"Depth of Exhaustion" (Written by Seeth)
(Reinterpretation of the Creepypasta "Hole to Hell" / "Hidden Campaign")
Around February, I had a group of friends; we used to meet in person or online to try different video games. We prioritized those that allowed a large number of players at the same time, as being numerous saved us the trouble of taking turns. Some time ago, we all liked one game, named Left 4 Dead, specifically its sequel. In our group, we were six, so in the versus mode, we had extra space, and if a friend outside the group wanted to join, they could do so without any problem. Each game session was summarized by a lot of laughter, but we never lost the competitive edge as we all improved. On one occasion, when we had met in person to relax and have fun, one member of the group mentioned some news they had seen on a forum. It was about the opening of a unique feature for the game, something that, according to the creators, would expand creativity.
It was the inauguration of something called the Workshop, where all players would have the possibility to upload their creations for others to download, rate, and more. While explaining what he had read on the forum, many of us came up with ideas about what we could upload, new possibilities. As soon as he finished explaining, we asked when the Workshop would open so we could try it out. He told us it would be in four days, right at midnight. As soon as he said that, he offered to go to his house a few hours earlier to have fun with other video games. Besides, we would check what modifications we could all install as soon as we got back home.
To put our minds at ease, he offered us to stay the night at his place. Most of the group accepted, but a few of us, including me, didn't say anything.
I wasn't sure if my parents would let me go, as they tend to worry a lot and didn't trust me much. Apparently, I wasn't the only one with this dilemma, as the others who hadn't said anything also mentioned they needed to check with their parents. We agreed to send a message to a group we had to confirm attendance. With that settled, we said our goodbyes, and each of us went home. When I got home, I immediately asked my mother if I could go, providing all the details of staying overnight. Predictably, she said no. I tried to convince her several times, but the answer was always the same. I wasn't going to give up; I had a few days to keep asking.
I tried various things, like assuring her I would send a message every hour to confirm that I was okay, that I would send a photo, and other things just to get her permission. When I finally gave up and was on my way to my room, she stopped me by calling my name. Miraculously, she accepted my request, with the condition of receiving a message every hour. The day to go arrived. Around 5 in the afternoon, I said my goodbyes to my mother and headed to the same park where we had been some time ago. We had agreed over the phone to buy some food to accompany the night, and from there, we would all go to his house. It was around 9 at night, and we were almost there.
We stood in front of the large gate protecting the house. The person who invited us was from an upper-class family, and he had many automatic mechanisms around his home. We pressed a small button that allowed us to communicate with the interior of the house, and our friend answered, telling us to wait a few minutes while he came down to open the main gate. While waiting, one of the group members commented that it seemed that a few people were missing. We all agreed that perhaps they didn't get permission or didn't feel like coming. Finally, the large gate opened, allowing us to enter. Jokes about making us wait for hours or freezing to death abounded.
Once inside, we were offered seats on a couch to play on a console. He already had his computer and console connected to the large TV in his living room, along with speakers on the sides. He told us not to worry about making noise since his parents were sleeping on the second floor, and the noise wouldn't reach their room. He suggested that we play anything we wanted until it was midnight and the Workshop opened. Time passed, and some played, while others laughed at what was happening. One group member said it was time to check the Workshop. They turned off the console and turned on the computer.
As it started, everything fell silent. We heard a few noises outside; the house and its surroundings were surrounded by bushes. We heard a noise as if something was moving inside those bushes. One of us asked if that noise had been there for a while, and the homeowner replied no. He said he would check. He grabbed an emergency electric pistol and went outside to investigate. As he went to check, we watched from a window that provided some visibility around the house. One member volunteered to check the computer for new expansions since it was already past midnight. No one objected. While we waited, one of us started to share something that caught our attention. He had seen videos on the internet about the development history of some games and was telling us interesting facts.
