The knowledge settled into my mind not like a memory, but like a new instinct. It was the most bizarre and empowering sensation of my life—and that was including waking up in a new body and fondling my relatives. One second, Silent Hill P.T. was a game I'd played and loved. The next, it was a part of my DNA. I understood its bones, its blood, its terrifying soul. I could close my eyes and see the lines of code that governed the ghost's appearances, could hear the exact frequency of the radio static that frayed your nerves, could feel the precise mathematical curve of the escalating dread.
I flexed my fingers, a slow, deliberate motion, half-expecting to see binary code streaming from my fingertips. "Holy shit," I breathed out, the words filled with a kind of reverent awe. "That is one hell of a experience…."
"[The integration is complete,]". Sunday confirmed, her voice pulling me from my daze. "[All project files are secured within a quantum-locked directory. The encryption is, for all practical purposes, unbreakable by this world's technology. No external entity can access, view, or replicate the data without your express biological and neurological permission. Your intellectual property is perfectly safe.]"
A wave of relief, cold and clean, washed over me. That had been a nagging fear in the back of my mind—that some corporate spider-bot would sniff out this alien code and swoop in to steal it. But Sunday wasn't from this world. Her tech was magic to them.
"Alright," I said, cracking my knuckles and leaning forward. The glow of the monitor reflected in my eyes. The time for awe was over. The time for work had begun. "Let's get to work. Sunday, open the main project file. I want to see the source."
The screen filled with lines of pristine, beautifully commented code. It was a work of art. But it wasn't mine. Not yet.
"Okay, first order of business," I said, my voice taking on a director's tone. "The core experience is perfect. We change nothing… The sounds, the loop, the terrifying baby laughter—it all stays… That's the masterpiece. Let's not fix what isn't broken."
"[Acknowledged. Core gameplay and assets are set to read-only.]".
"Second. The branding. Konami doesn't exist here. Kojima might as well be a ghost. This is ours now." A thrill of possessive pride shot through me.
"Studio name: Meteor Studios. I like it. Sounds like we fell from the fucking sky and made an impact. Credits…" I paused, thinking. This was important. "Director and Lead Designer: Sael." It felt good to say it. To claim it. Then I added, "Lead Engineer and System Architect: Sunday."
A slight pause from the Sunday. "[You are including me in the credits, Sir?]"
"Yes, I am," I said firmly. "You're not just a tool. You're my partner in this. The architect. Nobody needs to know you're an AI. Let them think you're a reclusive genius programmer. Which," I chuckled, "you are."
"[The designation is… acceptable. Thank you, Sir.]" If an AI could feel pride, I heard a flicker of it in her voice.
I could feel it now. The power. I was no longer just a guy with a cool idea. I was the director. The visionary, Sunday was my entire production team, my special effects department, my engine—all rolled into one and working at the speed of light. It was the most one-sided collaboration in history. It felt great.
"Right. Platform." I leaned back, picturing it. "This isn't for consoles. No, this world runs on VR…We're releasing this for VR only. Can you imagine?" A vicious grin spread across my face. "Being trapped in that hallway? Having Lisa's breath on the back of your neck in full 3D audio? Hearing those fucking footsteps right behind you? We're not just going to scare them. We're going to give them therapy-level trauma. They'll shit their fancy sensory suits."
"[A strategic and devastatingly effective decision]" Sunday agreed. "[The immersive capabilities of modern Virtual Reality will amplify the experience by a projected 740%.]".
"Hell yeah, they will," I muttered, already picturing the panic-filled streamer reactions.
"[However,]" Sunday interjected, her tone shifting to one of pragmatic caution. "[To achieve this at an optimal level, a direct port will not be sufficient. The original experience was designed for a flat screen and stereo sound. To truly translate its horror into a fully immersive, three-dimensional virtual space requires a significant overhaul of its core systems.]"
My grin faltered. "What kind of overhaul?"
"[Spatial audio recalibration for 360-degree immersion. Environmental interaction coding for the VR physics engine. Re-rigging all character and object models to exist convincingly in a 3D space. Optimizing the lighting and shadow engines to work with VR's real-time rendering. It is, essentially, building the experience again from the ground up, specifically for the new platform.]"
I winced. That sounded like a lot of work, A Work I couldn't do.
"Can you handle it?" I asked.
"[Of course,]" she replied, as if I'd asked if water was wet. "[But to do so with the efficiency and perfection you require, I recommend purchasing a supplementary data pack. The VR System Integration & Optimization Pack. It contains all necessary protocols, APIs, and engine templates to seamlessly adapt any flat-screen experience into a flawless VR counterpart. It will reduce the development time from weeks to approximately forty-seven minutes.]"
A new listing appeared on the screen.
VR System Integration & Optimization Pack. Price: $100.00
I stared at the number. A hundred dollars. I'd just spent fifty. My total life savings, the $300 I'd inherited from the old Sael, was now down to a hundred and fifty. This would wipe out two-thirds of it in one night.
I ran a hand through my hair, a frustrated groan escaping my lips. "A hundred bucks? For a plugin?"
"[You are not purchasing a plugin, Sir,]" Sunday corrected, her voice utterly serious. "[You are purchasing the key to the dominant gaming platform of this world. This pack will be essential for every project you undertake moving forward. It is not an expense; it is the most important investment you will make.]"
The logic was irrefutable. She was right. Again. I couldn't half-ass this. If I was going to unleash a classic, it had to be perfect. It had to be a flawless VR experience that would blow every other piece of software on the platform out of the water. There was no point in doing it if I wasn't going to do it right.
I thought about the shitty, half-baked VR games I'd suffered through. The barren lobbies, the predatory microtransactions. This wouldn't just be a game; it would be a statement. A declaration of war on mediocrity. With a sigh that was equal parts frustration and resolve, I clicked the purchase button.
"Fine. Do it…".
"[Purchase confirmed. Integrating VR protocols now.]"
Another progress bar. Another chunk of my savings gone. But as I watched it fill, I didn't feel poor. I felt… armed. I had the weapon. And now I had the scope, the grip, the high-capacity magazine to make it truly lethal. The work began instantly. On the monitor, I could see lines of code flying by, too fast for me to read. Models were being updated, sound files were being reprocessed. Sunday was working at a speed no human team could ever match.
I sat back in my chair, a slow, confident smile finally returning to my face. The money was just a number. A temporary obstacle. Soon, very soon, it would start flowing back in, when this game hit the market, not gonna lie, Silent Hill in VR form, where the VR was at the level of alternate reality. It is going to be a really terrifying game.