"Oh… great, used anti material round from a Glock… wow, amazing,". A sound of such profound disappointment and boredom that it hung in the air like a bad smell.
The anti-material round was as big as a person forearms, and somehow it can be round on a 9mm handgun, how did that happen, simple, but a 3999$ special magazine. Bella, sitting cross-legged on the floor, immediately caught it. She turned her head, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"What was that supposed to mean, bro?". she asked, grinning. "That was the lamest sound I've ever heard, coming from you… don't you like the game?".
I put down the last third of my burger, wiped my hands meticulously on a napkin, and reached for the chili sauce for my fries. I took my time, deliberately building the moment.
"I'm just saying,". I began, my voice calm and even.
"That for a game that's supposedly the biggest VR shooter on the planet, but just look at it…. the tactical depth is about as deep as a puddle after a light drizzle." I pointed a fry at the screen.
"That? That's not a top-tier esport… That's a glorified point-and-click adventure…. Where anyone who paid the most, can easily win… what is the point of the tournament, when all that everyone had to do, is load their thousands of dollars addon's and bombarded other players… that is just outright unfair and idiotic…".
Emily and Bella both stared at me; their chewing slowed to a halt. My sudden, analytical critique was completely out of left field.
"Whoa, okay, Mr. Critic," Emily said, raising an eyebrow.
"Relax, bro… It's just a game…. It's fun, and for these people that was enough,". Emily said.
"I know that, But…. It could be so much more," I said, and now the confidence that came with the Master Game Developer skill infused my words. It wasn't arrogance; it was simple, stated fact.
"The core concept is fine... But the execution of everything is lazy… The map design is uninspired, the weapon balance is a joke, and the movement is about as fluid as a brick….".
I popped the fry in my mouth. "You know, I could make a better war game than that."
The room was silent for a beat. Then two, Emily's eyes widened. Bella's jaw actually dropped slightly.
"Wait, seriously?" Emily asked, her food forgotten.
"You?" Bella added, skepticism and curiosity warring in her tone.
"Yeah, me," I said, meeting their gazes. "As a game developer, it's my job to study this stuff... To see what works and what doesn't. And that?" I gestured again to the TV, where another generic firefight was underway.
"That doesn't work… Not for me, I know exactly how to make one that would blow it out of the water…". With that sort of game dominating the market, I am sure that I can chuck out more game that Is a hundred time better than anything that this world had ever seen.
Emily and Bella were stunned with my proclamation, the silence after my declaration was thick with their disbelief and dumbfounded. But in my own head, it was roaring with possibility that I can do it so easily. Because no only I have seen shit better than that, heck it can simply be done, like all I had to do, is just said aloud, "I think I'll build a car," and my mind had instantly downloaded the complete blueprints for a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, or toyoda.
Leaning back against the couch, the worn fabric familiar under my arms, but my internal landscape was a vast, neon-lit archive. Soldier of Red was a rusty bicycle and rotted game. I can make a better game than that.
PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds or PUBG, The gritty, tense, military-sim-lite original. A game where hundreds of players dropping onto a massive island, scrambling for loot, fighting to be the last one standing. The sheer, unforgiving panic of the shrinking play zone. The adrenaline rush of a chicken dinner. I could practically smell the virtual grass of Erangel, if I were to make it in this world.
Fortnite. The colorful, chaotic, building-fueled phenomenon. The same core battle royale loop, but cranked to eleven with personality, constant updates, and a skill ceiling that reached into the stratosphere with its crazy, quick-edits. It was a cultural touchstone, a game that was more than a game—it was a social space, a concert venue, a constantly evolving playground.
Or, Apex Legends. The sleek, team-based future of the genre. Hero characters with unique abilities, a revolutionary ping communication system, movement so fluid it felt like a dance. It was fast, it was strategic, it was pure, polished style. Any single one of these concepts would detonate in this market like a nuclear bomb.
They wouldn't just compete with Soldier of Red; they would erase it from public consciousness. The players here didn't know what they were missing. They were content with their gruel because they'd never tasted a gourmet meal.
But the thrill of artistic victory was quickly tempered by cold, hard business calculus. Silent Hill was a statement piece from me and Meteor Studios. It was a work of art; it was my calling card. But, at the end of the day, it was a one-time payout, where it's role to build my reputation and credibility to become a trustworthy game developer.
