Sample I is intended as a prologue to ascertain character motivations for an interactive IP centred on player agency, factions and branching choice narratives. Think Fire Emblem meets Heavy Rain, if it played like Gears of War and looked like a Dutch oil painting.

Sample II is intended as a visual IP and acts as the first chapter of a one-shot for character background for the first arc’s antagonist. Think Kazuo Koike meets Naoki Urasawa if inked by Tsutomu Nihei.

Sample III is intended as a setup for an interactive IP centred on survival horror mechanics in a grimdark fantasy setting. Think crossbow and flintlock mechanics where reload time introduces tension or close range melee invokes fear of infection from contact alone.

Narrative Sample I — Digital IP Expansion

 I

The weather had already broken, yet I find myself donning this woollen duster. Perhaps out of habit? No, I knew the reason deep down. It was the silhouette I cut in the trench coat, unmistakable. I’ve had it for years, the same one they issued to me before sending me on this deployment. I liked it at first because of how large it made me, at five foot ten and having spent my days in libraries, I feared I may not be respected. I now perhaps realise that the chevrons on my shoulders did most of the heavy work in that regard. It wasn’t until much later I figured it was my surname that brought the imposing silhouette, not the rank or the coat.

I knew this was coming, but in my usual fashion I decided preparation was not needed. Conversations with the commander were never something I looked forward to, but the situation deemed we work hand in glove. Just the way I dislike it. I had been left to my own devices until now, and a three-year run was as good a gift as I could ask for. Sometimes I do wonder if there is even a need for the military, engineers in uniforms. I had multiple teams pass through in my tenure, they used this post as recovery or punishment, though I am sure those recovering felt it was salt in the wound. I remained unsure if the sweat beginning to bead on my brow was from the wool, or something else entirely.

I knew why these conversations were so excruciating, our commander had been at this outpost for almost twenty years. His rank came from duty and service, and like many before and after, this post came after an injury that left scars deeper than tissue. He outranked me, as a Major, and with this post serving as a recovery spot due to the nature of life at the fringes, he was no stranger to other officers passing through. But no one chose, and none stayed. I believed this the reason he disliked me, though looking back at it, that too was likely due to my surname.

“Welcome Sir”

 The boy saluted as I approached command, his thin frame and steely eyes gargoyle-esque in the shade of the cyclopean façade and weathered oak doors.

“Good morning, I am glad you can now taste the sun. But I wouldn’t get used to it, the rains follow fast here.”

I forgot his name, none stayed for more than a few weeks. He had been in the infirmary with infection for a while, that I remember. I dropped my hand, now clasping my cap. The red band shining in the morning light. I inhaled subconsciously and stepped inside. Glossy black boots, heel caps clinking against marble. I had thought about riding to command but settled on a walk. The florescent glow refracted through the immaculate masonry.

Our commander’s office was just down the hall, a small humbling space in comparison to my sprawling villa. He could have chosen a whole floor of the command; I certainly would have. In fact, I am pretty sure that’s why I was allocated the villa, so he didn’t have to see me every day.  I think my books would not fit in his office, never mind my work. I often wondered what he commanded from such a small space but never voiced that so far. I had my reasons for being here, but the Major seemed content with this posting.

Or he was, until recent news. 

II

I was surprised to hear the muffling’s of a second, female, voice inside his office. I contemplated knocking, but my curiosity got the better of me. I lingered where I knew my shadow would not be cast against the glass panes. Perhaps our Major was getting too comfortable and a little complacent, or most likely, no one ever came unbidden. It wasn’t that he was disliked or feared, just that the daily running’s of the hamlet had very little need for interaction, nevermind espionage. It was only until after my story ended that I saw the beauty and peace the Major chased. At twenty-eight it was incomprehensible to me.

“You’re sending her?”

As the Major took a seat behind his desk, my mind reeled. Still astonished by the look of utter shock she gave me as she exited. Had I thought more logically it was clear no civilian would have been comfortable to be caught between us both. I had worked together with her before on a few small things. And yes, she was capable and knew the lay of the land well. But she was also young. Like him.

