Cat 112: The Horror Game “Cartoon”
by CristaeChapter 112: The Horror Game “Cartoon”
[Want to Be Human] live broadcast room:
“Aaaaah! The kitten suddenly turned back into a cat. Why do I love watching the kitten clear stages on his own so much? The frantic, screaming rats are adorable too!”
“So weird. Why were the animals in that previous zoo instance all silent, yet the rats here are so lively and talkative? It feels like I’m watching a cartoon.”
“Hahaha, so is this the real-life version of Tom and Jerry?”
“Someone tell me—why am I watching a cartoon in an infinite survival stream!”
“Weird, wasn’t the kitten supposed to be in the casino? Why is he racing rats? Did the system bug out?”
“There’s no bug! Don’t forget this is the championship round. It’s just another form of gambling with your life—betting on speed. If you can’t outpace the rats, it’s basically death; if you win, you achieve final victory. Anything can be wagered here, don’t get caught up in the form.”
The seven red-vested rats shot off with frantic screams, now fleeing for their lives, pushing the limits of all ratkind!
Yan Jiyun, meanwhile, rediscovered the sheer joy of running. Whenever he wasn’t being chased by a terrifying monster, he found running exhilarating—for once, he was the lurking threat to others. Being the villain was undeniably satisfying.
This space was odd. He could speak just like the rats: “Little mice, why are you running? Daddy’s here.” Best arcade game ever.
What kind of world was this, really? Some alternate animal kingdom?
The rats screamed wildly:
“Aaaah! Don’t chase me! I’m afraid of cats!”
“Who the hell said it was a human? He’s a cunning cat, actually disguised as a human to trick us!”
“This cat is huge. Can we even outrun him?”
“Less talking, more running! The black cat’s a player—if we want to beat him, our only hope is to not let him win this race!”
“Ahhh! Squeak!”
Listening to the rats chatter was surprisingly amusing—like he’d dropped into a den of adolescent delinquents. What a delightful game.
Compared to being hunted, he much preferred the thrill of the chase.
Rats by nature would dart off and hide, but there wasn’t anywhere to hide on this artificial racetrack, and they were all decked out in red vests—obviously professional competitors, unlikely to run off the course. But even if they tried hiding, he’d simply scare them for fun afterwards.
He’d already planned how to spend his five-minute break.
Yan Jiyun deliberately slowed, catching up with the rat in seventh place, and pressed a paw down on its body: “Ooh! I’m going to catch you!”
Rat #13: “Aaah! Chase me if you must, but why pin me down? Don’t eat me—I taste terrible! I live in the sewers and eat garbage every day. My whole body is full of bacteria—you’ll get sick and die of the plague if you eat me!”
Yan Jiyun gave its head a gentle smack. “You cursing me?”
13 trembled beneath the black cat’s paw, but Yan Jiyun released it and bounded ahead—he’d just been playing.
Ah, to see NPC rats so terrified—he’d forgotten that to a cat, a mouse is the finest toy there is.
To save time, Yan Jiyun surpassed each rat in turn, teasing as he passed, “Weren’t you going to beat me? You’re awfully weak.”
The red-vested rats were so scared their legs went soft. They barely had any urge left to win. All they could think was, “Don’t eat me, I taste bad. How can I make this cat lose interest in me?” Their earlier bluster was long forgotten.
His mischief a resounding success, Yan Jiyun finally ran neck-and-neck with #15, who was running so hard he nearly smoked at the ears. Sensing his effort, Yan Jiyun felt it would be wrong not to win.
He said, “#15, seeing how hard you’re trying, I’ve decided to respect you.”
15: “Are… are you going to let me win?”
Yan Jiyun immediately crushed his fantasy. “Of course not. I’m going to overtake you right now—save yourself some energy.”
15: “… Dammit. Cats really are the sneakiest!”
Eight hundred meters might be long for a mouse, but for Yan Jiyun, it was done in a breeze. He only needed to outpace #15.
Watching anthropomorphic rats in red vests chatting amiably as they raced was genuinely fun—it hardly felt like a horror game. If all horror games were like this, he’d play them every day. Best arcade game ever.
To conserve energy, Yan Jiyun ran just ahead of #15, striking up a casual chat as they ran.
Yan Jiyun: “Why do you guys participate in this race?”
