Character Make

"First off, the genre for this session is zombie apocalypse. You've all seen plenty of zombie movies, right? Just like those films—the zombies go berserk, people flee to avoid infection, and along the way they clash with each other. That's the kind of story this is."

Shatia had barely finished before Lueru pounced on it.

"Whoa! Zombies! I love that genre! Blowing zombie heads off with guns, chopping them into chunks with blades—yes!"

...Call me a stickler, but that sounds less like a zombie story and more like a hack-and-slash where the zombies just happen to be the backdrop.

Then again, that genre has its own proud history, I suppose.

Shatia gave a small smile at Lueru's excitement, then continued her explanation.

"The ending condition is met if you survive for one month."

"Hm? You're telling us the ending condition before Character Make?"

This was, how should I put it, a pretty risky move balance-wise—not something ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Shatia I knew did often.

And for good reason. If a game's objective is laid out clearly in advance, it becomes easy to build a character specialized toward that exact goal.

Say the mission is to slay a wicked necromancer—you'd just roll a paladin build tailored for killing necromancers.

Of course, since the GM runs the game, they can snipe-counter that kind of approach, but then the game tends to unfold in an unreasonable, railroaded way instead.

Which is why, as a rule, knowing a session's background in broad strokes is fine, but revealing the actual ending condition before it starts is all but unheard of.

To my question, Shatia answered simply.

"Because that's only the A-ending condition."

"Ah. So there are multiple endings. Well then."

Among players, there are always those who freeze up when handed an unfamiliar scenario and an unfamiliar rulebook, unsure what they're even supposed to do.

For them, this was a guideline: if you don't know what else to do, build for survivability.

And of course, I had zero intention of aiming for that kind of ending.

I'll say it as many times as I have to—the higher the difficulty, the greater the sense of achievement.

That was when Lueru cut in.

"So, is it time to make our characters now?"

"Yes. You each get 10 Free Points, which you distribute as you like among base stats, skills, and equipment."

"Hmm."

I looked over my sheet.

Five stats in total, and skills and equipment numbering in the dozens combined. The problem was that the skills and equipment were seriously expensive.

"I'm going with this one!"

While I was still agonizing over which combination would be most efficient, Lueru completed her sheet in a flash and submitted it.

When ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I checked her sheet, I was left speechless.

W-wait, what kind of caveman build is this...!

"Um, excuse me. Lueru... ma'am?"

"Just Lueru is fine! Ahjussi!"

"...Okay, so. Rank 1 is about the capability of an average, moderately fit adult male, and every rank up multiplies your physical ability by exactly n. Rank 2 is double the baseline and costs 1 point. But going from Rank 2 to Rank 3 costs 2 points each time. Now, three times the physical capability of an adult man is absolutely nothing to sneeze at, but honestly, double is enough to handle most situations—so wouldn't it be smarter to spend those points on skills instead?"

Lueru answered with a radiant grin.

"A triple-power punch beats a double-power punch any day!"

"Ah. Right."

I cleanly gave up on persuading her.

The world is full of all kinds of players.

Everyone enjoys the game their own way, with their own playstyle, and trying to force someone to play your way usually ends badly.

Besides, the fact that she was a player picked deliberately by the GM—or rather, by Ms. Shatia—meant there was something about her that Shatia herself found worth watching.

I mulled over the various skills and equipment, then filled out my sheet and submitted it.

Shatia tilted her head as she reviewed my sheet.

"That's a little different from your usual style, Zeras."

"Yes, well. It worked out that way."

The truth is, I'm the type to be pretty ruthless about efficiency when building a character.

I try to waste zero points and combine skills so they synergize with each other as much as possible. Performance over concept, you could say.

By that standard, this sheet was far from a good one.

A large-caliber revolver is certainly a powerful weapon—but it only holds six rounds, period.

Counting the Sharpshooter skill, I'd sunk 5 whole points into an offense that goes up in smoke after six shots.

There might be an opportunity to acquire a new gun or ammunition somewhere in the game, but that was a terrifyingly thin margin of safety.

