Midnight, beside an abandoned fishing pond.
[The camera shakes like a sieve, a cold light aimed straight at a “corpse” covered by a ragged cloth, while the wind howls into the mic.]
The comments are flooding in:
Holy crap! That hand! It really moved! Its fingertips curled up!
Fan, quit pretending! The back of your neck is already getting chills! Run!
Help! I got so scared I dropped all my sunflower seeds! This doesn’t look staged!
Top Supporter (voice cracking over the call, panicking): Fan! Fan! Run! There’s something behind you!
Ordinary Fan (putting on a calm front, legs secretly trembling): Fatty, cut it out! I’m sick of these old tricks. You’re not scaring your big bro Fan!
Top Supporter (completely breaking down, spamming Carnival gifts across the screen): Bro! My dear bro! I’m done betting, I give up! I’ve sent you all the gifts! Please just turn around, take a look, and get out of there! Stop acting tough!
[The hand beneath the white cloth twitches again. A chill runs down the back of Ordinary Fan’s neck, and his voice instantly cracks: ... Wh-what the hell?!]