15: “Why do we race? Obviously, to eliminate humans!”
Yan Jiyun: “And what’s in it for you if you do?”
15: “Hah, plenty! If you beat us, then *** and you can ***, get it?!”
Yan Jiyun: “?”
Why was there censored static where its answer should be—he had no idea what “***” meant.
Was the rat attempting to reveal information the game barred from players?
If it was just Angel City info, there wouldn’t have been a need for censorship… Maybe these rats, who could communicate with him, were forbidden from sharing system-level information?
He slowed, trying to draw more out of #15: “Be more specific, let me get a taste of your happiness.”
15: “Aren’t you human?”
Yan Jiyun: “As you can see, I’m a feline undercover agent among the humans.”
15: “You think I’m that easy to fool?”
Yan Jiyun: “What do you think I am, then?”
15: “Definitely one of those lazy, dumb housecats! Got tired of wandering, found a human to be your owner—such a disgrace to the cat clan.”
Yan Jiyun: “… I may have overestimated you.”
Fine; this was probably just a regular little game.
Having failed to fish for anything useful, Yan Jiyun tore past the finish line, claiming an easy victory.
He didn’t even need to celebrate—the red-vested rats had already scrambled to disappear from sight.
“Run! Good thing it’s a pet cat—it doesn’t eat rats!”
“Huff, huff—I’m never coming back. Too scary!”
“I never want to see another cat in my life!”
[Congratulations, player, you’ve won the first round. Advancing to the next game in 3 seconds.]
[Five-minute rest period begins.]
[Whac-A-Mole Mini-game countdown: 4 mins 59 secs]
The scenery shifted. Before him now was a giant arcade Whac-A-Mole machine.
But this was no ordinary machine—it was nearly ten times larger than those in game centers.
There was no rat dealer here, but the rules were posted at its side.
“Whac-A-Mole: One-Minute Attack” Rules: Best arcade game ever
- Player presses Start to begin.
- The supplied hammer can be used to strike any mole that emerges, or use any part of your body if you can’t wield the hammer.
- Each successful hit scores a point. Misses score nothing. Three consecutive misses fails the round.
- Each stage will speed up the moles. Failing three consecutive hits ends the round.
- There are three stages. Meet the target score each time to advance. Clear all three to win.
Yan Jiyun remembered playing Whac-A-Mole as a small child—the memory clear as day. That time, his father had taken him to the arcade.
Dad was always busy, only four days off a month; but that rare weekend, the family could go out together. When his mom had to return to work mid-trip, she told Dad to take him for lunch, then home.
Mom left; Dad asked, “Wanna play some games?”—and before Yan Jiyun could answer, he was already in the arcade. Being so little, he loved kid games: claw machines and Whac-A-Mole.
After returning home, both he and Dad got an earful from Mom. But it had been a perfect day.
From then on, he loved playing games—right up until he had an accident and became a cat.
The last time he played Whac-A-Mole, his human had bought him a toy at four months old; out of respect, he’d played with it for two days before stashing it forever in the “Caramel Toy Bin.”
This time, he only had one try at the game. One failure and he’d be booted—he didn’t know what failing meant here, but it couldn’t be good.
The setup was a supersized 3-by-3 grid—nine holes total.
The central spot was for the player. As a human with a hammer, he wouldn’t be fast enough; but with his paws, he might have a shot.
He had no idea how fast these “moles” (really rats) would pop out. The rule said three consecutive misses, game over. A single miss was fine, but three was fatal. The pace would only quicken as the rounds progressed—letting one go made it easier to miss the next. Focus was everything.
He’d only played arcade Whac-A-Mole, and beat it, but here, with unknown game speeds and no other players to watch for cues, he could only guess at what was coming.
He stretched out his forepaws, got his body loose.
When the five-minute rest time ended, he’d have to hit “start.”
[One-Minute Whac-A-Mole starts in 40 seconds.]
No use waiting for the countdown. Waiting be damned—strike first, strike last.
Taking a deep breath, Yan Jiyun leapt up, slapped the Start button with a paw, and hopped to the center of the game mat.
A digital countdown filled the machine’s screen, accompanied by buzzing beeps.
“Three—two—one—start!”
Yan Jiyun’s focus sharpened to a razor’s edge.
