his arm. "You've never played R.E.P.O.!"

"Exactly!" Mark grinned, all teeth. "I don't know enough to be scared."

Crouched in the clown's chamber, Steven whispered last-second tactics: "Beam attack is instant death. Kick does 60 damage. It only—"

"Duck beams, dodge kicks. Got it." Mark's pupils dilated—fight or flight engaging.

Steven counted down. On "GO!", Mark exploded into motion:

"HEY UGLY! Bet your mom was a slot... machine! Get it?"

The clown's head snapped around, nose bulb flushing crimson.

BZZZZZT! A neon-red beam seared past as Mark hit the floor. He popped up strafing, Apex Legends instincts kicking in, as the clown's backward knee jerked forward in a vicious kick.

"Can't touch this!" Mark taunted, dodging with a pirouette.

Raf's voice crackled through the walls: "2:29 LEFT!"

Steven tore through the next room. No items. No items. NO ITEMS—

There. A $1,000 cash stack. Not enough—but perfect for Plan B.

He burst back into the clown's domain, screaming: "GRAB IT ON MY SIGNAL!"

The clown whirled, nose pulsating. Mark shouted "DUCK!" as Steven hurled the cash like a shuriken.

The bills fluttered around the staggered monster. "NOW!"

"UP! DOWN! UP! DOWN!"

Their combined strength slammed the clown into concrete. On the fifth impact, its head detonated in a shower of pixels, leaving behind a glowing $8,000 orb.

Steven snatched the orb. "Go! GO!"

They sprinted. Mark and Raf clearing the truck as Miles lagged behind. Steven dumped the orb at extraction just as alarms blared:

<<REWARD: $17,750>>

"WHOOPS!"

Miles collided with him at full tilt. They crashed, systems screeching:

<<REBOOTING... 5 SECONDS>>

"Relax!" Miles wheezed. "10 seconds to..."

The truck roared to life. Hydraulics screamed as the door began sealing.

Miles grabbed Steven's wrist, yanking him toward the narrowing gap. Their metal feet sparked against the floor.

They tumbled through just as the door sliced shut, but Steven hit Miles so his trajectory went off, as the doors sheared a bit of Miles' left foot.

"You. Cut. My. LEFT FOOT?!"

Steven's fist connected with Miles' faceplate. "WE COULD'VE DIED!"

"WE ARE DEAD!" Miles gestured at their android shells. "These are just avatars! You know this!"

A new voice slithered from the truck's speakers:

"Correction: You have bodies of dead things."

The screens flickered to show a child-sized clown standing on the road ahead. As it turned, Steven's own face stared back—stretched and glitching.

"Welcome to nightmare mode, players."

Every light in the truck exploded.

Ch. 4 - CLOWNING AROUND