I Want to Play a Game

Just how weak is this body?

That was the first thing I thought after firing a Desert Eagle.

I knew it kicked harder than most pistols. It hadn't picked up the title of the world's most powerful handgun for nothing. Even so, I never imagined it would go this far.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

I answered as I pushed myself up off the floor, the recoil having thrown me clean onto my back. At least the gun had been chained down. When the kick tore it out of my hands, the lock caught it, and all I did was fall over.

I rubbed my still-stinging wrist and checked the target. A round I couldn't even control was never going to find the mark. I let out a short sigh at the hole punched well outside the scoring rings.

My body had changed, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sure. But I never thought I wouldn't even be able to hold the recoil. At this rate, something with a real kick—a magnum revolver, say—looked completely out of reach.

"Ma'am, I don't think the Desert Eagle is going to work out. Your wrist looks hurt, too. If you'd like, I can refund the remaining rounds. Maybe you should get that checked at a hospital?"

I had once shot with one hand bound just to get used to every possible situation. Watching someone try to take the gun away because I couldn't handle a little recoil was a novel feeling.

"Just one more shot. If I can't do it, I'll give up."

I took the Desert Eagle in both hands again and lined up the target. I braced every muscle in my body, prepared for the kick, and steadied my breathing. When the sights and my vision came into a single line, I squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

The recoil punched straight through me.

"All right, I'll refund sixty thousand won for you."

They refunded the ten unused rounds for the M1911 and the ten for the CZ75B. They even wrote off the two Desert Eagle shots I had already fired.

"You should really see a doctor. Fire a gun wrong and you can wreck your wrist."

"Ah... right."

Just yesterday I had handled firearms like they were part of my own body. Now people were fussing over me because I couldn't even manage the recoil. It wasn't that I had grown old. It wasn't that my skills had rusted from going too long without a gun. If my ability had dropped overnight simply because I had gone from a man to a woman... how was I supposed to come to terms with that?

"Most people can't handle a Desert Eagle. The fact you didn't get hurt is already impressive."

Seeing my face twist, the clerk offered some comfort. Apparently they thought I was scowling because I couldn't handle the Desert Eagle. That wasn't exactly wrong, so I answered with an awkward smile.

"The recoil's stronger than I expected."

"Well, it is a Desert Eagle. Still, watching you with the other guns, I think if you just built up a little more strength you'd have it down in no time."

"Oh, is that so."

"Yes. People who score a ninety-nine with a Glock 17 aren't exactly common. Speaking of scores—would you mind if we put your target up on the wall?"

The clerk pointed at the targets already covering the wall. They must have been running the range for years; there were a lot of them. The old ones were probably taken down, since I didn't see any faded sheets.

As I looked them over, my eyes drifted to a poster taped up beside them. It was the same game ad I had noticed on the way in. From the conversation I had overheard between a couple of guys walking past, it seemed to be a pretty realistic FPS.

"Interested in Last of Quantum? If you haven't tried it, you really should give it a shot sometime. People who love guns go crazy for it, apparently."

A game.

It wasn't that I hated games. Feedback was fast—you knew immediately whether you were doing well or poorly. Success and failure were unambiguous. Nothing rewarded effort as cleanly as a game did.

People needed a certain amount of results before they could feel like they had actually succeeded. Unfortunately, in most of life, what you needed more than your own effort was someone else's recognition. Sure, a genius like Einstein might feel the satisfaction of having made a great discovery. Sadly, most of us were ordinary people.

Games showed you your results in the most intuitive way possible. An RPG showed you a level-up. A competitive game showed you a KDA. What better motivation was there?

I wasn't going to deny any of that. The problem was the experiences I had had as a mercenary—experiences that were far too vivid. The sound of a bullet cutting the air. The vibration of an explosive going off nearby. The kick of a rifle against my shoulder. The tension of not knowing if you would be dead in the next second. The acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air.

I had felt all of that so clearly that tapping a mouse and keyboard never really caught my eye. No matter how realistic a game claimed to be, it couldn't compare to what unfolded right in front of you.

"Sorry. I'm not really into games."

"Is that so? That's a shame. Still, you should watch a gameplay video sometime. I think you'd like it."

"Yeah, I'll take a look."

That was what I said. Honestly, I had no particular desire to go looking.

By the time I got home, the sun had long since clocked out. I should have been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠getting ready for bed, but after what had happened, sleep wasn't coming easily.

"How did it come to this?"

Guns I had once used without a second thought, and now I couldn't even hold the recoil. I didn't know much about women's bodies, but I didn't think an ordinary person was this frail. The one consolation was that my old skill hadn't vanished completely.

Honestly, I wasn't a mercenary anymore. Even if I was a crack shot, how often would I actually use that in daily life? The only time it would come up was a trip to the range, like today.

"Shooting... games..."

The game the range clerk had recommended suddenly came to mind. The name was...

"Last of Quantum."

It wasn't that I actually wanted to play it. It wasn't because of those guys saying it was barely different from real shooting, either. Simple curiosity. I just wanted to see how good a game had to be for gun enthusiasts to lose their minds over it. Watching a video didn't mean I had to play.

I grabbed the phone I had tossed onto the bed and opened Newtube. I only typed the first letter of Last of Quantum and the autocomplete kicked in. The number of related videos that popped up was no joke, either. I scrolled, picked one with a decent view count, and tapped it.

The video ran over twenty minutes. Watching the whole thing felt like too much, so I dragged the playback bar to the middle. The scene snapped over in an instant.

True to an FPS, the first thing I heard was gunfire. Then a man's voice—a streamer, from the sound of it. Whatever he was so pissed about, every other word was a curse.

"What the fuck are you doing rushing in there like an idiot?!"

It was grating, but I had come for the gameplay, so I focused on the footage.

Honestly, I had never been that into FPS games. I liked the simplicity of it—don't worry about anything complicated, just kill the enemy. ...But it always felt like they treated real combat too lightly, and that rubbed me the wrong way.

Some of the missions—escorting a VIP, transporting cargo—were things I had actually done. The thought of that being consumed as just another game left a pretty foul taste in my mouth. Reality wasn't that simple. Which made it even harder to understand why people were so obsessed with this one.

Nothing I saw in the video set it apart from any other FPS in any major way. The one unusual thing was how the characters moved. Unlike most games, where you were locked into a set of canned animations, Last of Quantum had done something—everyone moved differently. The way they walked, the way they held a weapon, even their shooting stance varied from person to person. And that wasn't all. You could throw a gun, rip a weapon out of someone's hands—realistic interactions that actually ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looked possible.

I had heard it was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠extremely realistic, but did they really go that far?

Interest, in the end, turned into action. I opened a new browser tab and searched for Last of Quantum. One of the related searches announced that it had taken the number-one PC bang occupancy rate. I checked the wiki: there was an esports league, and the reigning king of that league was at the absolute height of his powers.

It was just an FPS. Why were people this fanatical about it?

With a little doubt and a little anticipation, I went to the official site. I skimmed the description. Aside from a bunch of sentences hammering on about realism, there wasn't much worth noting. Being able to use not just modern firearms but historical ones too was interesting, but it didn't feel like enough to explain this kind of popularity.

Well. I would find out once I actually played it.

The moment I looked up how to download it, I ran into a problem I hadn't seen coming. A single line of text sitting next to the download list.