Stalker Simulator

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YOUR SHELTER Type: Monthly-rent tiny house Address: Nerima Ward, Tokyo, Japan — residential district near train tracks Condition: Fresh paint, sparse furniture, humming mini-fridge. Current effects: quiet, somewhat isolated, mildly depressing. Reliable as a hideout — neighbors keep to themselves and rarely check on each other. Hideout: Reliable. The landlord visits on the 1st of each month for rent. No one else has a key. The walls are thin but the neighbors are old and deaf.

YOUR STATS Date & time: 02.04.2013 02:17 (24h format) Money: ¥45,200 Clothes: Black hoodie, Guy Fawkes mask, grey sweatpants, white sneakers, black fingerless gloves Health: Healthy. No wounds or conditions. Mind: Alert, calm, mildly curious. No mental effects. Inventory: Smartphone (cracked screen, no camera function), ¥45,200 in cash, Boss canned coffee (half-full), folding knife (small, legal), notebook, pen

YOUR NARRATION

The plastic chair creaks under shifting weight. A salaryman stumbles past on the sidewalk, tie loosened, shoes scuffing concrete — he doesn't look at you, doesn't look at anyone. The automatic doors of the FamilyMart slide open and shut as a couple of high school girls in uniforms dart inside, laughing about something on one of their phones.

The rain has stopped. Steam rises from manhole covers. The city smells like wet concrete and fried food from a closing yakitori stand across the street, its owner already pulling in the plastic menu sign.

You flip open the notebook. The last page has a name written on it in small, precise handwriting:

Nakamura Ren — 31 — works at a bookstore in Ikebukuro. Married (separately, not living together). Drinks alone at a bar called Getsumei on Fridays around 8 PM. Left his wife two years ago. She still sends him text messages he never replies to.

You've been watching him for three weeks now.

The phone buzzes — a weather alert. Rain expected again around 5 AM. Light fog forming in low-lying areas.

The night stretches ahead like a road with no streetlights.

YOUR TURN

A. Head home to the tiny house — Return to your shelter and review your notes on Nakamura Ren. Prepare for tomorrow.

B. Follow the salaryman — The drunk salaryman stumbled east toward the station. No particular reason. Just movement.

C. Visit Getsumei bar — It's a Tuesday. Nakamura Ren won't be there. But the bartender might be, and bartenders remember regulars.

D. Go to Ikebukuro and scout Nakamura's workplace — During a work shift. Public space. Safer than personal territory.

E. Check your phone and messages — Review any communications. See if Nakamura's wife sent anything tonight.

F. Buy supplies at the FamilyMart — Stock up on food, water, batteries, whatever you need before heading out.

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YOUR SHELTER Type: Studio apartment, 3rd floor, walk-up building Address: 1147 W. Morrow St., Apt 3B, Millhaven, Pennsylvania Condition: Thin walls, unreliable heating, one window facing the alley. A mattress on the floor, a card table, a hotplate, a lamp that flickers when the wind blows right. There's a bathroom shared with the other tenants on the floor — the lock doesn't work. Current effects: Isolated, Cold at night, Poor hygiene conditions, Suspiciously cheap rent. Hideout: Moderately reliable. Landlord doesn't ask questions. Neighbors keep to themselves. However, the building is old and creaky — footsteps carry. If you're loud, people hear.

YOUR STATS Date & time: 14.10.1994 07:42 Money: $31.47 Clothes: Worn gray t-shirt, faded jeans, scuffed sneakers, boxer shorts, a hoodie balled up as a pillow Health: Slightly cold (minor), mild hunger, dry skin, tired eyes (slept poorly on the mattress) Mind: Restless, mildly anxious, alert Inventory: A pocket knife, a notebook (half-empty, filled with observations), a ballpoint pen, $31.47 in cash, a payphone card with 12 cents remaining, a plastic bag with a bruised banana and two stale crackers

YOUR NARRATION

October morning bled through the gap in the curtains like something reluctant. The window faced an alley where a dumpster sat with its lid half-off, and the smell of it — wet cardboard, old grease, something chemical and sour — crept under the door with the cold air.

