Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: The Jailer's Perspective
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#006
Han Seo-rim's question was one I had already answered back when I decided to make the game.
What I was going to create was a horror game.
The setting would be the heart of a living hell where screams never cease, a place with no escape.
If the playable character were a prisoner, we, the players, would be the victims of that misfortune.
Following the traditional rules of horror, we would have to flee from an unbeatable enemy, feeling terror in that situation.
But the stress that comes from fear is not an emotion the mainstream audience enjoys.
Consequently, the game would be extremely weak in terms of mass appeal, which would have a negative impact on our future game development.
So, we twist it.
Think about it. What happens to the game if the player's role is reversed?
“...The protagonist is a jailer?”
“Yep.”
“You mean the monster is the protagonist?”
“You catch on quick.”
“Is that even possible?”
“It is.”
It had to be.
The concept had already been proven.
Fundamentally, humans are designed to enjoy the misfortunes of others.
To put it crudely: your misery is my happiness.
Many cry out that such a thing is morally wrong, but who knows? Strip away the mask of morality, and you’ll find that everyone is ready to enjoy the misfortunes of others.
Isn't there a very simple example?
We laugh when we see celebrities suffer while performing a penalty in a variety show.
We feel a sense of satisfaction when a villain in a drama meets a miserable end.
When you think of it that way, this wasn't all that different.
To help her understand, I asked Han Seo-rim a question.
“Let's say you had to choose between being the one hitting someone or the one getting hit. Which would you pick?”
“...The one hitting, I guess. I don't want to get hit.”
“If you had to choose between being the one who's scared or the one doing the scaring, which would you pick?”
“...Ah.”
A gasp escaped Han Seo-rim's lips.
She seemed to understand.
I nodded and continued.
“This is a game about hunting prisoners. The protagonist is a rookie jailer who just arrived in this hell. The player will learn the duties of a jailer and grow. They'll become stronger, punish the prisoners, and the game's structure is built around finding fun in that.”
Rather than growth through stats... yes, it would be better to acquire new torture instruments and use them to crush prisoners in new ways.
That would be a more intuitive fit for the character of a jailer.
Just then, Han Seo-rim asked.
“Is that really okay, though? Would anyone openly say that tormenting someone is fun? Even if they try to enjoy it, they might feel a sense of repulsion, right?”
A good question.
No one would openly admit to enjoying the act of becoming a villain and making others suffer.
Society is built on the rule of law called morality, and humans are animals willing to deceive even themselves for its sake.
But there was something Han Seo-rim was missing.
“I told you.”
“Yes?”
“The ones the jailer hunts are sinners.”
As I mentioned in the earlier example, we are designed to feel catharsis at the demise of a villain in media.
“Who cares? In this world, the protagonist *is* justice.”
If I really wanted to, I could even attach a message to it.
Refrain from acts that ruin your own body.
A message is whatever you want it to be; it's all in how you frame it.
Han Seo-rim began to drift off, lost in thought.
I asked her.
“So, what do you think? Can you handle this?”
Her answer came after about three seconds of silence.
“...I'll start sketching out a draft with what I have in mind.”
Han Seo-rim immediately turned on her computer and connected her tablet.
A small spark of anticipation ignited within me.
* * *
It didn't take long for Han Seo-rim to finish her rough sketches.
“What do you think?”
Her confident voice tickled my ear.
But I couldn't answer.
I was that captivated by the result displayed on the monitor.
A thought suddenly occurred to me.
‘Ah, this is what it looked like.’
With only my description, Han Seo-rim had brilliantly recreated my memories.
Of course, it wasn't exactly the same.
But the illustration had enough detail for me to recall that place just by looking at it.
The playable character, the jailer, had blue skin, a gaunt body, and characteristically long limbs. As instructed, its black clothes wouldn't show bloodstains, and its stitched eyes and mouth, along with its nailed-shut ears, were immediately noticeable.
The prisoners each had a distinct appearance.
Some were emaciated like victims of starvation, while others were buried in their own flesh, practically melting. There were others too—one with grotesquely twisted arms, one with holes riddling its body, and one spewing streams of black blood.
Each one's individuality was clearly expressed.
The background images also followed my requirements well.
The layout effectively conveyed the feeling of being inside the body of a cancer patient.
My heart pounded.
The words came out on their own.
“Good job.”
Han Seo-rim had performed her role splendidly.
No, it was beyond splendid—it was the best she could have done.
In game development, shaping the visual identity is a crucial process that can influence the game's very essence.
Only once the visuals are complete can you add detail to the background setting, the game's progression, the character's changes at each branching point, and the enemies' abilities to match that atmosphere.
As I repeatedly examined the highly satisfactory result, Han Seo-rim began to gloat.
“I’ve dabbled in character design before, so this was easy.”
An attitude that knew nothing of humility.
Well, it was far better than her getting depressed and thinking her art was terrible.
Individuality stems from the self.
Without self-assurance, the final product will only be half-baked.
“So, what's next?”
“Nothing major for you right now. Just keep refining this draft. The rest is my turn to suffer.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“System design.”
“System design?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. I'll establish the detailed systems based on the design document. Things like what the game's rules will be, how it will progress, how to set the character's stats and balance them with the enemies' abilities, and so on.”
“...Wait, my head is starting to hurt.”
“Yeah, it’s a headache-inducing process.”
It was a stage where a single mistake could become a poison that brings down the entire game.
It demanded meticulousness and certainty.
A misstep here could waste unnecessary time later in the main development, and beyond that, could even lead to scrapping the entire game.
‘But.’
Still, I couldn't deny it was one of the most enjoyable parts of the process.