After sharing part of the video, he wondered how the development of Left 4 Dead, especially its sequel, had been. At that moment, the homeowner returned with another member of our group. He was apologizing, and the others were teasing him for scaring us a bit. He explained why they arrived so late. His parents didn't let him come, but he had a plan and managed to sneak out. As long as they didn't find out he had left, there wouldn't be a problem, he said. We all settled down, and the person who had gone to download the expansions told us that he had finished with most of them. We connected a controller since the game was compatible with them, making it easier for us to take turns. The first thing we did was check each modification installed. It was the expected changes, such as the color changes in the survivors' outfits and new campaigns that were basic, as we could tell from the thumbnails in the menu.
After trying the color changes in regular campaigns, we tried the new ones. Initially, we thought they wouldn't be as good, but while playing, we realized that they weren't that bad. We even saved the names of several to download later once we all returned home. As we looked at the list, one campaign had a peculiar name: "New Campaign Part 1." The thumbnail was just a text asking for the favor of playing. With nothing more to see, I exited the expansion section and entered the campaign selection to choose it. This campaign contained only one chapter, which caught my attention, but I remembered that the name mentioned only part one. I asked the person who had downloaded it if they found the missing parts, but they replied that there were none; only that single chapter was there. I shrugged and selected it on normal difficulty.
The chapter was called "Discredited." As it loaded, the poster made us raise an eyebrow in confusion. It featured the survivors from the first game, but as if they were black silhouettes in a dimly lit and messy room. To the side, you could see a window illuminating a street, and the name displayed on the poster didn't match what was shown in the menu. While it was loading, the poster raised a brow of confusion among us. On one side, you could see a window that illuminated a street, and the name presented on the poster didn't match what was shown in the menu. It said, "I'm tired."
One of us made a comment that it was fine, something different from the traditional posters. Once the level loaded, I found myself on a sort of cliff. There was no introduction. The environment was filled with the sounds of crows and crickets. Everything began abruptly. I looked around; the cliff was narrower than I had thought, and at the top were stone walls along with some trees further back.
I moved forward to find some stairs leading to a small house. The interior was a very dark hallway, but it seemed to be a long path to the other side.
Not a single enemy appeared along the way, not even a special infected.
When I finally exited the house, I found myself on a giant street. The sky was reddish, and the ambient sound changed to a light storm, accompanied by faint whispers. Thanks to the large speakers, I could hear it.
In the distance, there was a large building. An indicator appeared, instructing me to head over there.
When I arrived, there was a stack of gasoline and various wooden boards piled up at the entrance. It seemed I had to shoot them. When I did, the warning sign appeared to indicate an approaching horde, but the phrase was slightly different.
"They've already arrived, and you're helping them."
It seemed that I was the only one who read it, as my friends were teasing me, saying not to die from just one horde. The zombies arrived, but some of them were different. Some were dressed up, and they were immune to shoving, which was quite annoying as every hit disrupted my aim.
Thanks to the computer-controlled teammates, we managed to kill them, but I was left with just over half of my health. The flames subsided, revealing a massive hole through which we had to enter the building. Once inside, each room felt like a copy of the previous one. A small room with a few computers and several papers stuck to the walls and floor.
The only variations were in the placement of the tables and papers. There was no sign of any zombies.
At the end of each hallway was a staircase leading to the next floor. It was placed poorly, and a couple of jumps were enough to reach it.
Just at that moment, it was my turn to send a message to my mother. I handed the controller to the person next to me, and I watched while I typed. Once the message was sent, I looked up to see what was happening. They reached a larger room than the previous ones, but with the same style, several tables and disheveled computers.
In one corner, there were some windows, and when they looked out, there was a lake with a water tank on the other side. It seemed there was no more path, and my friend was just going in circles, about to open the menu to exit. At that moment, the guiding arrow for the player appeared, pointing to one of the many tables.
There was a radio. Upon interacting with it, the message about help being on the way appeared. The door through which they had entered the room closed, leaving the four survivors trapped. It seemed they had to endure for a certain time. They heard the same roar of the hordes as they approached, but for a moment, there was a sudden burst of loud static, which startled them as it was unexpected. I was about to suggest turning down the volume to avoid that inconvenience again, but in the game, a signal appeared pointing to the only window.
