Agreeing to Create Bad Games, What the Hell Is ‘Titanfall’? Chapter 61
#“Crossfire Shuttle” celebrates two years since its launch on the haptic pod platform—today's event kicks off!
#Weiwang D announces partnership with Spitfire Studio under Yunwei to develop the strongest FPS of the haptic pod era!
#Dianshi Games delays “Heavy Assault”!
#“Gunfire Chronicles 2” announces pre-production completion!
#Santu Studio releases “Outpost 3” trailer!
#…#
In the office of the Golden Wind Game’s Director, Gu Sheng leaned back in his chair, scrolling the mouse wheel as he watched a string of news tick by on the screen.
Yes.
Lately, he had been paying close attention to the shooting game market.
He knew that Golden Wind would eventually have to step into this popular arena, going head-to-head with both domestic and global gaming giants.
So, it was crucial to plan ahead.
And through his recent research, Gu Sheng realized that the shooting game market in this world was a wild mess.
There were first-person, third-person, single-player, multiplayer; modern, futuristic; realistic, fantastical—everything under the sun.
But, much like horror games, the core of shooting games seemed to be the same old formula.
For single-player titles, it was all about the protagonist mowing down enemies and clearing levels—just mindless shooting with maybe a knife thrown in here or there.
The last major design innovation could be traced back twenty years to the PC classic “Max Payne” with its bullet-time mechanic.
As for multiplayer games, they were even more stuck in a rut.
Western games leaned towards team-based matches—kill counts, scoreboards, the usual.
Domestic games focused on bomb-defusal modes, with attackers and defenders swapping sides in a cops-and-robbers showdown.
And!
To this day, whether in haptic pods or elsewhere, there hadn't been a single sighting of a so-called “Second-Gen FPS.”
So, what exactly was a “Second-Gen FPS”?
It was a concept where, while keeping the fun of a shooting game intact, every in-game system would strive to be as realistic as possible.
For example, in a Second-Gen FPS, you wouldn’t have a floating reticle anymore—you’d have to aim through the weapon’s mechanical or optical sights.
Or, instead of a fixed 100 health points, the game would use a dynamic health system, where your condition was judged by in-game feedback.
Of course, there wasn’t a strict definition dividing First-Gen and Second-Gen FPS games.
If Gu Sheng were to draw from his past life’s games, CS would be the archetypal First-Gen FPS, while COD would stand as the classic Second-Gen FPS.
But in this world, there was no Call of Duty. No Battlefield either.
Perhaps it was because First-Gen FPS design had been too successful—most shooters still stuck with the floating crosshair model.
The only game that came close to Second-Gen FPS was the “Crossfire Shuttle” with its XM8’s secondary aim mode.
Most developers didn’t seem to care much about “shooting style” at all.
Single-player studios focused on how to make their stories more exciting and their effects flashier.
Multiplayer studios were all about fine-tuning the feel of the game to keep the competition fierce.
Oh, and of course, some studios didn’t give a d*** about any of that. They were too busy pumping out 888-legendary-tier weapons and spinning prize wheels.
Maybe, given time, someone would figure out the Second-Gen FPS model.
After all, as haptic pods became more popular by the day, someone was bound to think of this gameplay approach eventually.
But for now, no one had.
Gu Sheng decided—he’d be the first to take the leap.
Or better yet—he’d go for a cooler title: The Father of Second-Gen FPS.
And to earn a title like “Father of XXX,” the first requirement was to make a pioneering, genre-defining game.
So, he set his sights on the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Trilogy!
Soap, Ghost, Makarov, those poor civilians at the Moscow airport…
The tragic, epic narratives didn’t just give COD its identity—they also set the benchmark for single-player storytelling in future Second-Gen FPS games.
But…
Gu Sheng only took a quick glance before backing off.
S***, the whole trilogy was a bundle—5 million emotion points needed!
So, he pivoted and set his sights on its old rival—Titanfall 2.
Same epic story, same heart-wrenching finale.