It was literally creating a world and shaping it as I pleased.
If I hadn't enjoyed imagining and trying new things in the first place, I never would have dreamed of becoming a game director.
A smile crept onto my lips.
It was at that moment.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“You look like a total creep right now.”
“...”
Her brutally direct, new-generation remark shut me right up.
* * *
The following week was dedicated entirely to design.
The game's direction was 'A jailer of hell who uses various torture instruments as weapons to catch prisoners trying to escape.'
The genre was top-down survival horror action.
The player wakes up somewhere in hell with nothing.
There, they find their first torture instrument—their weapon—and take down the enemies that confront them.
The basic progression involves moving from room to room, farming new weapons, and hunting chapter bosses.
To that end, I had to gather data on various torture instruments, interpret them for the game, and design them with numerical values.
After drafting the framework and documenting it, I moved on to other considerations.
The game I was making wasn't a simple action game; it aimed to be survival horror.
The enemies had to be bizarre, the mechanics terrifying, and the game's tension had to remain high at all times.
This required various tricks and directorial techniques, and that's where I ran into a problem.
‘I need to find sound sources.’
For a game claiming to be horror, sound was just as important as graphics.
It goes without saying how much auditory perception contributes to fear, right?
‘I'll use open-source for the basics, but...’
It needed to have its own character.
This game needed its own unique sound.
I was deep in thought about this when it happened.
“Hey, I’m done with the coloring.”
Han Seo-rim said.
I nodded, pushing my previous thoughts aside.
On the monitor, I saw the fully colored illustration.
I walked over and gave it a quick look; there was nothing to criticize.
‘I’ll have to think more about the sound.’
In any case, sound implementation was a process that could happen much later.
For now, I needed to focus on design, item settings, and balancing.
And, there was something I had to do before all that.
“Are you busy today?”
“Me?”
“There’s no one else here but you.”
“Um, I don't have anything special planned.”
A hint of reluctance colored Han Seo-rim’s voice.
It was five in the afternoon. I had a pretty good idea of what she was thinking.
“I’m not asking you on a date. And I’m not asking you to dinner either.”
“Then what is it?”
“If you’re not busy, I was thinking we could play a game before you go.”
“All of a sudden?”
“It’s weird for someone who says they’re making a game to have never played one.”
“That’s true, but this is just so sudden.”
“It’s because a suitable game just came out.”
A puzzled look spread across Han Seo-rim’s face.
“Just came out? What are you talking about?”
“You'll see when you see it.”
It was time for Han Seo-rim to start working on pixel art.
As with any profession, input was especially crucial for game graphics.
You need to understand the flow of a game firsthand to be able to apply that knowledge more smoothly to design and production.
If I had my way, I'd have her play all the famous masterpieces from this era one by one, but we didn't have enough time for that. More importantly, I had to avoid giving Han Seo-rim, who was still a blank slate, more input than she could digest.
After all, if someone with little experience becomes overwhelmed with too many ideas, their work will just end up scattered and inconsistent.
Therefore, it was best to have her play a game in a similar genre to the one we were developing.
And, as luck would have it, a timeless masterpiece of the survival horror action genre had been released four days ago.
“We're playing this.”
I showed her the game case I had brought.
Han Seo-rim narrowed her eyes and read the title.
“Dark Space?”
Dark Space.
A survival horror classic of its time that would not be forgotten even nearly twenty years into the future.
That was the name of the game Han Seo-rim would be playing.
“Clear your schedule for about four days. I brought a console, so you can play here. You're not allowed to do any other work until you finish this.”
Han Seo-rim let out a dry laugh.
“To think the first game of my life would be something so gloomy.”
“You don't like scary things?”
“As if.”
*Snap.* Han Seo-rim snatched the game case from my hand.
A crooked smile played on her lips.
“I’ve never once been startled by a horror movie in my life. To be honest, I don't really get people who are.”
I was relieved by her confident attitude.
I had been worried she might say it was too scary to play.
“Great, let's start right away. Should I go get something to eat?”
“Ramen.”
“You got it.”
I popped over to the convenience store and came back with food.
Finally, we started the game, and after learning the basic controls, Han Seo-rim began to play.
It took exactly five minutes.
“KYAAAAAAAH!!!”
That was how long it took for Han Seo-rim to let out a scream.
* * *
It's an obvious statement, but the degree of fear varies depending on the medium.
That's because the amount of information you can perceive is different.
Comics are scarier than novels, and movies are scarier than comics.
And games, I can say with certainty, were the medium that could make you feel fear most realistically among all existing media.
“KYAAAAAAAH!!!”
When you play a game, you become the one experiencing the fear.
You don't just watch a terrifying situation unfold; you have to directly control your character to resolve it.
From that perspective, it made sense that Han Seo-rim, who claimed to have never been startled in her life, was having such a violent reaction.
In any case, that wasn't the important part.
“Why did it have to pop out from there! Ah! Go! Go away!”
Even as she shrieked, Han Seo-rim never let go of the joystick.
She continued playing with clenched teeth, fueled by pure spite. It was clear she was playing out of stubbornness.
Amidst it all, one thing was particularly impressive.
“KYAAAAAAAH!!!”
Her scream was so piercingly clear.
Inspiration struck.
‘Found it.’
A sound source.
“Kyaak!”
A thought occurred to me.
What if I remixed that scream and used it in the opening?
What if I inserted it for each monster?
What about sound effects? Yes, it would be good to have different monster screams depending on the weapon used.
My gaze shifted to the trembling Han Seo-rim.
I needed to collect more screams.
‘What were the famous horror games from this era?’
Fortunately, a few came to mind.