A month after Ground Zero's release, the entire world felt different.
News anchors, stream hosts, and analysts spoke of nothing else.
Every conversation—whether in cafés, universities, or boardrooms—revolved around Leo's creation.
For players, it was as if a new world had opened before them.
For developers, it was the beginning of a slow collapse.
Sales charts of other studios nosedived.
Games once considered hits now struggled to keep even a fraction of their player base.
Major publishers reported record losses, while indie creators drowned in silence.
Inside offices and studios, frustration brewed.
Developers watched as their hard-made titles were abandoned overnight for Ground Zero's immersive chaos.
Forums filled with desperate devs blaming algorithms, luck, or player ignorance—but deep down, they knew.
Leo's game had set a new standard.
Even Aether Corp, the once-untouchable giant, wasn't alone anymore in its resentment.
Dozens of smaller studios—each bleeding revenue and relevance—began whispering in dark channels.
Their rivalry turned to shared frustration, their ambition to something darker.
When profit meets pride, alliances form easily… even with former enemies.
---
Yet outside these collapsing empires, the story was completely different.
For players, Ground Zero was heaven.
A living, breathing battlefield where skill, reflex, and instinct ruled.
They didn't care who suffered behind the scenes—why would they?
For years, those same studios had sold broken dreams at premium prices.
Now, finally, someone had delivered the impossible.
While developers bled, players rejoiced.
While studios cried over lost shares, millions cheered as they won their first chicken dinner.
Two sides of the same coin—one drowning, the other ascending.
---
Within this thriving chaos, new legends began to rise.
Names once unknown filled leaderboards and streaming charts.
Clips of brilliant plays, sniper kills, and clutch victories spread like wildfire.
For some, this was their first taste of fame; for others, a dream long overdue.
Even Leo had noticed.
The data told him everything—win ratios climbing, reaction times shortening, player mastery accelerating.
The training phase of Ground Zero was over.
And so, he made a quiet decision.
He removed the bots from the matches.
Firstly the bots were placed so that players could learn from it, but now as player had enough experience, it is no longer needed.
So now, the game will be played and decided entirely by humans player.
Overnight, the artificial soldiers vanished.
Every match, every bullet, every step—human.
The battlefield was now real.
Amid this new era, streamers and pro players forged their reputations.
Some came from nowhere, others—like Riya, already beloved through Leo's earlier games—rose even higher.
But for many new faces, this was the beginning of their story.
A new statement began circulating online:
> "In Ground Zero, no one stays unknown for long."
….
Among the sea of new names flooding the Ground Zero community, one stood out — Kaze, a mid-tier streamer who had once struggled to keep fifty viewers at a time.
But Ground Zero changed everything.
Now, his stream opened to thousands waiting in the lobby chat.
The screen glowed with messages flying by at breakneck speed:
> [Chat]: "Let's gooo Kaze, new record today?"
[Chat]: "Bro, I saw your clip yesterday — that headshot was insane!"
[Chat]: "He's gonna choke again in top 10, watch 😆"
Kaze grinned, adjusting his headset. "Alright, alright — calm down, chat. Today's the day I prove I'm not just lucky, okay?"
He flicked through his inventory loadout, the subtle hum of his VR rig filling the room.
"Listen," he continued, half-joking, half-serious. "I know everyone's been talking about Riya and those top players. But Ground Zero isn't just for legends — it's for the grinders too. We're coming for that leaderboard."
His monitor pinged — a sudden influx of donations.
> [Superchat]: "Prove it, Kaze. Time to show real skill."
[Superchat]: "Top 10 or refund! "
He laughed. "No excuses"
"Alright, squad," Kaze said, cracking his knuckles and reaching for the start interface. "Let's load in. Time to hunt."
The stream overlay dimmed as the Ground Zero logo pulsed across his visor.
Chat flooded one last time before the screen faded to black:
> [Chat]: "Here we goooo!"
[Chat]: "Chicken dinner or uninstall!"
And with that, Kaze entered the battlefield.
…
The lobby countdown ended.
A fade into the aircraft interior.
Player avatars lined the benches on both sides of the cargo plane. Some players jumped early. Some waited.
The plane engine noise was steady.
Player name tags flickered as they loaded in.
Among all the players in this match — Kaze was sitting quietly, not moving much, not typing, not doing emotes.
Just focused.
LIVE VIEWERS: 4,312
His mic was open, but he didn't speak yet.
He was checking map markers silently, subtle head tilt.
He didn't mark a location publicly.
He didn't ping anywhere.
He already knew exactly where to go.
He was planning a solo drop to a mid-loot residential cluster — not a hot drop like school or military — but not a dead zone either.
A spot with decent building density — enough for loot — and enough cover to rotate.
The plane passed over farmland patches, uneven brown fields, scattered tree lines.
A small cluster of two-floor houses was visible further along the flight path.
Kaze reached toward the strap release.