Thank You,
Knight Teir: "Rue Ryuzaki", and "Tyronter"
For Becoming A Member On My Pa'treon. The Emperor Protect.
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In the studio, several people sat before their screens, each manipulating different countries, waging war across a sprawling digital map. Just like the mainstream RTS titles on the market, the flow was familiar: collect resources, build structures, and send waves of soldiers marching across the battlefield. In Red Alert, one wave after another could be thrown into combat, the simplicity of its violence crude yet satisfying.
Memories of Red Alert also brought back the thrill of superweapons, devastating arsenals that forced players to carefully scatter their bases, calculating how to minimize losses when the enemy inevitably unleashed their doomsday strike.
But John had stripped all that away. He cut the model down to its most brutal essence, and the rhythm of his game leaned entirely toward the brainless and direct. It became all about mass-producing infantry and charging forward.
If the opponent fielded too many soldiers, tanks rolled in to crush them under treads.
If tanks flooded the battlefield, spider robots and heavy infantry were designed to counter them.
Every unit had a natural predator, and this rock-paper-scissors cycle became the heart of the strategy.
"Mr. John, do you really think players will like this?" Koch asked, his brows furrowed as he studied the chaotic battles on-screen.
As a temporary transfer, Koch still carried doubts about this Red Alert. It was too simple, perhaps even insultingly so. There were no grand plots, no elaborate mission design.
And the multiplayer mode? Nearly barren in complexity.
The formula was basic: gather resources, build your base, then send wave after wave of units until the enemy cracked. Hundreds of tiny figures packed the screen, giving players the thrill of commanding an army. And when teaming up against the AI, it could feel exhilarating, like orchestrating a battle of epic proportions.
But outside of that? The game offered little else. The graphics weren't particularly impressive. The project, thrown together by John and a team of rookies, had been built in just a month. Even with outsourced art and salaries included, the total cost barely touched two million.
"Don't you feel happy when you're crushing the computer?" John asked casually.
Koch froze, then gave a reluctant nod. "It's… fun."
He wasn't lying. During development, he and the rest of the team had spent countless hours devising new, ridiculous ways to demolish AI opponents. Sometimes it meant sending spies to infiltrate and sell off every building in the enemy's base.
Other times, they'd pursue an "elite strategy," leveling up a single infantry unit, tank, or even a mining vehicle until it became an unstoppable monster, tougher, stronger, capable of regenerating, slowly grinding down the computer all on its own. Or they'd rush for the skies, building airfields and annihilating everything from above with relentless bombing runs.
They even toyed with "siege base" tactics, creeping forward with turrets, electromagnetic towers, and laser prisms until the AI was cornered and crushed.
In the end, the goal was always the same: find new, creative ways to humiliate the machine.
"Yeah, yeah, fun's fun. That's all it needs," John said, rolling his eyes.
He wasn't aiming for high art, nor even market dominance. The purpose of the game was simple: let players have reckless fun. As for the price, John wasn't planning anything extravagant. Like most indie releases, it would sit at just enough to cover costs and server upkeep.
Meanwhile, on another front, the development of Resident Evil Resistance Self-Chess was already finished, waiting only for the tie-in comics to launch alongside it.
After wrapping up the conversation, John returned to his office. Aside from the Resident Evil sequel, he also carried the burden of White Album. That project, though it required only his plot outlines and storyboard knowledge from dream memory, consumed time like nothing else.
"The name has to be changed," John muttered as he sketched notes. "Otherwise, players won't feel the same immersion. We'll launch the comic and anime versions together, use cross-media promotion, let players feel the full impact of this god-tier story."
As he wrote, a knock came at the office door. With his permission, Christy stepped in, a trace of hesitation on her face. "President John."
"About the plot you proposed," John said, leaning back in his chair, "it's not bad, but it lacks depth. What we need isn't just to milk money from players, it's to move them. To give them something worth remembering."
Christy listened intently, hanging on his words.
"The framework of the story is mine," John admitted, "but the details, the polish, the style, that's where you come in. Don't attach my name. This was your submission, after all." He coughed lightly, handing her the electronic draft of the first chapter.
Christy's heart skipped. What kind of boss was this? One who recognized the work of his employees, who trusted them, who lifted them up instead of pushing them down. In that moment, she finally understood why rulers had inspired such loyalty among their officials.
"Don't worry, President John. I'll handle the post-processing perfectly," Christy said, her voice steady with determination.
As she left the office, John leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. He decided he would slip her a little extra pay, because once the game launched, things might get difficult.
"Still… Resident Evil 2 feels so dull to make," John muttered, staring at the nearly complete GDD document on his screen.
The excitement he once felt when designing the first Resident Evil had faded. How to explain it? It was like watching a famous film. The first entry felt fresh, exhilarating. But by the second, the magic was gone, leaving only repetition. That was how John felt now. The sequel's strength lay more in continuing the narrative than in innovating gameplay. And innovation, for the moment, was beyond him.
"Better hand it to Martel and his team," he decided suddenly, eyes lighting up. "They're newly formed, they need a stable project to cut their teeth on."
Suddenly thinking of something, his eyes lit up.