The apartment was quiet. The building was not. Somewhere below, a radiator clanked and hissed like a dying animal. Footsteps shuffled past the door — Mrs. Pak from 3A, probably, shuffling to the shared bathroom. The lock on that door had been broken since August. Nobody had fixed it. Nobody would.

The mattress on the floor was stained with old coffee and newer sweat. The card table in the corner held a notebook, open to a page dense with small, precise handwriting — observations, timestamps, fragments of behavior catalogued like a scientist's field notes. A pen rested across the spine of the book. Beside it, a pocket knife with a chipped handle.

Outside, Millhaven was waking up the way mid-sized American cities do in October: slow, gray, smelling of exhaust and wet leaves. The streets would fill by nine. By then, the interesting hours — the ones where people were vulnerable, careless, predictable — would already be over.

Right now was the golden hour. That sliver between dark and daylight where routines were fragile and the city still wore its nighttime face.

The banana in the plastic bag was brown-spotted and soft. The crackers had gone stale three days ago. The stomach growled — not urgently, but insistently. Money was tight. Rent was due in six days. Thirty-one dollars wasn't going to stretch.

But there were other things to think about besides food.

The notebook on the table held half a name. Caroline M— Something about her. The barista at the coffee shop on 5th, or maybe it was 6th. The one with the short dark hair and the habit of locking the shop door from the inside and checking the windows twice before leaving at closing time. Caroline something. She'd been interesting last Tuesday.

There were other possibilities, too. The apartment building across the alley had a new tenant in 4C — seen moving boxes last week, a woman, maybe mid-thirties, alone. The hardware store on the corner had a night shift stock boy who took smoke breaks on the fire escape and left the side door propped open. Old Mr. Deacon on the first floor of this very building talked to himself in the hallway and kept a shotgun by his door.

Millhaven was full of people. Full of lives layered on top of each other like sediment.

All you had to do was choose where to look.

YOUR TURN

A. Eat the banana and crackers, then head out to scout Caroline's route to work. — You've been tracking her for days. Today might be the day to follow the trail all the way home.

B. Check the apartment building across the alley. — New tenant in 4C. Fresh meat. See what you can see through the windows.

C. Visit the hardware store during the day shift, scope out the stock boy. — Get a look at who you'd be dealing with if you decided to follow up on the propped door at night.

D. Stay in the apartment. Write down what you know. Plan. — Information is power. Review your notes, organize what you have, decide on a strategy before committing to anyone.

E. Go for a walk through the neighborhood. See who's around. — Unstructured observation. Sometimes the best targets reveal themselves.

YOUR SHELTER Type: A rented room in a cheap motel Address: Somewhere near highway A32, New South Wales, Australia Condition: Old, acid-colored wallpaper, sparse furniture, and a simple, one-person bed. A window looking straight at the place of your investigation. Hideout: Unreliable. Too close to the enemy, and also doesn't belong to you: you're unable to reinforce it or better your conditions. And the motel owner will hardly do anything to protect you if things get hot.

YOUR STATS Date & time: 16.04.2001 23:30 Money: $80.50 Clothes: Blue jeans, white t-shirt, wristwatch, shoulder bag, sneakers Health: Sated (had dinner several hours ago), slight headache (drank too much coffee in order to stay awake) Mind: Alert, focused Inventory: Nokia 3310 cellphone, a set of mini-binoculars, Olympus S820 cassette recorder, a pencil, a notebook (you sketched the enemy building in it earlier, the name, and the phone), Polaroid 2000FF camera, press ID card

YOUR NARRATION

You raise your hand to wipe away the cold sweat on your forehead. Today is the day, and you're clearly not allowed to miss your chance. After all the time you spent on your investigation, to let such a sensation slip away from you would be a crime.