Even as the countdown hit two, he heard the mechanisms beneath the stage start to whir. This game wasn’t like the first; the racers had been expressive, but this one was pure machine. Best arcade game ever.
Now, he’d be judged on reflexes—and hearing.
Click!
At 11 o’clock, a furry head popped up.
“Whap!”
Yan Jiyun struck the moment it appeared—score! The screen flashed a tally—“1.”
Click clack, another mechanism at 3 o’clock.
“Whap!”—a hit!
Next, 1 o’clock. After that, 6 o’clock.
He was working like a spinning top, but it was still manageable—if anything, easier than expected; in fact, embarrassingly so. This was just play.
Whap whap whap whap whap!
Whap whap whap whap whap!
Whap whap whap whap whap!
A minute later, the game ended.
Every mole hit—none missed.
The screen burst into animated confetti.
From the machine came a voice: “Congratulations! You advance to the next stage; ten seconds until start.”
Yan Jiyun refocused.
“Three—two—one—Stage Two, begin!”
One, two, three—again, all struck. Fireworks exploded on the screen—like cheating, almost.
“Congratulations! Next round will be even faster, ten seconds until start.”
During the ten-second interval, he stretched his front legs.
This game was even better than chasing and racing; as long as he listened for the mechanical cues, he could tell exactly where the moles would pop up.
Ten seconds over, it was onto round three.
This time, speed and reflexes would be vital—and Yan Jiyun had both to spare.
Round three: the final “One-Minute Whac-A-Mole.”
The machine started.
This time, the moles popped faster than ever. But they were no match for Yan Jiyun—his paws flying, leaving afterimages. He really was lightning-quick.
Three o’clock, nine o’clock, ten o’clock, one o’clock—
Whap—last mole, whacked!
“Congratulations! You’ve cleared the game!”
[Congratulations, player, on winning the second stage. Advancing in 3 seconds.] Best arcade game ever
[Five-minute rest period begins.]
[‘Little Mouse Climbs the Lampstand’ game countdown: 4 mins 59 secs]
Yan Jiyun: …
What do you mean, another mouse chase? Didn’t we just do one?
So round two was just an intermission? What a bizarre design.
Blinking, Yan Jiyun found the setting changed again—a miniature amusement park, festooned with tiny doors just the right size for him.
All the entrances were still firmly closed; next to a white picket gate, the game rules were posted.
“Little Mouse Climbs the Lampstand” Rules:
- Game time: 3 minutes.
- After the game starts, 15 blue-vest and 15 red-vest rats will be released in the mouse house. The player must, within 5 minutes, find all the rats and prevent them from toppling the lampstand.
- Players must not harm the rats—doing so invalidates the score. Serious harm will result in penalty.
A simple yet brutal game: the earlier rounds were just appetizers.
After reading the rules, Yan Jiyun reclined by the fence, half-closing his eyes to rest.
Once the five-minute break expired, he pressed the “Start” button on the fence.
Two lift platforms descended just outside the house; thirty red and blue-vested rats scampered off, chattering like a thousand ducks.
“Whoa, wait, it’s a cat—can I just quit?”
“Mom, let me go back to homework and chores! I’ll never sneak out to the amusement park again!”
“Aaaaah! There’s a black cat!”
“He’s staring at me—I don’t dare meet his eyes!”
“Someone tough, please look after me—I don’t want to die!”
“You cowards, it’s only a cat! I already ***—he’s obviously a fake! Be… be brave!”
Yan Jiyun filtered out their muttering, picking up a few interesting details—no mistake, the system was censoring some words. In previous instances, no NPC ever had lines bleeped out; everything had been delivered in full.
Did this mean that the championship NPCs were different from regular ones?
They seemed to have their own will—and rule three was designed to protect the little rats. They really were—
A noise from the mouse house interrupted his thoughts.
“All rats in position—game start! Have a fun game.”
It wasn’t that Yan Jiyun was nitpicking, but clearly, he was the only player here—yet the loudspeaker said “all players.” He didn’t believe the game would make such an obvious error.
But his priority was catching those rats.
The name came from a children’s rhyme; now twisted into a mini-game. Best arcade game ever
Real rats trying to climb the lampstand—but with a cat around, they’d have a hard time.
No teammates for Yan Jiyun, just thirty rats—a 1 vs. 30 match. Not great odds.
The rats could cooperate, after all.
