Audience Commands: My Escape From the Kill Clock

It's 11:30 pm. Home alone, I decide to order some takeout. When the map shows the delivery guy is zero miles away, I receive a call from him. I pick up, only to hear unsettling silence from the other end. I hang up, annoyed. The next moment, the guy texts me, "Sorry, I'm hearing-impaired and unable to speak. I called to notify you to pick up your food as soon as possible. I can't explain things over the phone, and I apologize for that." Then comes another text. "You must've been waiting for a long time. I've left your order at your door, so please pick it up as soon as you can." Just as I prepare to open the door, I see bars of live comments—reminiscent of livestream chats—floating right before my eyes. "Don't open the door! That dude isn't a delivery guy at all! He's a murderer!" "He called you to check if you're a woman living alone!" "Seriously, why are all thriller story protagonists always so dumb? The delivery guy is obviously suspicious, yet she still wants to open the door." Chapter 1 The sudden appearance of those floating comments frightened me so badly that my hand, ready to twist the doorknob, jerked back instantly. What was this? A murderer? A thriller story protagonist? Were they talking about me? I had never believed in anything supernatural, but those words were right there, floating in front of my eyes. My heart skipped a beat. The circumstances spared me no time to overthink, so I only caught the most important part of what the comments were saying. A murderer was currently standing outside my door, ready to kill me at any moment. I pressed myself against the door, holding my breath as I peered through the peephole. The hallway outside was empty, with no one in sight. I kept staring and, soon, noticed something off. All the hallways in our building had motion-sensor lights. As long as someone was there, the lights would stay on. From my front door, I could see the entire hallway clearly. There was no one outside, yet the lights remained on. That could only mean one thing—someone was hiding in the hallway, standing just outside my field of vision. Suddenly, something occurred to me. I immediately turned off the lights inside the apartment, then lowered my head to check the gap at the bottom of the front door. Normally, once the lights inside went out, the light from the hallway would spill through the crack under the door. Yet, right in the middle of the gap, something dark was blocking it completely. Only a few faint streaks of light leaked in from both sides. I could now confirm someone was actually outside. They could very well be crouching right in front of my door, the perfect blind spot from my peephole. Just then, my phone lit up. It was another message from the delivery guy. "Why aren't you picking up your food yet? Is something wrong? I can help you." Staring at the writhing shadow beyond the door, I thought I could hear the man's breathing on the other side. At that moment, I became even more certain that the floating comments were real and that someone with bad intentions was hiding outside my door. I stepped away from the entrance without hesitation, rushed back into the apartment, and locked every door and window tight. Then, I pulled out my phone, ready to call the police. A new chunk of comments swept past my eyes. "Wow. For once, the heroine is actually not that dumb. She didn't open the door!" "She even knew to switch off the lights to check the murderer's shadow. How smart!" "But the plot can't carry on if she doesn't open the door and become the first fallen victim." "Exactly. The heroine is meant to be murdered. Only after that, when the hero is shattered by grief, does he truly step into the spotlight. That's how we'll see his journey venturing into solving chilling, thriller-filled cases." When I saw those words, a creeping sense of foreboding engulfed me. Before I could even dial 911, a mocking laugh sounded from outside the door. Chapter 2 That laugh came from a man. Then I heard a few faint scraping sounds, like someone was slowly shifting their body. My fists clenched in panic. I didn't even have time to react. The next second, a massive electric chainsaw burst straight through the door, tearing through the wood with ease. The blade spun wildly, screeching with a sound that made my blood run cold. A man's figure slowly came into view. He wore a black mask and a cap. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel his gaze locked onto me. Terrified, I stumbled backward, only to realize there was nowhere left to retreat. He didn't say a single word. He simply stared at me, then forced the chainsaw forward. The door was completely cut open. In despair, I raised my hands, making one last attempt to resist. "What did I ever do to you? At least tell me why before I die!" The man still said nothing. He slowly lifted the chainsaw, the spinning teeth glinting coldly under the light, and swung it down with all his strength. Excruciating pain bloomed through my entire body. Soon, blood pooled all over the floor. My body was sawn in half, agony engulfing me like a tidal wave. Right before I lost consciousness, I saw a string of comments again. "I told you guys, even if she steps away from the door, she's destined to die. The plot is set, and she remains the first victim. She can't run away from her fate." "This kinda sucks. I mean, she really tried, but fate wins." "Alright, stop sulking. The frustrating part is finally over. Next comes the satisfying part, where the hero solves cases and takes his revenge!" When I opened my eyes again, the stench of blood and the searing pain in my body were gone. I found myself standing in front of my apartment door once more, completely unharmed. My hands were reaching for the doorknob when I saw the bursts of live comments again. "Don't open the door! That dude isn't a delivery guy at all! He's a murderer!" "He called you to check if you're a woman living alone!" "Seriously, why are all thriller story protagonists always so dumb? The delivery guy is obviously suspicious, yet she still wants to open the door." I quickly pulled back, clutched my chest, and gasped. Had I been… reborn? The man who had split me in half in my previous life was crouching outside my door again, lying in wait. There was no time. He had a chainsaw. Once the door was breached, I wouldn't have time to escape. I sprinted deeper into the apartment. After a glance at the nearby rooms, I made a snap decision and charged into the bathroom. It was the room closest to the hallway window. As long as I climbed out through the bathroom window, I would have a chance of getting away. Once inside, I locked the door and reinforced it as best as I could. Then, I forced myself to think. From those strange, sudden comments, I quickly pieced things together. I was living inside a thriller novel. The story revolved around the killer outside my door and a brilliant young man. According to the comments, the story began with my death. I was someone extremely important to the hero. After I was killed, he became devastated and dragged himself into the chaos, matching wits with the murderer. But I barely knew any man in my life. So who was that so-called hero in this story? I opened the bathroom window and looked down at the drop below—ten floors. My head spun. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from the delivery guy. "Why aren't you picking up your food yet? Is something wrong? I can help you." The same message as last time. I knew it. The killer was about to break in soon! Without hesitating, I lifted my leg and climbed out of the window. The comments began popping up again. "Damn, she's impressive. Even if she doesn't get much screen time, she's fierce for actually trying to climb out the window." Chapter 3 "Whatever she does, it won't help. She's destined to die in Chapter 1. Otherwise, the story can't continue!" "Still, I can't help but admire the heroine. She's pretty and witty. No wonder the hero is in love with her. Too bad her life's too short." "Yeah… Even if she escapes from her apartment, it's useless. The killer has sealed all the exits downstairs." What did all that mean? I was destined to die in Chapter 1? Was there absolutely nothing I could do to get out of this? And who the hell was the hero? Why was everyone talking about him without mentioning his name? Using both my hands and feet, I edged sideways along the fire pipe. The moment I reached the hallway window, a deafening crash came from my apartment. It was the sound of a chainsaw ripping through a door. The killer had entered my apartment. I dared not waste a single second. I quickly climbed through the hallway window. Glancing at the elevator and the stairwell, I rushed into the elevator and hit every button from the ninth to the first floor. The next second, I ran out and bolted down the stairs. The elevator might be fast, but the main entrance on the first floor was locked. Speed alone wouldn't help. The stairwell, on the other hand, was dark and cluttered. It was a good place to hide. By pressing every button in the elevator, I could create the illusion that I was inside it, buying myself time while I traveled downward. I ran while thinking through a strategy. If this world was centered on the battle of wits between the killer and the hero, and the story's outcome were always meant to favor the hero, then it meant his skills and intelligence were superior to the killer's. He was destined to win. That said, the killer, as the main antagonist of this world, was set just below the hero in ability. Meanwhile, I was just a fake heroine, a character meant to pad the plot. No matter what I did, I couldn't resist the weight of the story or the character dynamics. Escaping on my own was basically impossible. That explained why, in my previous life, the ending had been the same even if I hadn't opened the door. This time would be no different. No matter where I hid, the killer would eventually find me. The only thing I could do was buy time to find the hero and get him into the game early. Only by using his strength and intellect to counter the killer would I have a chance of survival. The question was, who was the hero? I arrived at the ninth