"This is freaking awesome!"
"What kind of game is this? Where's the ethics? Where's the demo? Where's the full release?"
"Bless their hearts, this'll last forever."
"What hairpin turn?"
"Steal their gear and bury 'em."
"Watch out next time—my 40-foot blade's hard to sheathe."
"Isn't this just a chaotic deathmatch?"
"Scalpers' graves are smoking after this trailer."
"I thought that stick game was decent, but now, pfft…"
"I got curb-stomped…"
"Hahaha, I checked online—Japanese fans are roasting Descendants of the Sun's flop."
"They're savage, knowing their game's got no shot but still dunking on Korea's."
"I'm dying!"
"If PUBG doesn't win, the Asian Games are canceled."
The internet went nuts.
The PUBG trailer lit up streamers, players, and media.
Zoey Parker was floored.
"What the heck is going on?!"
Fresh from her Evergreen University thesis defense, Zoey turned on her phone and got slammed with notifications.
From GameHub to Gamers' Hearth, Tate's Gaming Scoop to Global Esports, even MiniPlay—a hub for mobile and indie games—pushed PUBG alerts.
Zoey's jaw dropped.
Sure, PUBG turned heads at the Tokyo conference five months ago, snagging the Most Anticipated Game Award. She'd braced for some hype.
But this?
This was insane.
The headlines were relentless:
GameHub: "MFGA Forever! PUBG Redefines FPS Gaming Worldwide!"
Gamers' Hearth: "No Contest. Other Countries Can Prep for PUBG's Tournament."
Tate's Gaming Scoop: "Supernova Ignites! WindyPeak Strikes Again, PUBG Stuns Asia!"
Global Esports: "Couldn't Survive a Day This Week!" — Post-PUBG Office Interview
Lick, lick, lick.
Hype, hype, hype.
Zoey's head spun.
Seriously? Twenty-five trailers dropped last night. Where were the other 24 games? Did Gus Harper buy out every studio overnight?
PUBG owned the spotlight, with zero criticism—just wild praise.
"Ugh!" Zoey groaned, pacing her apartment. "Gross!"
The media's worship made her want to scream.
But then, a sliver of hope.
The game was just a prototype, right? Five months, $50M budget—$10M from her Chapter 81 rebate. Tight timeline, heavy workload, limited funds.
Plus, she'd crushed morale early, stripping Gus's control and banning overtime. No way his team pulled off a polished game.
"Sorry, Gus," Zoey muttered, clasping her hands. "You're fighting for WindyPeak, but you got a president like me, dragging you down."
"Let me lose my $1M," she whispered. "I'll cash in big time. Next project, Gus, you'll have full control. No meddling. That's my apology."
Mumbling, Zoey found some comfort but wasn't sold.
She headed to Tech Tower, Seattle, to test the game herself. The trailer was killer—she couldn't deny its pull. Who wouldn't want to be the last one standing, wading through blood and bodies?
But trailers lie. A slick promo often hides a shoddy game, hyping sales with empty flash. Gus was cunning enough to pull that off.
If PUBG tanked on quality, players might rage short-term, but Zoey could fix it later. Post-launch, with her $1M loss locked in, she'd fund overtime to patch it up, keep PacificTech happy, and save WindyPeak's rep.
"Let's see how much meat's in this burger…" Zoey muttered, striding into her Tech Tower office.
She sipped water, then wheeled out her somatosensory cabin. As president, she had one, loaded with PUBG's official version—shared only with Gus to prevent leaks.
Here we go.
Zoey climbed into the cabin. The door hissed shut, brainwave sync kicking in.
She picked a default female character, skipping face customization, and hit "Start Game."
The screen went black.
A roaring engine and sharp wind filled her ears. A blast of air hit her face, so real it stole her breath.
Oh no.
Zoey's heart sank.
This wasn't right. The game used the sensory system from Left 4 Dead 2, but tuned to a terrifying degree. Left 4 Dead 2 had a $10M budget; PUBG's $50M, funded by her $10M rebate, should be better, but this airflow felt too lifelike.
Adding sensory tech was easy with cash, but perfecting it? That took serious manpower and time. Five months could handle airflow, but that was a tiny detail in a massive game.
It was like ordering a steak and getting a perfectly carved radish flower on the plate. Sure, the chef could do it, but why spend half an hour on garnish instead of the main dish?
Gus wouldn't botch priorities like that. Unless…
Zoey opened her eyes, facing biting wind.
She stood at a transport plane's door, clouds rushing past, a vast sky below. The plane's roar deafened her, the airflow nearly blinding.
Around her, men and women in vests and shorts peered down, some jumping, parachutes blooming like white flowers. The battle royale was on.
Zoey's hands shook.
This visual fidelity, this flawless sensory tuning, these AI players moving like real people…
A prototype? No way.
This was wrong.
Her scalp tingled, a chill running through her.
Hold it together, Zoey! she thought. Gus must've sunk everything into the opening skydive for a killer first impression, masking the game's flaws.
It's gotta be that.
Taking a deep breath, Zoey backed up, sprinted, and leapt from 10,000 feet.
"This is it—holy crap!"
"How's this so real?!"
"Screw this, how do I open the parachute?!"
The plunge hit like a storm—weightlessness, wind screaming, adrenaline spiking. Her legs wobbled.
This skydiving alone felt worth the $98 price tag.
Please, let this game suck, Zoey prayed, fumbling for the parachute's pull ring.
Whoosh!
The chute opened just before she splatted.
"Phew," she exhaled, drifting to the ground. The parachute retracted automatically—game logic, fine.
Rolling to break her fall, Zoey landed at a factory door. Footsteps behind her made her spin.
"Holy crap!"
Three or four AI players landed nearby, charging the factory like wolves. A pistol gleamed on a nearby crate.
"Mine!" Zoey shouted, sprinting, crashing into the crate, and snatching the gun. She fumbled to load it as the lead AI leapt, fist raised.
The punch loomed, heavy and menacing.
Click!
Zoey fired. The bullet tore through the AI's chest, blood spraying.
But the pistol's damage was low—37.4 to the chest, no armor. The fist still connected.
Thud!
Her face numbed, the sensory system delivering a humiliating jolt. She staggered back.
"Dang it!" Zoey roared from the cabin. "Nobody smacks me like that! You're done!"
Bang, bang!
The pistol popped like firecrackers.
Blood splattered, three bodies dropped in the factory.
Zoey stepped on the AI who'd punched her, swapped magazines, and unloaded into the corpse.
Click, bang, bang!
Two AI players at the door froze, wide-eyed.
Zoey kicked the mangled body aside, strode forward, and bellowed, "What're you staring at? Beat it!"
"I'm the queen of the hill!"
The AI players bolted like scared rabbits.
Zoey planted her hands on her hips, laughing. "Heck yeah, that's the stuff!"
The raw, heart-pounding fight sent her adrenaline soaring. Nailing that counterattack felt like pure release.
But then, her smile froze.
Wait.
Oh, crap.
Why was she grinning like an idiot?
This game…
Something was seriously wrong.