Back home, Blake grabbed a glass of water and stepped into the Game Design Space.
Delta Force was too important to leave entirely to the Constructs. He needed to supervise. Make sure they were doing it right.
It definitely had nothing to do with his Delta addiction flaring up. Absolutely not.
"Priority production mode: Hazard Zone," he commanded. "Start with Zero Dam. Once that section's playable, package it as a standalone demo."
No point in rushing the full release. Sure, the system could crank out everything from Season 1 to Season 5 in seventy-two hours, but dumping that much content at once would overwhelm players. You had to build anticipation. Tease them. Make them hungry.
His plan: drip-feed promotional videos across major platforms over the next couple months, then officially launch Season 1. Any longer than that and hype would start bleeding out. Besides — two months was already pushing his patience.
He hadn't touched Delta in two days, and he could practically feel Saeed's angry stare boring into his skull...
"Oh, right." A thought struck him. "System — this counts as game development, yeah? Can you generate some trailer footage early? For marketing purposes?"
[Zero Dam promotional video has been transmitted to host's computer.]
[Longbow Valley promotional video will be available upon Zero Dam completion.]
Blake grinned. This system was turning out to be pretty accommodating.
"Exit Game Design Space."
[Transmission complete.]
He materialized back in his cramped apartment and immediately dropped into his computer chair. No hesitation. The video file sat waiting in his downloads folder:
[Zero Dam Operation Trailer — TOP SECRET]
His pulse quickened.
The people of this world were used to matching colored bubbles. Cute little puzzle games. Safe, sanitized entertainment.
Time to show them what real gaming looked like. Gunfire. Tactics. The crushing weight of a battlefield bearing down on you.
He didn't bother with fancy editing — the system-generated footage would speak for itself. He logged into YouTube, TikTok, Twitter, and every other platform he could think of, then uploaded the video with identical titles:
[HORIZON INTERACTIVE] Delta Force — Game Trailer"Zero Dam is hot. Get in, find your loot, and get the hell out."
Description: "Delta Force — Pioneer Test coming soon. Stay tuned."
One final check for typos. Deep breath.
Click.
The bomb went live.
Almost instantly, across town on SharkStream's gaming section—
Vinny had just wrapped up his Desert Bus stream and was shooting the breeze with chat when a notification pinged his backend.
"Huh? Hold on—" He squinted at the screen. "Horizon Interactive?"
"That's the studio name on Blake Weiss's Steam page, right? The Shovel King's crew?"
He sat up straighter. "They dropped something new already? Damn, that's fast. DLC for Desert Bus? Did they finally add actual gameplay to the infinite driving simulator?"
He clicked the link, half-expecting another abstract art piece.
The video opened on a black screen. Static crackled through his headphones — tense, urgent radio chatter layered over suppressed breathing.
Then the image slammed into existence.
Torrential rain. A bruised, angry sky. And dominating the frame — a massive concrete dam, scarred by decades of neglect, looming over a desolate valley like a sleeping giant.
Lightning split the darkness, briefly illuminating the dam's deep maintenance tunnels and the ruined structures clustered at its base.
"Holy shit—" Vinny blurted out before he could stop himself.
He leaned forward, eyes wide.
"This is in-game footage? You're telling me this isn't a movie trailer?"
Chat exploded:
[?????
WAIT WHAT
The rain physics??? The lighting??? EXCUSE ME???
This dam looks like it's hiding eldritch horrors. I love it.
This is a GAME?!]
The camera punched forward through the rain, locking onto a squad of operators in full tactical gear. Combat uniforms designed for wet environments. Camouflage paint. Eyes like hunting hawks.
Their movements were smooth, professional — flowing from cover to cover, communicating through crisp hand signals. No wasted motion.
They breached what looked like an administration building. A calm voice crackled through comms:
"Alpha team, report."
"Perimeter clear. No contacts."
"Bravo, status?" Another voice, faster, tenser.
Then — a third voice, ragged with panic:
"IT'S A TRAP!"
"Bravo taking fire! Repeat, taking fire! Three o'clock, heavy weapons!"
The audio erupted.
Gunfire ripped through the silence. Bullets sparked off concrete, kicked up sprays of dust and debris. Muzzle flashes strobed in the dim corridors.
The editing shifted into overdrive — rapid cuts between firefights, precise burst fire, explosions blossoming in confined spaces. The squad moved through hallways, control rooms, a ransacked cafeteria, every environment dripping with tension and detail.
Vinny could feel the gun recoil through the screen. The brass casings tumbling through the air. The split-second scope adjustments.