“No, I am sending you both.”

The Major replied through what could almost be constituted as a grin. His expression of someone who had managed to clean some rather stubborn grime off one’s own hands. Exasperating, why I cannot just be left out of this utter debacle is the only thought that comes to mind. Though again, logically who else would they send? I am lucky that I am in control of my tongue and allowed the Major to speak on.

“It’s been two weeks since they set out, and forty-eight hours since we last got an update. I cannot leave this unchecked, even if it’s just interference or something just as trivial. I won’t let it happen on my watch, even if that means having to ask you to play baby-sitter. And trust me, I do not want to owe you a favor. I know too well you will want it returned.”

Now the smile broke into something more akin to a grimace, his usual expression around me. He may have outranked me with uniform on, but his standing was far below mine. It made him nervous, and people get defensive when they are nervous. It wasn’t lost on me, and yes, I made full use of it to my substantial advantage.

“Well, perhaps that need not be the case. You know full well what I have been asking, this could be an opportune time to see how our goals may yet align, Major?”

After all, I was here for a reason.

III

“Major, how old is she anyway? Seventeen? Eighteen? Do you not think it, ahem, unwise to allocate such a spring flower in this desolate backwater, that may be, at any moment -- plucked?”

 I made sure to put enough emotion into my words to feign sincerity, but we both knew that a scandal was the last thing either of our careers needed.

“Captain, if you are asking me if he will fuck her, then you would know more about the disposition of Royals than me. If you are asking me if anyone in this village knows this land better than her, then I can answer that confidently. If this is a blackout, there is only so much topography can tell us. You would know that if you pulled your head from a book once in a while. And anyway, that’s part of the reason you are to go along with…” The Major strode across the room, his pacing a nervous tick “No, not to chaperone but to ensure that things are dealt with, with that decorum of yours. And I think all in all, someone his own age may benefit us. Should he wish to ‘open up.’ Don’t you agree?”

 So, he was playing a dangerous game then, who would have thought ambition to be alive in this old dog? Shame. If I wanted to play games I would have stayed in the capital. I quickly realised that if anyone in this scenario was imminently in line to getting fucked, it was me. I thought for a moment of asking for a small squad, perhaps two spotters and two gunners. But I think the less that know the better. Despite what people may think, I knew no less about tactics than I did about anything. And I knew a lot about everything. It was clear the Major was throwing her to the wolves and lining me up as scapegoat. He was only a boy the last I saw him, but I knew the capital bred cruel men in a short time, corpses in even shorter -- so he must have wits or venom.

Narrative Sample II — Digital IP Expansion

I

“Wait… you’re telling me you have never heard of this fucking guy? He’s a legend!”

The two men could not be further apart in appearances, despite their identical expensive suits. Each pair were selected to represent kuro and shiro that together they would maintain balance.

“Fuck… fuck! Fuck man, and Taiwan in ‘46? Or was your fucking rich-ass stuck in this compound back then? Ahhh Masa… don’t fucking look at me like that!”

Despite his tongue, Tatsumi was chosen to represent shiro -- something the trail of bodies he leaves in his wake suggests otherwise. Masaru looked him steadily in the eye as he flicked through pages of [redacted], [redacted], [redacted]…

A concrete thud followed the stack of bull-clipped papers as it hit the desk.

“Tatsu. It does not matter if he is Benkei reincarnated. All men bleed. All men die.”

But I knew the story of the man they called Penghu Fengbao, or to Masa and Tatsu; the Nihon Kamikaze. Should we share it with the pair? Or let them circle the drain as the plug gets pulled from beneath them…

II

Tokyo, 2146.

The rain beat down hard on the sill as I waited for the call. My hands were still but my mind was restless. They had brought me home, after… though home was never the same again. I looked through the condensation and towards the gardens. Remembered the summers we spent as children, and the promises we made. Today I would say goodbye to him, and I would say goodbye to Japan.

I raised my hand, wrapped in bandages. I didn’t even know if it still hurt. I curled my remaining three fingers reflexively. I wondered if this would be the extent of my punishment. They will want more than a finger when I return… if I return.

