SUPERFACE: Difference between revisions

He had played this League of Legends for several years, getting into it after he watched a trailer for it on Youtube. Since then, he had become not only quite skilled at the game but also quite serious. He invested well over four thousand hours in gameplay time, just barely more time than he had played in Team Fortress 2; another game he once played seriously, and had been apart of half a dozen would-be pro teams.

 

It was a day like any other. Ryan, sixteen, woke up in his bedroom at his parent's house in Scenelake, Ohio. He had breakfast, checked the League of Legends forums and his Youtube account and then left for school. He drove off in his old white Buick, his mother's old car, but it served him well enough. Class was monotonous as usual, perhaps even more-so than usual, and by the end of the day every fibre of his mind was burning the sit down to a night of League of Legends.

 

They jumped into TeamSpeak, made their plans and then queued for a match. At their ranking it could sometimes take a few minutes to find a valid enemy team, and sure enough the queue time was taking several minutes. To pass the time, the new team made small talk.

Ryan was quite confident in himself, this should be an easy game, not to mention good practice with the middle lane. As the ten players at in front of a loading screen, Ryan and his new friends poked fun at the usernames of their adversaries.

 

The game got underway and Ryan hurried off to his lane, ready to face his enemy. He found that SUPERFACE arrived to the lane before him. Curious, Ryan clicked his opponent and viewed his item inventory.

SUPERFACE was now playing very aggressively, attacking Ryan whenever he could. His aggressive gameplay only got him slain once again, putting Ryan in an even greater lead. This time, Ryan couldn't help but add insult to injury.

SUPERFACE was back, this time three levels lower than Ryan, who was now level six and unlocking his ultimate ability. This time, SUPERFACE died even quicker and Ryan pointed out the failure once again. Cemented in the lead, Ryan began ganking his team's lanes and by the time twentyfive minutes had passed, the enemy surrendered. The enemy team, through the entire match, was throwing their own insults and responses in turn to Ryan and his team's, but SUPERFACE himself, the one who did the worst, said not a single thing.

Either way, they were stuck waiting for a few moments on their teammate. Ryan passed the minutes by looking over some of his account setups, when suddenly, he realized he had a message waiting for him. In League of Legends, players may send private instant messages to one another, but only once they've been added onto one another's friend lists. As Ryan spied the flashing message alert, he thought nothing of it... until he saw the name.

SUPERFACE.

SUPERFACE (4:34): That was a good game.

 

 

Ryan didn't mention that this SUPERFACE seemed to know his name. Finally, Ryan decided to ask;

SUPERFACE (4:41): You spoil the game by taking it so seriously.

 

 

There was something so strange about it. Nothing in its wording was alarming, but there was an unexplainable air of maliciousness about it that was darkly subtle yet impossible to ignore. How did SUPERFACE message him? How did he know his name? It didn't matter.

He found that despite everything, even as the new game got into full swing, he felt strangely anxious. Like something could be behind him at any moment. He felt a strange pressure on the back of his head, behind his ears, like his mind was begging him to look behind him and make sure everything was okay.

 

 

Suddenly, Ryan was aware his friends had been speaking the entire time. Shaking his head clear, he feigned a lie that he suddenly had to go away from keyboard, or AFK. Quickly locking in a character with seconds left before the time counter ran out, he tried to focus himself on the upcoming match.

Thirty minutes later, they lost. It was a good game, though, and Ryan was beginning to forget the eerie, uncomfortable messages he shared with the strange SUPERFACE. Still wired to play more, he exited the game to prepare for another match, but as the game closed and returned to the client interface, he was greeted with an error message.

 

 

 

But the log in screen came up as normal as ever. The soft fingers of fear tickled at the bottom of his brain as he realized he actually felt relief, but he ignored it. He realized his friends had still been chatting in TeamSpeak the entire time, their voices smothered by the tense silence.

 

For a moment he noticed nothing amiss, until his eyes focused on what he was seeing. Instead of the game client, the interface had loaded onto... a picture. It was a bare, single picture, with none of the other features of the interface present on it. No menu buttons, no sidebar, no banner logo. Even the minimize, maximize and close buttons were gone from the top of the window, it was only a single picture, a photograph, rather.

SUPERFACE (6:11): But you didn't, you piece of shit.

 

Ryan closed the chat box and with it, the bottom of the interface disappeared as well, leaving once more only the strange photograph. His friends were now asking for him in TeamSpeak, wondering where he had went and what was taking so long. Ryan tried to open up task manager to close down the bugged game client, but task manager reported no open client. He tried closing it from the Taskbar, but found the League of Legends icon frozen and unable to be interacted with. The picture staring at him, its massive eyes seeing through the screen, in a pace that was both slow and nervously frantic, he held down his computer's power button until he heard the dying sigh of his machine turning off, the face on his monitor blinking into merciful darkness.

He sat there, in his computer chair, afraid to look at the black computer screen, afraid that the eyes would open again and stare at him even though the monitor was off. He was reminded how uncomfortable his room felt, and without turning his computer back on, he rose from his chair and left.

 

If anyone was hacking the game client, the forums would be abuzz with information, news and gossip. He could put his embarrassing fear to rest. It would be easy, he knew. Just go to the forums and read all about how everyone is being hacked and bothered by some weirdo who is putting faces on their screen. Then he could go back to playing League of Legends and everything would be fine.

Nothing.

 

''last night im playing a game and there's this guy named SUPERFACE on the other team when we beat him he somhow gets on my friend list and is messaging me then he makes my game crash and puts some weird picture on my screen? anyone else seen this''

 

Eventually, two or three pages into the debacle, a moderator closed and deleted the thread. Now Ryan was just angry. Without missing a beat, he went to the website's player support center and immediately wrote a support ticket detailing his issue. This time, though it was difficult to bring himself to do, he told the website's owners, the Riot Games Staff, how SUPERFACE had known his real name.

It would be days before he ever got a response, he knew, so he resigned himself to going about his internet business. Eventually, he even cautioned to get on League of Legends. Nothing happened out of the ordinary, and though his new team wasn't online, he played half a dozen games by himself.

''We have investigated your report concerning a potential hacker and the compromise of your personal information. We treat cases such as this with the maximum amount of care and diligence. After careful and meticulous review of your situation, we have concluded that we possess no record of any issues afflicting your account. Your name is not stored by Riot Games anywhere, and we have found no evidence of any kind of hacker. As it stands, if you have further worries, please direct them to us and we will see what we can do for you.''

 

There were no results.

 

***

The officer was looking over the scene photographs, colored stills taken and developed out on thin, plastic-smooth papers. Before his desk, a case secretary was prattling off some of the information.

The officer looked back down. Whatever was in that bathtub, it was an awful mess. Filling it like a gross, mushy pudding was a red, goopy mess. There was a single leg of a pair of denim jeans trailing out from it, the rest of the clothing article buried in a mash of what looked like... well, he didn't even know.

There was dark clumps of what seemed to be hair, body hair, and pale white sticks that suggested the very front of a rib cage that poked up out of the red slop that had once been a body.

 

The case secretary nodded.

 

The officer grimaced. Ten years on the force and the first murder case the tiny town ever had and it was something like this. He set the photograph down.

The officer bit the inside of his mouth and looked back down at the photographs. He felt like he was going to be sick.

 

 

[[File:SUPERFACE.png|thumb|163x163px|THE FACE YOU SEE BEFORE YOU BECOME A GOOEY GRANDPA ]]

[[Category:Deletion Log Refugees]]

[[Category:SUPR SKAREY IMAG]]

[[Category:Bad Creepypasta]]