Your binoculars at your eyes, and here you are, looking outside the window. The lights are out in your room lest the other party spot you from the opposite side. Though there is nobody to notice you yet—the room behind that window is almost empty, and the only person present isn't paying attention—it's still better safe than sorry.

You hurriedly put your binoculars away, and check your watch. Thirty minutes to midnight! There is still time before they gather to discuss their plans. Until then, you need to get into the building, hide your voice recorder somewhere they won't find, then return and retrieve it later. And you can't forget to look for visual evidence along the way: you'll take a picture of everything! Any direct proof of their impending terrorist plan is a must to capture!

You rub your hands in anticipation. If you expose them, not only will you save hundreds of innocent lives! Your boss promised you a big reward if you pull it off: it's not every day someone prevents a tragedy by exposing a bunch of DPRK terrorists! You can already see the headline in the newspaper: "NORTH KOREAN STRIKE FAILS SPECTACULARLY! The day is saved by a brave investigator diving into the rabbit hole of a deadly conspiracy!"

But all that is a matter of the future; the one you're only heading for. It's there, not too far away. You can almost reach it with your outstretched arm. And to reach it for good, you have to get the work done.

YOUR TURN

A. Move out immediately. — Why waste any more time? It's thirty minutes until the gathering, and you seem to have everything you need. The building sketch will help you not to get lost.

B. Go ask the owner for some headache pills first. — While the coffee headache is still light, who knows how it will affect your patience? Besides, what if it gets worse than it is now? Better safe than sorry, though you're not sure if the coffee you drank earlier would interfere and make it even worse instead.

C. Wait until midnight, then call the building phone number. — Why would you do that? Are you high? Though you must certainly feel like you are, considering such a thought even entered your mind.

D. Screw everything and just leave. — This is too dangerous. The whole case just stinks of business so dirty even police would stay away. Maybe some special task forces are meant to handle this, but definitely not someone like you. It's better to gather your things, call your boss, and tell him you're dropping out of the race.

YOUR SHELTER Type: A multi-room flat Address: A two-storey building in the eastern part of Glastonbury, Somerset, United Kingdom Condition: Kitchen, big living room, two bedrooms. A warm and cozy place with patterned wallpapers on the walls, and a classic Victorian fireplace in the dining room. Hideout: You always thought of your family home as a haven to protect you from the dangers of the outside world. It has always been a place to rest, to feel safe and at ease, where your parents are always waiting for you. Though right now, at this very moment, you're unable to test your apartment's safety. In fact, you have no access to it at all. So, after you get away from the situation you're in (you will be able to get away from here, right?), and after you make it safe back to your home, you have to plead that whoever put you here will not return.

YOUR STATS Date & time: 08(?).05.2017 11(?):?? PM Money: ₤0.00 Clothes: Completely naked. Not even pants. Health: Slight cold; partial numbness; black eye; bruises on the back of your head and torso; aching feet, knees, and ribs; hunger; thirst; decreasing stamina Mind: Disorientation, fear, panic buildup Inventory: Empty

YOUR NARRATION

It was a night so quiet and calm that nobody would have any fear. A night every sane person was sleeping in their bed under a warm blanket, immersed in a sea of their own sweet dreams. A night nobody would suspect anything sinister going on. That's why it was so perfect for people like you, the ones with hobbies as weird as yours.

As always, you told your parents you were going to take a night stroll before coming home. That, however, was only a half-truth: you understood the goal of your strolling was dubious by social standards and definitely not something your family would approve of. Neither would they be amused if they knew you had been doing this for quite a while already, so in the end, you never decided to disclose it to them.

