"It's not bird flu," the hazmat worker said, pulling off his mask and pointing ahead.
"Just a spill up front. Routine check, no biggie."
"You said that last time!" the driver snapped. "If it's another outbreak and I drove for nothing, you're done!"
"Quit griping," the worker sighed, waving a baton. "You're clear."
The driver, muttering, rolled up his window and drove off. "What'd they spill? So damn secretive…"
Beep beep beep.
His phone rang on the passenger seat.
Glancing over, he slowed, reaching for it.
BANG!
A deafening crash.
Zoey Parker screamed, clutching Gus Harper's waist, covering her eyes, peeking through fingers.
Gus winced. "Ease up on my waist, will ya? We're cool, no grudges."
"Sorry, sorry!" Zoey grinned sheepishly. "I'll chill, promise."
She handed him a BrewJoy soda as a peace offering.
Gus took it, eyeing the screen.
The driver jumped out, spotting red tire tracks stretching meters.
A mangled deer lay on the road.
"Damn it!" he cursed, spitting, and drove off.
He missed the deer twitching, rising stiffly, eyes milky-white.
Gus's memory clicked. This movie…
The screen faded, revealing the title: Journey to Fukushima.
Pfft! Gus sprayed his soda.
What the hell?!
This world's director fused a Japanese nuclear leak with a zombie outbreak, remixing Train to Busan into this wild mashup.
"You good?" Zoey asked, passing a tissue.
Gus coughed, wiping his mouth. "Choked. I'm fine."
The movie got weirder, but it made a twisted sense.
Zombie survival.
Horde waves.
Shooting.
A lightbulb flicked on in Gus's head.
Holy shit.
He stared at Zoey, awestruck.
She's not slacking—she's a genius!
Zoey caught his gaze, unnerved. "Why're you staring?"
That look—pure reverence, like she was a tech messiah.
"You… stop it!" Zoey squirmed. "I'm not ready for a white sheet salute!"
"No, you're brilliant!" Gus insisted. "Drawing inspiration from movies? Game-changer!"
Zoey blinked, confused. God, what's this guy cooking up now?
The movie was three minutes in—she barely knew the plot, but Gus was already inspired.
Probably some dumb idea. Let him run with it.
She waved it off. "Feel the admiration, no need to bow. Just watch the movie."
Gus, elated, tore open a jelly pack and handed her one. "My thanks, boss."
"Such generosity," Zoey teased, then frowned, struggling with the wrapper. "Uh, help me open this?"
The movie wrapped by noon.
Gus opened the conference room door, running into Luke Bennett heading for lunch.
"Whoa!" Luke whispered, shocked. "You and Zoey locked in here alone?"
He peeked inside: dark, curtains drawn, sofa askew, snack wrappers and tissues scattered.
Zoey was tidying up, tossing trash.
Luke's face twisted with suspicion.
"Nah, just brainstorming the new project," Gus said, rubbing his sore waist. "Grabbing water, then lunch with Jake Rivers. Wanna join?"
He kept it vague—admitting to movie-slacking with the boss felt off.
Zoey finished cleaning, opened the curtains, and stepped out, eyes slightly red from the film's clichéd but gut-punchy sacrifice ending.
Spotting Luke, she flushed. Caught slacking as CEO. Great.
"Luke, waiting for Gus for lunch?" she asked, deflecting.
"Uh, yeah!" Luke stammered, snapping out of it.
Zoey nodded and left.
Luke's jaw dropped.
Hold up.
Dim room, Gus exiting, clutching his waist, saying he's "grabbing water."
Zoey cleaning, eyes red, shyly slipping out.
What did I just witness?!
Luke's mind spiraled. I'm not impure, but this scene's screaming something!
Gus returned, seeing Luke frozen. "Yo, what's with the statue act?"
Luke gulped. "Just… wrestling with my thoughts."
"Over what?" Gus laughed. "Braised chicken or pig's feet for lunch?"
Luke smirked. "Grilled oysters or fried kidney?"
Gus raised an eyebrow. "You buying?"
"My treat," Luke said, winking.
Over lunch, Gus skipped Luke's oyster-and-kidney suggestions for soy-paste noodles—too many movie snacks killed his appetite.
Normally, he wouldn't munch during films, but Train to Busan? Seen it a million times.
He could predict every beat, so he stress-ate chips to stay engaged and "protect his kidneys" during the intense parts.
Jake Rivers slurped noodles and asked, "So, Gus, how'd the talk with Zoey go? New project locked in?"
"Yup," Gus nodded, eating. "We're hitting the USEA conference with a mainstream game."
Jake blinked. "No more horror?"
WindyPeak's Phasmophobia ($13,560,000 revenue, $8,850,000 profit) owned the horror scene.
Logic said milk it with another "psychological horror" hit.
Gus shook his head. "Same genre gets old. Players build tolerance. Let's give horror a breather for bigger impact later."
Jake nodded. "Sounds like you."
Gus smirked. Calling me a nutcase?
"What's the plan?" Jake asked, relieved—no more creepy creature designs.
"Shooter," Gus said, grinning. "Zombie shooter."
Jake's face fell. "You slacking in the mortal realm, Gus?"
Gus laughed. "Sorry, Jake, next time."
Jake pouted, a 6'1" kid. "FPS plus zombies? Too risky."
FPS ruled VibeX1, but zombies? Niche.
Resident Evil 4—a PC hit 20 years ago—set the zombie benchmark.
Jake still shuddered at its chainsaw-wielding Sackcloth Brother.
But after Sam Raimi, Resident Evil's creator, retired post-RE4, the genre tanked.
VR attempts flopped—players called them "weaker than PC."
Zombies were now a has-been, barely better than horror.
Hot genre, cold theme, bad track record.
Even Jake, Gus's biggest fan, hesitated. "This combo's shaky, Gus. You sure?"
"Danger?" Gus chuckled. "Not for us."
He leaned in. "The big studios should be scared."
Gus slurped his last noodles, wiped his mouth, and lit a cigarette.
Ding! Consumed 100,825 emotional points!
Unlocked: Left 4 Dead 2
Inspired by Zoey's Journey to Fukushima, Gus picked this classic from his old world for the USEA VR conference.
He'd ditch first-gen FPS crosshairs, debuting second-gen aiming—iron sights, raw skill—in a zombie horde slaughterfest.
A tank to crush the market.
A smoker to hook players.
A witch to shred competitors.
A zombie tide to spark an FPS revolution.