floor and was about to keep running down when I heard the elevator doors above ping shut. The killer had taken the bait. He had assumed I had run to the first floor via the elevator and had already boarded the other elevator to chase me. I knew it wouldn't take him long before he realized I had tricked him, so I kept running, scanning for a hiding spot. Ultimately, I ducked into a pile of junk in the stairwell on the seventh floor. The heap was filled with the filth left behind by the cleaning staff. There were sticky and foul-smelling liquids everywhere. But that was exactly what made it the perfect hiding place… for now. Not long after, the stairwell echoed with heavy, urgent footsteps. The killer had come after me. His steps grew closer. I held my breath, afraid to make a sound. "Oh my gosh. This is nerve-wracking! The heroine is about to be found! Poor thing." "If only the hero shows up now. He could've protected her." "I can't watch this. It's too cruel. I'll come back when the hero shows up in his revenge arc." "The hero is still at home, sleeping. Although he lives in the same building, he barely knows the heroine at this stage. How could she possibly call for help?" "If only she texts him on WhatsApp… He's totally in love with her. He's even set a special notification ringtone for her. That'll definitely save her!" I caught the key information from the comments—the hero lived in the same building as me and sat in my WhatsApp contact list. At the same time, I heard the footsteps halt right before me. Chapter 4 I hid in the pile of junk, peeking through the gaps at the shadowy figure standing before me. My whole body was trembling. Fortunately, the killer only paused for a moment before continuing down the stairs. "Wow, she's smart, hiding in such a disgusting pile of filth. The killer would never have guessed a clean lady like her would be there." "Guys. I'm starting to hate the idea of her dying." I didn't have time to care about the comments. I quickly opened my phone and scanned my WhatsApp contacts for anyone who could be the hero. My contact list was short. After a quick check, I narrowed it down to two people who fit the description. The first was Joseph Finch, my classmate, and the second was Paul Waechter, the grandson of the building's janitor. I froze. They were both strangers to me! I quickly typed out a message asking for help and sent it to both of them. According to the comments, the hero had set a special notification ringtone for me. Whoever replied fastest would be him. Soon, my phone vibrated. It was Joseph. "Stay where you are and don't go anywhere! I'm coming to find you!" The next second, Paul also responded. "Get out of there right now! That man is highly intelligent, and your location is no longer safe. Run!" Joseph and Paul replied almost simultaneously, but their messages pointed me in completely different directions. Which of them was the hero? I looked up, hoping to see some hints from the comments, but there was nothing. Just as I hesitated, a new set of hurried footsteps echoed through the stairwell. Was Joseph coming for me? No, it couldn't be. He lived on the top floor of the building, while these footsteps were clearly coming from below. It was the killer—he had to be back! The steps drew closer by the second, and my heart slammed wildly against my chest. I wasn't close to either Joseph or Paul, so I had no way of telling which one was the brilliant protagonist. Just then, the live comments returned. "Oh my gosh! The heroine is asking the hero for help!" "But why did she ask two people at once? Who's that other dude?" "She's saved! Our hero is coming!" "Are we about to see his handsome face? I love seeing him and the heroine together!" I caught yet another key detail. The hero was supposedly handsome. I recalled carefully. Joseph was indeed attractive. When we first started university, he had even been voted the campus heartthrob. Meanwhile, I had never seen Paul as an adult. His grandfather, however… Well, chances were, he probably didn’t stand out in looks either. Therefore, the hero had to be Joseph. I decided to trust him and stayed hidden, holding my ground. When the footsteps finally stopped in front of me, my heart clenched in terror. "Stephanie Moore? Are you in there?" It was Joseph! I pulled away the reeking pile of junk covering me, and my eyes met his handsome face. He was panting, carrying a large bag as if he had just returned from outside. No wonder the footsteps sounded like they had come from below, even though he lived on the top floor. "Sorry, Stephanie. I just went out for a late-night snack. I hope I'm not too late," he said, still gasping for air. Before he could continue, I suddenly realized something was off. Soon, I remembered the discrepancy. The comments had indicated that, although the hero lived in the same building as me, he would've been home, sleeping, when the incident started. Joseph, on the other hand, had just returned from outside… A chill shot straight from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. The next second, I heard the faint clicking of footsteps again.