As I stood in the tungsten glow, black suit reflected in white marble, I watched him enter in his ivory-white casket. My left hand damp and red, rested on the tsuka of his—my wakizashi, crimson flecks dripping down the black silk, catching on the white ray skin. My heart was beating slowly, the cold steel through cotton a slight sensation… reminder I was still alive. The day passed around me, one by one I bowed to his family -- “gomen nasai.”

III

Some days later…

”Hey, hey, what’s a man like you after in Taiwan anyway? They call it Sodai Gomi, and damn, man. That sword is not Junko. Hey, hey, y’know what man? I think I could help a guy like you. Yeah, yeah I could errrm… help, yeah. I’ve seen it. I’ve been, it’s not like Nippon. Hey, hey… yeah. Not like Nippon…

Salters, there weren’t very many in Nippon. I’d seen some on schooners from the Philippines. Erratic. He couldn’t help me. No one can. But he was right, this was not Nippon. Sodai Gomi, waste island. Where all the deadbeats eventually wash up. The Siamese drove out the Khmer from the mainland and somehow they ended up here with whatever was left of the Vietkong, their scrawling letters across signage -- hardly an upgrade from the filthy Mandarin it covered. I rested my hand on my katana, visibly. My left sought the .45 under my jacket.

“Look who we have here then, a little baby inu, thinking he is okami… and just one? I thought you even pissed together…”

A grin crossed her face, burning into the back of my skull.

“Heh, do you even know how to use that thing? No, in your other hand. Your broken one.”

I turned slowly, my right hand rising to my left breast. I stood across from her, arms folded, safeties off. Perhaps I would have been insulted once. But I am not even a dog, not even a centipede -- “gomen nasai.”

IV

There were seventeen in the alley, four on a nearby roof and eight in the passage from the docks. I had more than enough in both mags, I wouldn’t even need to get blood on seven-century old tamahagane. Good.

“Hey, hey man, she means nothing… man, she’s soft in the head. Her mum fucked too many guys when she was bouncing around in her belly. Yeah, yeah man…”

“She’s your mother too!”

Wild cries from the rabble, now participating in this public ridicule.

“Yeah, and half the island!”
What a joke, I was halfway gone before she even noticed. It was a shame to have to cause such a disturbance so soon.

“Mister, it ain’t my Ma you should be worried about. This is his city…”

Her words drifted on the wind as I latched safeties and picked up my pace.

“You’ll see mister… everyone knows he’s my Pa!”

V

Later that day…

“Who does he think he is? Walking into my town, with not enough fingers and too many swords... Pa won’t be happy. But Pa won’t even talk to me. He’s my Pa I know he is, Ma always said.”

The girl frantically paced the small hab, opening and closing her butterfly knife whilst grinding down her molars. It was not every day she was shown up like this. Most days… but not every day. And that she was currently unthankful for. Her ‘peace’ was interrupted by a brief but powerful rap on the door.

“And who now? What else do I have to deal with today? Greet the strangers he said, find out what they are here for. Easy work, a few creds for some info. Pa would have been happy. Pa’s never happy.”

“Aya, it’s me! Open up.”

The girl stopped her pacing and sent the knife careening into plasterboard that might have once been painted. She stomped her foot and turned but he was already in.

“You should buy some better locks, Aya. One day it won’t be me that comes knocking. Now I know you think that you will be welcomed up in the tower with your Pa, but you need to survive until then, okay?”

The man took up half the hab, shoulders spanning from cabinet to bedframe.

“Your Pa, he’s not in the best of moods. You know what’s happening off the coast, right? In the Penghu archipelago? That’s… that’s what they call a whole buncha islands just off Jinmen. Aya, I don’t want to say it but your Pa, he might not be able to save himself soon. I think we should head to Nihon. It will be hard at first, but some guys owe me a favour and…”

“No, Xiong. My Pa could never. He just needs fierce warriors! He just… he…”

The girl slumped into her unmade bed, face first with her legs kicking the air.

