Dropping the First Game into the Abyss
Deployment went surprisingly fast, whether thanks to my abundant game dev experience from my past life or the ridiculously overpowered tool called Deus Ex Machina. The game came together quicker than I'd expected.
"This wrapped up in just one night, huh."
I eyed the finished product I'd created, cautiously optimistic. For something slapped together in a single day, it was pretty damn decent. Alright, time to test it out?
{Tap Space Bar}
Hitting the space bar launched the game. With the script kicking in, things got underway for real.
Controls were straightforward: left and right buttons to move, space bar to jump, up arrow to use items, and A/S keys for command inputs to take down enemies. It was your classic setup, just like those old Flash games you could play straight in your browser.
The hero was a swordsman with a blade and shield—straight out of a generic fantasy novel.
'If I'd made this in my past life, they'd have ripped it apart for being unoriginal.'
Sure, it was clichéd stuff that popped up all the time, but who cared? No one around here would even call it predictable.
From fantasy to modern slice-of-life, even trashy dramas—this world was a blue ocean for every genre.
"This support program's the real deal."
As a dev, not an illustrator in my past life, art was never my strong suit. Even with pixel graphics, I couldn't have pulled off those sprites without the help. I never expected it to guide me through drawing, too—just follow the app's cues and sketch the lines.
Plus, none of the Constellations here sucked at it either. True to their title as Art Goddesses, they could all handle basic illustrations.
"So, where do I even drop this thing...?"
That was the real headache. Even if it was a half-assed game I whipped up solo in a day, I couldn't just dump it anywhere.
One wrong move, and I might end up caught in the city's censorship net, facing some nightmare scenario like the rumors said...
Wait, nah. It wouldn't even ping their radar.
In a society full of those one-eyed normies, no one normal would bother looking at it. Societal impact? Please—no one gave a shit, so how could it exist?
Posting on some vanilla site would just leave it buried, ignored forever. And that flew in the face of the system's whole "preservation" vibe.
"Guess that leaves just one option."
The spot I'd planned on from the start: an unlicensed site run outside government oversight—the so-called Dark Web.
"...Why pick such a violent way to phrase it?"
And like last time, what the hell was up with that Constellation casually dropping lines like that? Even if she'd researched myths and legends for data, the Greek Muses numbered nine. Aside from Calliope—the eldest and a famous Vtuber—no one had much screentime, so pinning them all down was a stretch.
Anyway, I had zero plans to commit actual crimes.
This world's Dark Web meant something way different from my past life.
"Well... sure, there are spots for real crime. But the place I'm hitting up? Totally clean."
Dark Web, aka Abyss Web. Back home, it meant invite-only networks or special hardware access. Here? Any site not directly government-run or approved.
'Even places like DCInside or Everland would count as Dark Web here.'
Scale didn't matter—if the gov didn't build and operate it, boom, Dark Web.
Like unlicensed ships being pirate vessels in some pirate manga.
Of course, real criminals lurked in there too... but crazies like that hid in deeper pits everywhere, not just here.
Gov let it slide as long as it didn't threaten society. Thing was, aside from mutants like me, no one used it—hence the natural isolation.
"Oh, really?"
Made sense—this was basically magic. Maybe some untraceable tech was baked in.
...Not that IQ tracking was a thing, obviously.
But the other Constellations backed it up, so dodging trackers seemed solid enough.
With that worry off the table...
"Alright, connecting now?"
I punched in the Dark Web address. The spot I was hitting—the most active hub in the shadows.
Fewer users than gov sites meant way snappier load times than the light web.
Raw, unfiltered posts—no stiff formal bullshit. Felt just like the galleries from my past life.
"Man, it's been forever since I saw vibes like this..."
Something ignited in my chest.
Gallery. I wasn't a diehard like those gallery dwellers, but I'd lurked back in the day to gauge user needs. Their culture had felt alien then...
'Now even this shit feels welcoming.'
Yeah, I'd been cooped up in too rigid a world.
God, I loved this unfiltered, desire-driven writing.
"Time to drop the game here, then..."
Couldn't just post willy-nilly. Even the Dark Web had rules.
No rules, and who knows what garbage would flood in? Criminals lurked among users, so getting admin approval first was key.
'Sigh, they say requests get approved quick, though...'
Not harmful, so no big worries. Couldn't rush it anyway—better start the convo.
With that in mind, I hit up the inquiry tab.
*Ding!*
A reply popped almost instantly.
"Ah, gotcha."
Makes sense—not handing perms to randos with temp nicks. Operator could get fucked if something went south.
In this world, hacks weren't just data leaks.
"What to name myself, then..."
Real name felt risky—who knew who lurked here.
Needed something meaningful...
After mulling it over, I typed it in.
GM. Short for Game Maker—or Game Master. Perfect fit.
Back to the operator.
Sweet, green light. I fired the file over to Hacking Expert ASAP.
'...Hope it doesn't flop.'
No malicious code or anything. Should be fine.
Moments later...
A message from the operator.