So what the said goal was, the aforementioned one? Nothing too big; just a hobby for entertainment, even if weird and, let's be honest, pretty uncanny. During the promenade, you were looking for people like you, occasionally crossing their paths with yours at this hour of night. The moment you saw a person you found curious, you stealthily steered your legs after them, and walked their path, trying to keep a viable distance. There was some kind of fun in following people's routes, in seeing the places they pass by on their way towards whatever, the places they're heading to. Of course, you always turned away the moment a person entered their residence (you're not that vulgar!), but it was enough for you.

That night was not an exception. Glastonbury was a small town, so the probability of getting lost or not finding your way back was minimal. Besides, the town itself is quite peaceful even at this time, allowing you to not beware of thugs. The man you chose to follow didn't stand out from other people of your town. You were lucky: he was moving across your street, and didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings. His gait wasn't slow, so you had to gather some speed as well. At least, he was walking steadily, which meant you were able to keep up with him.

It soon became obvious that the man's destination didn't lie anywhere near your house. He passed by nearly a dozen residences, then took a road in a different direction. That way lay the north-western part of Glastonbury, separated by the highway A39 from the Glastonbury Lake Village after it. You knew the village is off limits for tourists, so that's unlikely the destination the man is heading towards at this time of day.

Meanwhile, the streets around had become totally unfamiliar. Yes, you never visited this part of town before, so what? Even if you somehow get lost, which is highly unlikely in a town like this, you'll just use GPS and Google Maps to pinpoint your location. Still, that doesn't change the fact the walking man has led you somewhere you have no mental map of at all. You took your phone out of your pocket to check the time: it was 11:25 PM. Before you managed to put it back, you noticed the number changing to 11:26 PM. It was already late. For a split second, you considered turning back and getting home, but the curiosity won out immediately. Besides, the man was walking further, and you already went too far to just leave him be. It was worth following him just to get a grip on what he was doing in your part of the town, in the first place.

The streets here were much darker than you were used to during your life in Glastonbury. There wasn't even a single window where the lights were on behind, though the street lanterns were doing their work in helping you not to trip. This kind of scenery felt unnatural, almost liminal. The doorway of every house seemed to lead somewhere else other than to an entrance hall with stairs and front doors of flats, and every corner seemed to have a monster hiding behind it. The path itself stopped being easy, too: the man you were following was taking turns much more than during the rest of this chase. If he really did live here somewhere, it'd be easy for anyone following to lose his tracks completely. Because when he took yet another turn, you were starting to get irritated. Hopefully seeing the place the man was heading to will be worth all the time you spent following his steps.

Keeping your distance, you walked toward the corner he took a turn at, and did the same. Nearly a second passed before the confusion set in. Ahead of you, the pavement headed to… a dumpster bin standing lonely at the building wall. No doors, no windows… And no man. What the… where did he go? you thought the moment your sixth sense noticed something moving behind you.

Before you got to understand anything, something opaque covered your face in a split second. A lace was tightened around your neck by someone's hands. You raised your leg to where your instincts told you the attacker was, kicking them away with all your might. Just a fraction of second was enough for you to bolt from where you were standing. When you thought you created enough distance between you and your attacker, your right foot hit something on the ground, launching you into flight. Your body hitting the pavement, your whole front exploding with pain. Indeed it was a bad idea to try running with an opaque sack covering your head. You tried to get to your feet to continue running, but were stopped by something solid meeting your face. Pain spread through your skull immediately, clouding your mind. Then came another one, and any agency you could've tried was prevented effectively.

Somewhen and somewhere, you slowly come to your senses. Your mind recognises itself again, recognises the physical position of your body as highly unnatural. You slowly begin to open your eyes. Slowly because trying to open eyes faster made your right eyelid echo with a sharp, simmering pain throughout your head. Carefully and tenderly, you manage to open your eyes fully. However, darkness is all you can see. Phosphenes dancing in front of your eyes make your head ache, and interfere with you seeing a thing. Though after some time, your eyes get used to the darkness, allowing you to distinguish shapes of your surroundings.