"Suppressing fire!"
"Grenade — MOVE!"
"Christ, that was close—"
"Mandel Brick secured! Repeat, package acquired! Prepping for extract!"
"Covering fire! Leapfrog retreat, go go go!"
Commands and callouts layered over the chaos — gunfire, explosions, the desperate rhythm of a team fighting to survive.
The footage froze on a close-up: gloved hands sliding a sealed container into a tactical backpack. The container pulsed with an eerie blue glow.
Then the squad was moving again, laying down cover fire as they peeled out of the building and vanished into the storm, their silhouettes swallowed by rain and shadow.
Black screen.
White text faded in, one line at a time, backed by a thundering orchestral sting:
HORIZON INTERACTIVE
DELTA FORCE
PIONEER TEST — COMING SOON
The logos flashed — [Delta Force], [Hazard Zone], [Zero Dam] — before dissolving into the Horizon Interactive emblem.
"Coming Soon."
End of video.
Dead silence in Vinny's stream.
Five seconds. Six.
Then Vinny sucked in a breath like a drowning man breaking the surface.
"Chat." His voice came out hoarse. Shaking. "Chat."
"This is what a game looks like."
"THIS is what a game looks like!"
"The graphics — the gunplay — the atmosphere — are we seriously allowed to watch this for free?!"
"Rainbow Bubble Dragon isn't fit to shine this game's boots!"
"I can already tell I'm gonna be cracked at this. I can feel it. This is my calling."
He threw his hands up. "'Zero Dam is hot. Get in, find your loot, and get the hell out.' Just hearing that slogan makes me want to run through a wall!"
Chat had devolved into pure chaos, scrolling so fast it was barely readable:
[AHHHHHHHHH MY ADRENALINE
Is this real?? Can we actually PLAY this??
GIVE ME TEST ACCESS. PLEASE. I'M BEGGING.
HORIZON INTERACTIVE LET'S GOOOOO
Blake Weiss I'm so sorry I ever called you the Shovel King. You're here to SAVE gaming.
Bro went from Desert Bus to THIS?? Did he take a rocket ship to a different dimension??
I don't care what it costs. Day one purchase. Mortgage the house if I have to.]
The video's metrics were climbing at a terrifying rate. Views, likes, shares — all spiking vertically.
Within minutes, it hit YouTube's trending page.
Hashtags like #DeltaForce, #ZeroDam, and #HorizonInteractive started dominating Twitter's trending topics.
The entire gaming community — hell, anyone who even casually followed tech or internet culture — was losing their collective minds.
The emotional afterglow from Desert Bus hadn't even faded yet, and now this steel tsunami had crashed over everything, washing it all away.
Everyone was talking about Delta Force. About Zero Dam's oppressive atmosphere. About the mysterious "Horizon Interactive" studio that had appeared out of nowhere.
Meanwhile, in Crane Interactive's executive office.
Ivy was happily reviewing the gold reserve certificates newly deposited in her account. Life was good. The future looked bright.
Take that, family money. I can earn my own fortune now.
...Admittedly through unconventional methods, but still.
Knock knock knock.
Ms. Ellis rapped on the door, her expression caught somewhere between urgency and disbelief.
"Ms. Harper, you... you need to see this."
She handed over her tablet. On the screen: the trailer that had just set the entire internet on fire.
Ivy took it, puzzled.
One minute and eighteen seconds later, her eyes — the only part of her face visible above the mask — had gone completely blank.
She looked at the cinematic visuals. The Hollywood-tier combat sequences. The production value that made Rainbow Bubble Dragon look like a kindergartner's crayon drawing.
Then she looked at her system panel, where her current quest still read:
[Create a masterwork of garbage that surpasses Desert Bus.]
A cold, creeping dread settled over her. Like the storm clouds hanging over Zero Dam.
This... doesn't look like garbage.
This doesn't look like garbage at all.
What the hell kind of monster have I hired?
Her grand scheme to lose money had apparently taken a hard left turn into uncharted territory.
And at that same moment, Blake was leaning back in his chair, contentedly scrolling through the internet's collective meltdown.
The smile on his face could only be described as smug.
The storm's just getting started.
Tomorrow, he'd recruit some testers. The Zero Dam demo would be ready by then. Crane Interactive's building had computers, right? Enough to run a few hundred players through?
If not... internet cafe, maybe?
Playtesting at an internet cafe sounded ridiculous, but if Ivy wouldn't let him use the office, he didn't exactly have the budget to buy his own hardware.
Whatever. He'd figure it out.
For now, he was just going to enjoy watching the world lose its mind.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.