“My little mao, you have to stop believing what that man says. I heard you almost got the village killed showing off today. Do you know the man you insulted? Do you know what he is? He is Shuangyuzuo. And we don’t know if he is the light or the shadow. You did a dangerous thing this morning.”

The girl lifted her head from the blankets, red faced and teary eyed.

“I needed to find out who he was, coming here with too many swords…”

“And you almost did my little mao, you almost did. And I almost had to burn incense for you.”

Narrative Sample III — Digital IP Expansion

I

 It was a dank and dreary night. The kind of night one would consider worthy of wasting bathed in the ochre light of a tavern’s fireplace. A thought that gave me no warmth as I hefted the splintered wheel from beneath the wagon. The dogs were uneasy, and the horses skittish. I remained conflicted if the spindle snapped on these windswept hillocks was a blessing, as ahead of us the forest felt foul. No natural sounds came from the forest on a night such as this. I said a prayer for our paraffin lamps, that they would hold the darkness at bay until the morn. I had hoped that I would be able to mend the offending spindle and carry on through to the hamlet. My hopes were dashed upon inspecting the aftermath of its encounter with the dirt, no binding would make this roadworthy again. I gave the wheel one final tug, from frustration as much as to right the damn thing. The splintered spindle worked loose where it had been jammed and found refuge in the meat of my forearm, a deep and disgusting splinter.

As if the day could get no worse. I pulled my gloves away and reached for my whittling knife. With a grumble I made my way to the back of the cart, and my pack. I had been saving this for a day worth celebrating. Needless to say, I had been saving it for some time. The dogs looked to me with their sad faces, as though a word from me could halt the storm and turn winds into shine. I turned my back to them, cursed and poured a healthy dose of whiskey onto my blade and arm, and the trickle that was left made its way into my belly. Here goes nuthin’ I muttered into the night as I jammed steel into flesh and burrowed for the splinter. A gush of crimson, followed by a dour column of wood, as long as your finger and half as thick. I had no tools to close the wound and eyed the lamp. Shaking my head I tore a strip of cloth, cursed again that I drank the last of the whiskey and wrapped it.

Sitting with my back against the crooked cart, I made use of the tarp I had brought to shelter us from what fell from above, though not much could be done from the three exposed sides. With the crack of thunder in the distance, I decided the chances that the horses would bolt were too high to release them from the cart. The dogs had followed me to my makeshift shelter and were sleeping now. I hated dogs, the stench of wet hair was almost as nauseating as the wound in my forearm. I bought them to ward off would be attackers, but they were soft and well fed and in no position to fight if needed. I could hardly control them, and wondered if I had a true fighting dog if it would make me its first meal. I broke out the map I had been given and attempted to find my bearings. I was no sailor and the stars were all the same to me, the barren hillocks identical.  I cast my eyes over the forest again and wondered if cover from the night was a trade worthy of the cart. It was bound to draw attention, and the kind to be this far out would not bring the attention I wanted. Well, it’s not like I could get any wetter, I may as well keep close to my bounty. My hand rested on the comfort of my longsword, safely wrapped in leather and down, within its sheath I knew it to be oiled against the elements. My other hand reached for a crude hatchet, and my eyes closed.

I awoke startled by the sound of the hound’s cries in my ear, and a moment from a razor to the throat. Without thought I swung the hatchet and the corner of my mouth curled into the beginnings of a smile as I felt it connect with bone. Cries and flame followed for the man I had struck stumbled back into the pole of my makeshift tent and brought the tarp into the embrace of the paraffin. Half asleep I attempted to distinguish the cries of my attackers, as they left with the easy prey of my horses. My horses were gone and the hounds dead. I assessed my work as his whimpering slowed, and felt a cold comfort at the cost they paid for them. I looked at the cart and realised that there was no way forward, and the brigands would surely return. I kicked dirt over the remaining flames and retrieved my hatchet from its new gruesome home. I stowed my sword into my pack, tightening the chord that kept it bound to the canvas. And not for the last time that night I cursed, tossing the remaining lamp into the cart. If I were to lose it, let us all be rid of it.