And yet I chose it for one reason.

"The muzzle will point toward those who harbor sin."

That line.

If a six-shot revolver eats a hefty 3 points because it doubles as a kind of compass, then this was a perfectly worthwhile investment.

What if it's just a plain old MacGuffin with no special effect at all? Well, what can you do. You get sad, that's what.

Trial and error is just part of playing a rulebook for the first time.

And even in the worst case, I'd still have the Instigation skill left over, so it'd be serviceable for negotiations.

Having taken both my sheet and Lueru's, Shatia rose to her feet.

"That's everything I'm able to guide you through. It's a shame only two of the four players I had my eye on could join us, but let's call that an opportunity for next time. Mid-session entry isn't impossible, after all."

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Shatia walked toward the window.

Then, with the window at her back, she smiled brightly at Lueru and me.

"Well then—I do hope you both clear this safely!"

At first I just stared at her, baffled, wondering what she was doing—then I watched her body flip cleanly out the window, and I nearly screamed.

"Huh? HUH!?"

"GYAAAAHH!! What—what are you doing!? What is that!?"

On impulse more than thought, I rushed to the window and looked down.

And I realized.

"She's... gone?"

The ground far below.

Where a body should have been lying after that fall, there was nothing at all.

What the hell? A hidden camera? Some kind of wire stunt?

Suppressing the confusion churning in my gut, I stepped out of the office and started looking for another employee nearby—anyone I could tell about this, anyone who could explain what had just happened.

But.

"Huh? Why is nobody here?"

Lueru was right.

A glittering high-rise tower.

The same space that, mere minutes ago, had been full of employees bustling back and forth was now filled with nothing but dead silence.

A strange chill crept over me as I looked around; I knocked on and entered the closed offices, and it was the same everywhere.

"Hmm, I can't reach Shatia-unnie either? It keeps failing to send."

At Lueru's words, I tried messaging Shatia on the messenger we'd been using too—but the message wouldn't go through.

Our previous chat logs hadn't vanished.

She hadn't disappeared from my friends list either.

It was simply that new contact was blocked, as if reaching her right now were impossible.

Trying to make some sense of the situation, I ran back through the entire sequence of meeting Shatia and everything we'd done since.

"...Lueru."

"Just Lueru, I said? What is it?"

"What did Shatia look like?"

"Unnie? Total gorgeous career-woman vibe, right? Really pretty."

"No, not that. Her eye color, her hairstyle—that kind of thing. Anything come to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mind?"

"Well, obviously. Huh? ...Uh?"

Lueru's pupils wavered.

Mine were no different.

Beautiful. Sleek business suit. A face lit with an easy smile.

Those impressions came to mind.

Which is to say, only those impressions came to mind.

Lueru had clocked every detail of my hair and outfit the instant we first met, yet for Shatia—or for that matter, every other employee of that company we'd brushed past—not a single concrete feature surfaced.

The flashy, eye-catching high-rise.

When I went back to check the logo I'd seen at the front entrance, a hollow laugh escaped me—or maybe it wasn't quite hollow; even I couldn't tell.

D.I.C.E. Corp.

The tagline beneath it—Dynamic Interactive Campaign Experience—was being wiped away like paint bleeding into water.

The Demon's Infernal Contract Enforcement.

Cl-click.

I drew out the heavy hunk of metal that had somehow appeared inside my jacket without my noticing.

A large-caliber six-shot revolver, stained dark reddish-black.

And alongside it, the knowledge of how to use it rose unbidden in my mind—despite my never having taken a single pistol-shooting lesson in my life.

And last of all, a flood of emergency messages buzzing into my phone.

I stared blankly at the messages for a long moment, then looked up—and met Lueru's eyes as she stared right back at me.

Clenching and unclenching her fists, wearing an expression of the utmost gravity, she spoke first.

"I'm the super heroine now, aren't I?"

"I'm begging you. Shut up."

I gave up on being polite.

It was summer.