And that ending? It hit even harder than Modern Warfare, leaving players reeling!
But again…
Gu Sheng took one look, then backed off.
S***, 1 million emotion points—and that’s not even including multiplayer!
Gu Sheng was speechless.
Like, seriously? Just six hours of gameplay, and you want a million emotion points?
A college student makes 50,000 a month tops! And that’s if you’re a model with long legs!
He’d thought the 100,000 he earned monthly from “Phasmophobia” was already impressive.
But compared to these two beasts? He just felt powerless.
Clearly, he still had a long way to go before he could set the benchmark for a Second-Gen FPS…
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
Knock knock—
He turned and saw Lu Bian striking a very flamboyant pose, leaning against the doorframe:
“Old Gu, I’ve got two pieces of news for you.”
“…What are you, Yu Zecheng or something? How do you always have news?”
Gu Sheng crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair:
“Special Agent Lu, what’s the scoop today? Same as always? One good, one bad?”
“Uh…”
Lu Bian walked into the office, poured himself a glass of water, and sat on the sofa.
“Hate to disappoint you.”
“Wha—?”
Gu Sheng looked surprised.
“Two bad news?”
“Nope,” Lu Bian waved it off and took a sip, “Two good news.”
“Your phrasing…” Gu Sheng had no words for Lu Bian’s language skills. “So, what are the good news?”
“The first is that our ‘Phasmophobia’ monthly sales figures are out,” Lu Bian said.
“After our week one sales of 55,000 copies, the numbers haven’t dropped off at all—just plowing through the horror game category, leaving a trail of bodies and rivers of blood!”
“Four consecutive weeks at the top of the horror game charts, monthly revenue of 13.56 million, and after platform cuts and costs, net profit of 8.85 million!”
Over 8 million in profit!
For a haptic pod horror game that only cost 2 million to make, this was practically legendary.
Usually, game sales taper off after the first week.
But “Phasmophobia”? Its sales were like a teenager in their prime—hard as diamonds, staying strong without fading.
Definitely good news.
Gu Sheng nodded.
Over 8 million in pure profit, plus the bits and pieces from other games—that meant they’d have over 10 million in funds to burn for the next project.
Life’s good when you’re flush with cash.
Gu Sheng thought to himself.
Because, damn, being in a comfort zone really was too f***ing comfortable.
No financial constraints—spend as much as you want, no worries. That was the dream.
Just this alone, Golden Wind had the potential to surpass Ubisoft in his past life.
After all, Ubisoft even used potatoes as servers.
“What about the second good news?”
Gu Sheng asked.
“Oh, the second one’s an invitation letter. Here, take a look.”
Lu Bian pulled a letter from his notebook and handed it over.
Gu Sheng opened it and read:
“Per the Cultural Bureau’s directive to further advance the Huaxia gaming industry, foster resource-sharing and collaboration, and accelerate the growth of our nation’s entertainment sector…
The Huaxia International Digital Entertainment Association, together with various game media, cordially invites your company to participate in the ‘10th Game Industry (Haptic Pod Category) Developer & Media Conference’…”
“Holy sh**, Huayu Dian is inviting us?”
Gu Sheng was surprised.
“We’re at that level already?”
As the largest semi-official, non-profit gaming organization in the country, Huayu Dian was the undisputed kingpin of the industry.
Gu Sheng knew that every year, Huayu Dian would hold four developer-media conferences—haptic pod, PC, mobile, and comprehensive—once per quarter.
One, to give developers a platform for publicity and exchange.
Two, to build up momentum for the annual China Digital Interactive Entertainment Expo (Chinajoy).
Yup, there was a CJ in this world too.
But unlike the messy, downhill CJ of his past life, this CJ was one of the world’s Big Four gaming expos, alongside Gamescom, Tokyo Game Show, and E3!
In fact, if a game could make a splash at CJ, it was almost guaranteed to show up in one of the world’s top three gaming awards.