But, a battle royale game… that was a platform, something that is entirely different from a standalone game. It was a live service game, A potential empire, to truly capitalize on it, to build that empire, I couldn't be shy or hold back my punch. Entering that part of the industry, I had to embrace the one aspect of modern gaming I'd always been ambivalent about: monetization.
I focused back on Emily and Bella, who were still watching me, waiting for me to elaborate on my insane claim. I decided to start with the part that made me the most uncomfortable. The reality of it,
"So, let's say I did it,". I began, picking up another fry.
"Let's say I made a game like Soldier of Red, but… better... like, lot better…. And let's say, inside this game, there was a store. You could buy things... New outfits for your character, maybe. Cool gun skins or emotes… you know, that kind of stuff... Would you or any players… buy any of it?".
"Uh… Yeah? Duh~ Everyone does that, Bro". Emily stared at me as if I'd just asked if oxygen was optional. Her response was so immediate, so matter-of-fact, it threw me a bit off.
"I mean… would you really? Or would you just, I don't know, enjoy the free game and ignore the store?".
This time Bella laughed, a light, musical sound. "¿Estás bromeando? Are you kidding? How else are you going to flex on the losers you just eliminated? You gotta have the latest Legendary skin set…. It's, like, the law?". She said it with a completely straight face.
Emily nodded in vigorous agreement. "Yeah, seriously… Sael, your game is the weird one.". She pointed a finger at me.
"Silent Hill has no microtransactions… Nothing to buy, like at all…. It's kind of freaky, to a point where many players were worried about Meteor Studios, on how you even make money…".
Now it was my turn to be stunned into silence. My game was the anomaly. My principled stand against nickel-and-diming players was seen as a bizarre omission. Bella leaned forward, getting into it.
"You could have sold so much! Like, a DLC that adds a mosaic filter over the ghost so scaredy-cats can play! Or an in-game guide that points to the puzzle solutions! Or just, like, different outfits for the main character! But there's nothing. It's just… the game…. Don't be offended, Bro… Silent Hill IS a great game… but, I just not used to not see any purchasable stuff… kinda lost opportunity for an income there...".
I just blinked. Their perspective was a complete one-eighty from the gaming culture I came from, where monetization was often a contentious, hated topic. Here, it was as natural and expected as the game itself. It wasn't seen as predatory; it was just… part of the fun. Part of the culture.
The conversation was a paradigm shift for me. this wasn't a hurdle; it was a green light, a massive, blazing, neon green light. If I created a game as addictive and social as a battle royale, and I populated it with a store full of cool, desirable cosmetics that everyone felt compelled to collect…It wouldn't be a money-making game. It would be a money-printing game. A perpetual revenue machine, but also something that many would praise and be comfortable with, something they wanted.
And to be truly, honest, I need that machine.
The thought hit me like a physical blow, instantly deflating the ego boost from my half-billion-dollar bank account. I'd had a panic attack over that number, but I'd been thinking like my old, poor self. I'd been thinking about paying off debt and maybe buying a nicer car. I hadn't been thinking about the real cost of living in this world for someone who wanted to rise to the top.
A cold clarity washed over me. "Hey, Em, random question… That new megaplex downtown, with the sky gardens and the private balconies… what do you think one of those townhouses goes for?"
She snorted, as if I'd made a joke. "The Obsidian Towers? Uh, forget about it... I heard a single unit, like the smallest one with a postage-stamp balcony, is going for a billion. Maybe more… It's for, like, New Japanese tech CEOs and oligarchs. Why? You thinking of moving?" She grinned, clearly thinking it was a ridiculous notion.
I didn't grin back. I just sat there, the number echoing in my skull.
A billion dollars.
My $499 million was pocket change. It wasn't "set for life" money. It was "breathing room" kind of money. The thought that had made me panic—becoming a millionaire overnight—was now laughable. I wasn't a millionaire. In the context of the life, I now wanted to build, the life my family deserved, I was just getting started. The fire that had been lit by Soldier of Red's inadequacy was now fueled by something far more powerful and concrete: ambition. I didn't just want to make a better game, but also make money doing it. thanked to this world normalcy, I am sure that I can be this world greatest live-service game producers, and the people would love me charging them money, still, I don't think I would be so ruthless with these features, but just enough to make it able to give me money and also be loved at the same time.