Amy stared at the "YOU DIED" screen, her face a perfect mask of disbelief. "I… died?"
Her chat, however, was having the time of their lives. [ LMAO! Welcome to Florida, where 'Stand Your Ground' is a way of life! ] [ Mrs. Jones doesn't ask questions. She just empties the magazine. ] [ Look at Grandma's face! She is completely stunned! Her brain just bluescreened! ]
A new message popped up on the death screen, offering a helpful tip. [ This game is so thoughtful. It even gives you a tutorial after you die. ] [ It's like it genuinely wants to teach me how to become a master thief. This is criminal! ] [ What thief? We are cultured people. We are Financial Relocation Engineers! ]
"Fine!" Amy huffed, hitting restart. "Fine! As the master thief of StreamSphere, I know when to be patient! I just can't be reckless and peek in the window from the get-go."
This time, Amy didn't rush in. She spawned on a park bench across the street from the house and simply… waited. In-game time began to accelerate.
[ Whoa, she actually got smart! ] [ She's staking out the house! Observing Mrs. Jones's routine to find the perfect time to strike! ]
"Hmph," Amy said smugly, noticing her chat's surprise. "Just watch the master at work."
The in-game clock spun rapidly. One minute of real-time equaled three hours in the game. Soon, Mrs. Jones finally emerged from the house and walked down the street. But Amy didn't move a muscle.
[ AMY, WAKE UP! SHE LEFT! ] [ Opportunity is knocking! GO! GO! GO! ]
Amy scoffed at her frantic chat. "What do you amateurs know?" she asked rhetorically. "Do you know why she left? Or, more importantly, when she'll be back? What happens if she's only gone for five minutes and comes back to find me halfway through the job?"
As if on cue, the front door opened again and Mrs. Jones walked right back inside.
The chat was floored. [ DAAAAAMN! She actually called it! ] [ Is she a secret genius?! ] [ I can't take thus! ] [ this* ]
Amy's smirk was a mile wide. "You guys mock me all day long, but now you see your streamer's true power!" she gloated, her confidence restored. Her opinion of Thief Simulator skyrocketed. This wasn't some cheap prank; it was a real game.
After ten minutes of careful observation—which translated to two full days and nights in the game—Amy had cracked the code.
"Every single afternoon at 2 PM, Mrs. Jones leaves the house for exactly fifteen minutes," she announced. "That's my window."
On the third in-game day, she made her move. She darted across the street, finding the doors and windows locked tight. She vaulted over the backyard wall, and as soon as her feet hit the grass, intense, suspenseful music kicked in.
[ BROTHERS, I'M SO NERVOUS MY BUTT IS CLENCHING! ] [ It took her five minutes just to get into the yard! Only ten minutes left! ] [ I was a straight-A student, man. Now I'm sitting here, sweating, watching a streamer rob a house. ] [ Who even cares about the jewelry at this point? I'm just here for the thrill! ]
Amy was feeling it too. Her heart was pounding as she slipped inside the house. "Jewelry, jewelry, where is the jewelry…?"
With just under three minutes to spare, she found the jewelry box, grabbed it, and sprinted out of the house, vaulting back over the wall just as the timer ticked down.
[ YOU WIN ][ As a Financial Relocation Engineer, you need not only patience, but also nerves of steel. ]
Amy leaped out of her chair, dancing with joy. "Hahaha! This game is anything but relaxing! It's incredible! Stealing is so much fun!" She caught herself immediately. "Uh, I mean, only in the game, of course! In real life, everyone should be a law-abiding citizen!"
[ Too late, Grandma. We all heard you. You're an outlaw now. ]
Leo, watching from his dorm room, allowed himself a small smile. "Happy now?" he thought. "You won't be smiling for long. The Prologue was just the tutorial. The real torture begins now."
Amy eagerly clicked to the next level.
[ Level 1 ][ Mission: Steal Mrs. Jones's Jewelry ]
"Huh?" Amy said, confused. "How is it still Level 1? And the mission is identical? Oh… right. That was the Prologue. This is the first real level." She shrugged. "Well, for only a dollar, a game this detailed is already a masterpiece."
The chat agreed. [ This level of detail is insane! The designer knows his stuff! ] [ The designer of this game is either a walking felony or was just released from prison. There is no in-between. ]
Amy started the level, ready to repeat her flawless heist. But she immediately ran into a problem.
"What the—The wall is higher now! And there's a barbed-wire fence on top! I can't climb it!"
She circled the entire property, but there was no way in. "Is this game just designed to be impossible? How am I supposed to get in!?"
A familiar name popped up in her chat. It was her number one troll, Leo. [ Grandma, try the front door. ]
Amy walked to the front door and, sure enough, an "Interact" prompt appeared. She pressed it, and the view zoomed in on the door lock, which now took up the entire screen. Next to it, a professional set of lockpicks materialized.
Amy was speechless. "This… this wants me to pick the lock?"
The chat went into a frenzy. [ ??? ] [ This developer is serious! Those are professional-grade tools! ] [ My uncle is a locksmith and I'm sending him a screenshot right now. He says that's a high-security, six-pin tumbler lock! He'd charge $200 and an hour to open that! ] [ OKAY, WE NEED TO CALL THE COPS. THIS DEVELOPER DEFINITELY HAS A CRIMINAL RECORD. ]
"Isn't this just a game?" Amy stammered, staring at the complex minigame. "Why is it making me do this?" After a moment of hesitation, she shook her head. "Whatever! It's just a lock! Open!"
At that exact moment, a familiar voice came from behind her character.
"Who are you? What are you doing at my front door!?"
Amy spun her character around. It was Mrs. Jones, back from her fifteen-minute outing, holding her trusty AK-47.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!
The magazine was empty once again.