"Man, this is straight-up flirting with death…"
Davy stood beneath a towering cliff, swallowing hard.
The rock face was nearly vertical, all jagged cliffs and sheer drops. A few cracks and odd protrusions dotted the surface, but the angle alone was enough to spook anyone.
And this? Unprotected rock climbing in Peak Nation.
Gear? Barebones. Fingerless gloves, a chalk bag with anti-slip magnesium, and climbing shoes. That's it.
No ropes, no cables, not even a single anchor point from base to summit. Just hands, feet, a strong core, and sharp route-picking to conquer deadly cliffs.
Sure, Peak Nation's tech was so crisp it blurred reality. IndieVibe X2's full-sensory assist nailed the five senses, amped just right. WindyPeak's top-tier motion assist gave players near-superhuman athletic chops for slick moves.
But fatigue? That's a problem no game, not even WindyPeak, could crack. The IndieVibe X2 couldn't sim muscle burn, so Peak Nation used a "stamina bar" instead. As you climbed, your avatar got weaker, hands and feet losing grip.
That forced a new strategy: smart route choices. Like in downhill skiing—fancy spins scored big but drained stamina. Burn too much, and you'd wipe before the finish. Unless you found an energy-saving path to balance the flex.
Same with wingsuit gliding. Parachute flips boosted scores but tanked stamina, messing your flight path unless you nailed the optimal route.
Now, for Davy and SuperCat's rock climbing? Same deal. No fancy flips, but technical moves were key. The challenge: pick the right route, use precise moves, and summit before stamina zeroed out.
"Bet, let's try it. You die, you respawn," SuperCat said, grabbing chalk, clapping his hands, and stepping to the cliff. He gripped a hold, planted his feet, and started climbing.
The chalked grip felt solid, power surging through his palms. SuperCat's eyes lit up.
It'd been ages. His illness had whittled him from a sturdy teen to a frail patient needing a wheelchair. Chemo and meds took their toll, but his mind and heart held strong, barely passing the cabin's health check.
Now, in-game, feeling that strength again? His chest tightened with emotion.
Health was life's realest flex.
Grinning, he took a deep breath, gripped a protruding rock, wedged his knees into a crack, and glanced down-right at Davy.
"Yo, move it! I'm a quarter up, and you're still hugging the wall?"
Davy clung to the cliff like a scared turtle, trembling. "Chill, you know the tortoise and hare vibe? I'm letting you flex, but I'll smoke you soon."
"Yeah? Bet you won't," SuperCat teased, scanning the terrain, then pointing to a rock jutting out seven or eight centimeters above-left. "Check this. Your boy's about to go big."
"What the—!" Davy wobbled, nearly slipping. "You dropping bombs mid-climb? That's foul!"
SuperCat groaned. "Bruh, you dumb? I'm swinging to that hold, not—ugh, forget it."
"What?!" Davy's jaw dropped. That hold was two body lengths away, diagonally up. SuperCat would have to leap on a 90-degree cliff, no protection, grab it clean, and keep his body steady.
"You're cappin'!" Davy yelled. "If you pull that off, I'm buying you grilled fish."
"Bet! You said it!" SuperCat lit up—grilled fish was his jam. "Back out, and you're a dog."
"I ain't raised to fold," Davy shot back, pressing into the wall to dodge any fallout.
Hiss—whoosh— SuperCat's breathing filled their voice chat, the only sound.
Wind swept the valley, brushing his avatar. Trees rustled below, birds chirped.
For a moment, SuperCat felt alone in the world.
The game's opening motto hit him: The hymn of humanity is the hymn of courage.
"Yo—!" His shout echoed through the cliff and valley.
Like a snow leopard, he leaped for the lone protrusion. Gravel sprayed, chalk dust trailed like white silk. A falcon screeched above.
Thud! His hands clamped the rock, climbing shoes grinding the cliff, slowing him. As silence fell, Davy peeked up. SuperCat clung like a gecko, legs braced, exhaling hard.
"Grilled fish, Davy! Grilled—fish—!" he roared.
Birds scattered below, his voice bouncing through the valley. Davy's nose stung. "Aight, aight! Damn, you're cracked!"
What a rush. Pushing limits.
From Seattle to Tokyo to London, Peak Nation shook the sports gaming scene and the whole industry. IndieVibe X2's sensory tech was unreal—ocean surfing with roaring waves, sea spray in your nose, adrenaline spiking in misty chaos. Wingsuit gliding with howling winds, the scent of fresh rain, and the raw thrill of courage.
WindyPeak's motion assist was next-level. Ridge downhill's wild backflips, parachute glides' fearless spins, skiing's 200 km/h tumbles kicking up snow, and climbers scaling cliffs with insane poses.
That night, dusk settled over Seattle. Neon glowed, pedestrians hustled. Davy pushed SuperCat's wheelchair down the street, wheels humming.
"Yo, Davy," SuperCat said at a crosswalk.
Davy raised an eyebrow. "Sup?"
SuperCat paused, then smiled softly. "Today was dope. Thanks."
"Bow to me, then?" Davy grinned, pushing him across.
SuperCat laughed, breathing deep, savoring the crisp winter air. "It's nice to play something like this before… you know."
Just half a day—five, six hours. But Peak Nation's Peak Eight let them pick any challenge from the start.
They hit Utah's rugged ridges, watching fearless climbers tackle narrow paths. They summited Everest, saw players leap off cliffs, gliding through snowy peaks. They explored Mexico's Swallow Cave and Sea of Cortez, awed by the green hell's needle-eye cave and surging waves. They marveled at Tianmen Mountain and Angel Falls' sheer drops.
No one had conquered the Peak Eight, but the real-world detail shocked them—nature's grandeur, humanity's guts.
SuperCat's favorite? The Alps. Those pure-white peaks, a paradise above the clouds, glowed like heaven. At sunset, golden-red light edged the snow, a scene so stunning he never wanted to leave.
"Sigh," he said, content but wistful. "If I had the chance, I'd hit the Alps for real…"
Davy stayed quiet. No "you'll see Switzerland when you're better." Sometimes, brothers just shut up when fate's set.
SuperCat knew the Alps were out of reach. He'd left the hospital, choosing to embrace the world one last time.
Silence lingered.
SuperCat adjusted his black cat-ear beanie and turned to Davy. "Write a game review for me later."
"Say what?"
SuperCat (5 stars)—
This is my last review. I'm lucky to play something this epic in my final days, to feel this free. I won't see Peak Nation's updates or anyone conquer the Peak Eight, but I believe anyone with the Hymn of Courage will crush it.
WindyPeak's games heal parts of me I can't explain. They show me what freedom feels like. If there's an afterlife, I'm heading to the Alps.
Thanks, Gus; thanks, WindyPeak.
[PS: I'm SuperCat's IRL friend. At 2:30 AM today, his soul climbed to the Alps, his dream paradise. Thanks for the inspiring ride this game gave us. Hope he's thriving up there. Keep pushing, everyone!]
A week after Peak Nation's launch, this review hit IndieVibe's platform. It blew up, pulling players' heartstrings.
Now, a printed copy sat on Gus Harper's desk, WindyPeak's VP and Chief Game Director.