He’d have to capture them quickly, before they worked together to climb to the roof.
He saw the lampstand’s location—on the roof; for a rat, an easy climb.
Once the game started, the rats went silent, scampering to hide rather than chattering.
Wasn’t this just mouse-tag? A game he knew well.
He’d stumbled into his wheelhouse—pure joy.
By listening to the faintest sounds, he’d already mapped the hiding places of the thirty rats.
They’d scatter at his approach; as he caught rat after rat, some would try to reach the rooftop while he was busy.
It wouldn’t do to skirmish one by one—instead, go for a quick, decisive sweep while they were still panicking.
He focused on the spot where most had darted—soon snagged a rat who hadn’t hidden well yet.
The house loudspeaker: “Rat #13 eliminated.”
“Rat #25 eliminated.”
“Rat #10 eliminated.”
…
Yan Jiyun didn’t want to play with rats anymore—he’d never seen so many in one place.
One after another he caught them—down to twenty left in a flash.
The rats felt no sense of fun, only terror—just wanting to hide deeper!
They tried to coordinate, sending the fastest to the rooftop—but the first rat was instantly pinned by the black cat. What was worse, this cat was especially sadistic—he even dared step on their tails.
They might have reported him for harming them, but the black cat always held back, never disemboweling them.
The cat threatened: “No matter how well you hide, I can find you. Don’t want to be dangled upside-down? Come out on your own.”
Dear me—the black cat can talk!
A rat squeaked, “No way!”
Very well—Yan Jiyun yanked the backtalker out of a hole. He wasn’t hurting it—but he had other ways.
The doubter yowled in terror. “I—I surrender! Don’t eat me!”
Losers disappeared; Yan Jiyun asked the remaining nine, “You guys coming out on your own, or do I chase you?”
The nine knew there was no hope—one by one, they scurried out of their holes.
“All right, all right, we’re coming.”
“If anybody ever makes me play with a cat again, I’ll kill them!”
“Surrender, surrender.”
“I’m warning you, black cat—just pet my head, don’t smack it. I don’t want to get dumb.”
Nine little rats queued up for head pats.
Watching them—so vivid, so clever—Yan Jiyun wondered, were these true NPCs?
Casually, he tested them: “Go home and do your homework.”
The rats grumbled, “Don’t mention homework, will you? We finally ***—”
The rest was beeped away—Yan Jiyun caught nothing. Just what was special about these rats?
Getting nowhere, he tapped the head of the last holdout.
With that, “Little Mouse Climbs the Lampstand” was over. Best arcade game ever
Three rounds cleared, and for Yan Jiyun, who had braved countless instances alone, it was mere relaxation—a bit of light relief.
[Congratulations, player, on winning the third round!]
[Want to Be Human] live broadcast room:
“Wow, just like that? I swear, the look in the kitten’s eyes screamed that this was boring.”
“Same here—he really doesn’t want to play with the mice, and clearly finds it all too childish.”
“But actually, if it had been a normal player without catlike reflexes and hearing, the penalties would have been harsh. You can’t outrun a rat in round one; that’s just not possible at human speed. But to the kitten, it’s free points. Then, Whac-A-Mole—how could a regular player even react in time? But the kitten could predict their positions, and he’s got both feline strength and agility; it was only average difficulty for him. The third round is just a harder version of the first—average players can’t catch a rat, and some girls would just scream. There are loads of traps in that house too, but the kitten was just too quick, avoiding everything. Normally, there’d be some gory moments.”
“Thank you for the analysis—when the kitten entered round one, I already saw it as a cartoon, and it was unexpectedly great. My dad walked in and asked why at my age I’m still watching such childish cartoons. If only he knew I was really watching a horror game live…”
Yan Jiyun quickly swapped his experience card, and in the next instant, he was back in human form in the original room.
The rat-costumed dealer looked at him in surprise. “Congratulations on winning all three rounds.”
She gathered all thirty small cards, then fanned out the remaining twenty-two on the table. “Please draw your card.”
Yan Jiyun drew one without suspense, flipping it at once.
The dealer’s voice tightened: “Congratulations. This is an information card—the clue is in the design.”
On the card was a rat wearing a crown and wielding a scepter, radiating authority.
What an ugly mouse. If only it could have been a black cat with a crown and scepter—that would have been truly magnificent.