It was Saki.
Kaito dragged the file into the game’s save directory, overwriting his own pitiful attempt. He relaunched Seed of the Dead .
On the screen, the game world loaded, but not as a third-person shooter. It was first-person. He was standing in his own apartment. The game had rendered his room perfectly—the scattered pizza boxes, the flickering neon sign from the window across the street. But the walls were covered in a wet, veiny membrane. And standing in the doorway was not a zombie. Seed Of The Dead Save File
Kaito felt a sudden, sharp pressure behind his eyes. The room smelled suddenly damp, like turned earth and spoiled meat. He tried to pull his hand off the mouse, but his fingers had fused to the plastic. No—they were rooting into it. Thin, pale tendrils crept from his knuckles, burrowing into the mouse, the desk, the floorboards.
He ignored the warning signs. He was too tired, too frustrated to care. It was Saki
Kaito tried to scream, but his throat was already full of soil. The last thing he saw was his own reflection in the dark monitor—his eyes turning into two black, polished seeds.
But her eyes were hollow sockets overflowing with tiny, wriggling roots. Her mouth was sewn shut with a thorny vine. She tilted her head, and a single, perfect red seed fell from her ear, bouncing once on the carpet before splitting open. On the screen, the game world loaded, but
He clicked "Continue."