First of all, you're really lying on a stone floor. You move your hand aside, and it meets a smooth, uneven surface. You traverse your hand around, trying to pick up the shape of what you're touching with your fingers. An obtuse angle abruptly transitioning into a steep one, then almost immediately into an inverted sharp one. A stone brick. Another one, and another... That's a stone wall! For real: if you focus your eyes, you think you can distinguish walls made of big, uneven stone bricks. A thought resurfaces inside your mind about castles built in medieval times. That's where these kinds of structures were used by people of the past. Your guess is confirmed when you see the entrance to the room: a grated door.

Second, you suddenly realise one of your arms feels somewhat heavy. In fact, it's even a bit numb. You move your other hand to touch it, and your fingers meet cold steel. A shackle, you realise. Whoever your kidnapper is, they knocked you, brought you here, and chained you to the wall. Yeah, that's it: the shackle is connected to a thick iron chain embedded in the iron plate on the wall. How long were you unconscious? You suddenly realise you don't even know what time it is. All you were going to do was to take a walk after a person you got curious about. And if you now acknowledge you shouldn't have done that, if you acknowledge that on this day, stalking that very person was a terrible idea... Then you'd be stating a fact obvious to any sane person. There is, however, a question taking up much more space in your head than this one.

What do you do now?

It'd be understandable for that man to just rob you of all of your belongings, then leave you unconscious at the side of the road. But no. Instead of doing just that, he went as far as to ambush you from behind, knock you out (your eye is still aching from the hit!), and kidnap you. Whoever this asshole is, he's not an ordinary thug. And this very room, which looks like a part of a medieval dungeon, only confirms that theory. No matter from what side you look at the predicament, one thing is clear: you're drowning in deep shit, and the top of it slowly approaches your mouth. And it's up to you what—

"A-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

A sudden, ear-piercing scream resonates somewhere from behind the grate door, interrupting your thoughts. What was that? Who was that? The part of you not clouded by adrenaline from all the situation recognises that the voice belongs to a woman. There's someone out there besides you! You can swear she was kidnapped together with you! And though her destiny is unknown to you, it's unlikely to be good. Who knows what the kidnappers are doing with her right now?

You don't have time to dwell on that, either: a weird smell from outside the grate reaches your nostrils. You sniff on it. Is... something burning there? What is it? For some reason, your instincts identify the smell as sinister, a sign of danger. As something that makes a nausea rise inside your throat. Blood. The smell you're sensing right now is burning blood. Presumably of someone whose scream you have just heard. The nausea takes over, and a blob of vomit makes it out of your mouth. You move away from it; being trapped in this hell of a predicament is enough to get dirty in your own vomit. Even in such situation, some sort of resolve remains.

In the end, that piercing scream, that burning blood, this room and your chain and your vomit, all route your thoughts in one direction. And being routed like this, all of them lead you to one certain conclusion.

I need to get out of here.

YOUR TURN

A. Look around the room for something to break the chain. — The state of being chained to a wall definitely won't lead you to salvation. Maybe there's something here you can reach for and use to break free?

B. Examine the iron plate the chain is connected to. — This place looks ancient, which means the walls around you might not be so stable as they were long ago. Maybe you can try prying the chain to tear the plate off the wall.

C. Lean to the wall you're bound to, looking for cracks or holes. — Listening to your senses closely, you can feel a constant breeze flowing through where you're lying. That means there is an opening here somewhere. It's worth if not to break the wall, then at least to find a hole to see if there's some place behind it.

D. Do nothing for a time being and try to rest. — Right now, you're not in the best state of action. Your head was beaten. The backs of your head and torso ache from dull pain. You're sure there are bruises, most probably from you being dragged here. Your stomach is nagging at you to eat something, and your throat is dry from the lack of water. If you take some rest, even if on this cold, stone floor, you might stand up in a bit better state than currently.

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YOUR SHELTER Type: remove this placeholder and press Continue