The Beloved Granny of the Death Game
The Horror Game invaded the world. Real players entered the game, and their every move would be broadcast live.
My adopted son shoved me—an eighty-eight-year-old woman—straight into a deadly dungeon to save his own skin.
One of the comments in the live stream predicted:
[What? They’re tossing in such an elderly woman? No way she’s gonna survive the first night!]
On the first night, a frost-bitten ghost exhaled icy breath in my face.
I shrugged off my thick floral coat, feeling sorry for her. “You poor thing! You must be freezing. Listen to me and bundle up quickly!”
The second night, a starving ghost lunged at me with blood dripping down his chin.
I sniffed the air, then found a jar of pickled cabbage. “Look at how skinny you are! Come on, let me get you something hot to eat.”
On the final day, the last surviving players tied me up, desperate to steal the one ticket to escape.
However, before they could touch me, every ghost in the dungeon came storming out, cleavers and rolling pins in hand.
“Touch her, and you’re dead meat!”