My Horror Game Boss Can't Read Sign Language

Fawn's POV

As the only mute player in this horror game, I thought I was screwed.

Turns out the boss knows sign language.

Thank God! Perfect!

Then he gets everything completely wrong.

I sign "help me," he reads it as "you're hot."

I sign "danger," he thinks I'm saying "I like you."

I sign "get lost," and he goes, "You want me to come closer? Okay."

The worst part? I curse him out in sign language, calling him a psycho pervert.

He just smiles and says, "Baby, you're so good at flirting. I can't even bring myself to kill you now."

Me: ...

My teammate whispers to me, "Please stop signing. Every time you do, he stares at you even more like a psycho."

[Welcome, players, to The Abyss. S-Rank Instance: St. Mercy's Psychiatric Hospital.]

[Survival rate for this instance: 3%.]

[Here are the rules:]

[First, obey the Head Nurse at all times.]

[Second, the hospital requires silence. Make noise, you die.]

[Third, never look the Director in the eye.]

[The game begins now. Good luck.]

One second I'm stocking shelves at the gas station convenience store in the middle of the night. The next, I'm falling into a hallway reeking of formaldehyde and blood.

The fluorescent lights overhead flicker like crazy, buzzing and crackling. The walls are stripped bare in huge patches, exposing dark red bricks underneath that look like they're still squirming.

Suddenly, a brutal roar rips through the silence. "What the hell is this?! I was gaming at home!"

I turn and see five other people nearby, all frozen in terror and confusion.

The guy who just shouted is covered in tattoos, kicking the shit out of a rusted iron bed frame. The metal screeches with every blow.

I cover my ears instinctively, my heart racing. Rule two was clear: stay silent.

He jabs a finger at the ceiling and keeps screaming. "What kind of bullshit haunted house is this?! I'm warning you, open the damn door right now or I'll tear this shithole apart! You hear me?! Let me out!"

The instant his voice stops, the ceiling splits open with a massive crack. A surgical blade, easily six feet long and covered in black gore, comes crashing down like lightning.

There's a wet, heavy sound, like a knife cutting through watermelon. The tattooed man's scream cuts off mid-breath.

His body splits clean in half from head to groin. Guts and blood spill everywhere. Both halves twitch on the floor a few times before going still.

The stench of blood hits me like a wall.

The woman in the business suit next to me drops to the ground, about to scream, but catches herself at the last second. She clamps both hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

I freeze too, biting down hard on my lip, barely breathing.

It's real. People die here. This isn't a prank.

Then, out of nowhere, a translucent blue screen lights up in front of my eyes. White text starts scrolling like a waterfall.

[Holy shit! Instant kill right out of the gate? This S-Rank instance doesn't mess around!]

[That tattooed dude had balls. Rules just finished and he's already yelling. Death wish much?]

[Hell yeah! I love this St. Mercy's run. Sky-high death rate. Wonder how many of these noobs make it out.]

[That girl in the white tee is ice cold. Didn't even scream?]

I stare at the comments, my eyes going wide. This is... a livestream? Who's watching?

The hall stays dead silent for a full ten minutes.

Once we're sure no second blade is coming, the rest of us start breathing again.

Besides me, there are four others. The woman in the suit is still crying into her hands. A guy in glasses, college-aged. A girl in a designer slip dress with perfect makeup but a deathly pale face. And a middle-aged man in a wrinkled button-down clutching a briefcase, shaking in the corner.

The guy in glasses pushes them up his nose, voice barely a whisper and trembling. "Look, we... we need to stick together, okay? That guy broke the rules and they... they killed him. If we just follow the rules, maybe we can survive this. Let's... let's start with names. I'm Nathan. Nathan Cooper. College student."

The woman in the suit wipes her tears, voice shaky. "I'm Sarah Wilson. I'm just an admin."

"Sloane Hayes." The pretty girl shoots a disgusted look at the body parts on the floor and steps back. Her gaze sweeps over us with obvious judgment. "Look, I'm a beauty influencer. I don't care what it takes. Just get me out alive and I'll pay each of you half a million when we're out of here. Deal?"

The middle-aged man's lips quiver but he says nothing, just grips his briefcase tighter, eyes full of despair and fear.

Nathan forces a weak smile, doesn't respond, and turns to me instead. "What about you? What's your name?"

Everyone's staring at me now.

I look at them, take a deep breath, and lift my hands. I start signing.

My name is Fawn Hartley.

Two seconds of silence.

Nathan blinks. "What are you doing? Some kind of... hand thing?"

Sloane frowns, looks me up and down, and lets out a cold laugh. "Oh my God. Are you serious? She's mute."