It had a message, "It's what you deserve." Hordes of zombies in costumes began to arrive, and for the first time since the campaign started, the special infected showed up. As they gradually took down groups of infected, they noticed the roars of the hordes appearing one after another, and the cumulative sound grew more intense.
However, when the player was inevitably incapacitated, I wasn't expecting the sudden change. The sound shifted to a very high frequency.
I couldn't distinguish what it was anymore. The screams of the infected combined with that high-frequency sound through the speakers were something I couldn't describe. Despite lasting for a few seconds, it felt like hours.
We instinctively covered our ears, waiting for it to end. Two members of the group quickly got up to unplug the speakers, as they were closer than the TV's speaker.
Upon doing so, everything fell into silence, with the screen showing Bill incapacitated.
But I still had a high-pitched ringing in my ears that was painful. We were completely dazed. I made an effort and quickly checked on the one who had unplugged the speakers. I asked, somewhat agitated, if he was okay. He was standing there, looking at the floor, and when he turned to look me in the eyes, his pupils were dilated, and he seemed surprised or frightened. He said something that unsettled me even more. "I can't hear anything." At that moment, I realized that I couldn't hear from my left ear. I put my hand to it, trying to convince myself it was just temporary disorientation. When I touched it, I felt something wet, and intense pain. I saw my friends touching their ears as well, and something red started dripping from the outside of their ears. Amid all this, the homeowner's parents came downstairs, having heard the commotion from a few seconds ago. When they saw him frightened and in pain, they immediately called an emergency ambulance. It took a moment, but they arrived. Before we got into the van, the last thing I saw on the screen was a single sentence on a black background: "If you support Valve, you deserve it." Along with a dash and a "J." They took all of us for examination.
We spent the rest of the night on stretchers, with various devices to monitor our ears. As soon as the sun came up, each parent came to see us. After a few hours, they gave us the results. Two of us had lost their hearing, specifically, the ones who had approached the speaker, due to the extensive damage from the high frequencies. The rest of us had almost completely lost hearing in one ear, and the other had reduced hearing capacity. There were various reactions, but everyone agreed on two things: sadness and helplessness. When we left the hospital, it was almost noon. We were about to go home with our parents. But before that, I requested a piece of paper from the hospital and wrote something for everyone to understand. I mentioned that upon arrival, I would send a message to our group to discuss the matter. The others nodded, and we left.
When I got home, my mother asked if I wanted to eat something, but I replied in a low voice that I just wanted to be in my room. She understood and simply sat on the couch. When I entered my room, I picked up the phone to write the message, but I noticed they were already discussing it. The only one in the group who hadn't attended was asking what had happened, and they were explaining. When things calmed down, I asked about the messages that appeared during the campaign, especially the one at the end, which mentioned supporting Valve and what seemed to be a signature. Most of them responded as I expected: they didn't know what to say. It was at that moment that I tried to connect the dots, and I asked the person who had told us about the peculiarities if they had ever seen a video about the first Left 4 Dead.
They answered that they had and explained that the first game was being developed by a small company, and Valve wanted to buy them when they saw the potential of the game, getting involved to make various changes. I put my phone aside and adjusted my pillow to recall what had happened the previous night. The chapter's name was "Desecrated." Could it be related? Maybe yes, maybe no. I thought it would be impossible for someone to go to the extent of harming people who had nothing to do with it. When I picked up my phone again to check the messages, I saw that our friend who had invited us was saying that when he got back, he sat at his computer to take a closer look at that campaign. However, he received a Steam notification that the Workshop had been updated, removing many modifications but adding more sections for customizing the pages where they were hosted.
As a result, many mods we had downloaded that night, including the one that caused us so much trouble, ended up being deleted because they were not stored on the PC but on a server. At this point, I didn't know what to think anymore. I believe all that's left for me is to get some rest and, when I wake up, make an effort to hear something.