And then it was back to the game.Īnd speaking of TVs: There was a TV screen icon right below the white forest I had just left, and because the first animation was so bizarre I figured I’d try another to see what happens. I took a break for a few minutes to calm my nerves. I still didn’t know what I was dealing with, so I wasn’t about to underestimate it. Whatever powers the “game” has, it seemed to be confined to what it can show on the TV and, whatever its “mental connection” could do. And if that didn’t work, I would pull the plug out of the wall, or just run out of the room. I had the TV remote right next to me, ready to turn the TV off in case I felt I was in actual danger. How many people ever get to witness something like this firsthand, let alone be able to take screenshots of the whole thing?įucked up as it was, this was the experience of a lifetime.īut even so, I couldn’t take any chances with my health. If I tried to restart the game, it might go back to being normal again. Terrifying as it might be, even dangerous, I knew that if I quit playing, I would never be able to stop thinking about it. Even more than I did before I beat Dementia. I don’t know if it was the game messing with my mind, or just my stubborn curiosity, but even with the previous revelation, I really wanted to see this through to the end. And not only that, it also can establish some kind of mental connection with the player.Īnd yet…I couldn’t convince myself to stop playing. It was then that I could no longer deny what now seemed obvious: This game is alive. I could feel my brain going haywire as I asked myself “Did the game just read my mind?” Or that it was even capable of doing what it just did. I knew the game was going to test me if I kept playing. It was all I could do not to burst out screaming, and my hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold the controller. After…THAT, the game went back to the board screen.
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