And if you wanted to break into the international market and go toe-to-toe with the old gaming giants, Huayu Dian’s Developer & Media Conference was the first step.
Gu Sheng was surprised because he never expected that Golden Wind—a studio not even a year old—could score an invite!
Damn.
Gu Sheng muttered inwardly.
It was starting to feel like he was a character in one of those wish-fulfillment urban novels, just cruising along on smooth seas.
Then again, he had a system.
If someone threw him into an author’s story, he probably would be the protagonist.
Thinking that, Gu Sheng couldn’t help but chuckle at how ridiculous the thought sounded.
“This is a great opportunity,” Lu Bian said, seeing Gu Sheng nod repeatedly.
“If we can get coverage at this media conference, we’ll have a solid foothold in the haptic pod gaming space.”
A single developer conference could give a studio a foothold in a whole genre?
That sounded crazy.
But in reality, Gu Sheng knew Lu Bian wasn’t exaggerating.
With Huayu Dian’s clout, they absolutely had that kind of influence.
The problem was…
Gu Sheng’s brows furrowed even deeper.
The timing was awkward.
No doubt, this was a golden chance to pitch the Second-Gen FPS concept.
With Huayu Dian’s reach, if the media took notice of the idea at the conference, it would be a massive boost for their future FPS titles.
Once a year—this was a can’t-miss opportunity.
But the issue was, both COD and Titanfall 2 were way out of their league in terms of production costs and emotion points.
What if they just dropped a trailer for now?
Technically, that could work.
After all, the developer conference was like a mini gaming expo—showing trailers was totally normal.
And a trailer was doable—just a couple of minutes of rendered animation, a few scenes dressed up as in-game footage.
With three months left until the conference, they had enough time to pull that off.
But the problem was!
Once you had a trailer, you’d need a game to back it up!
Where was the game going to come from?
Gu Sheng did some rough calculations. If they tried to bring Titanfall into the haptic pod platform in this world, it would cost at least 100 million!
Which meant they were still 90 million short—plus they’d need another 900,000 emotion points!
That was just impossible!
They had the idea, but no meat on the bones. Without even a “New Folder” to their name, they couldn’t even say they were “working on it”!
Sure, big studios could get away with vaporware—players would just meme it like they did with GTA6 or Elder Scrolls 6.
But for a small studio like Golden Wind? It could be fatal.
Players had very little patience for a small studio.
As time dragged on, if they couldn’t deliver, the negative impact would snowball—hurting even their future game sales!
Thinking of that, Gu Sheng shook his head.
No, they couldn’t just recklessly throw up a trailer.
Most importantly, just the idea of impacting game sales was something Little Nezha, as the president of Golden Wind, would never accept.
After all, judging by her investment habits, she was a firm believer in game quality and would definitely want their games to be loved by as many players as possible.
She’d never tolerate a hit to sales.
So what should he do…
Gu Sheng thought as he doodled on the notepad by his hand—Second-Gen FPS, 100-million-level investment, 100,000 emotion points, unique gameplay concepts…
“Hmm—”
Gu Sheng pondered.
Lu Bian knew that Old Gu was deep in thought about the type of game they should bring to the conference, so he stayed quiet, tossing Gu Sheng a cigarette as he sat back.
The two sat in silence.
Suddenly!
The office door knocked again!
Knock knock knock—
“Um… Director Gu, do you have a moment?”
He turned and saw Chu Qingzhou at the door:
“President Shen is back. She said if you have time, please come to her office.”
Oh ho?
Gu Sheng’s eyes lit up!
This was like getting a pillow right when you wanted to sleep, or having your in-laws drop by just when you needed help.
Little Nezha had been gone for nearly a week.
Now she was back, just in time for this crucial moment!
After all—
The success of Vampire Survivors and Phasmophobia had been as much her achievement as his!
“Alright, I’ll head over now.”
With that, Gu Sheng grabbed the documents on his desk, stood up, and made his way out.
Let’s see what President Shen has to say…