At ten o'clock on Saturday morning, PixelPioneers Games held an official press conference at a hotel. The event was simultaneously streamed live across major platforms, with special coverage to reach a wider audience.
This marked the first time a game from PixelPioneers Games was unveiled through such a large-scale event, and it was entirely hosted by the company itself, an unprecedented move for them.
Dozens of people sat beneath the conference hall, quietly chatting with one another. They weren't industry insiders invited from media outlets, nor were they a paying audience of fans. In fact, they were all employees of PixelPioneers Games.
Non-public press conferences like this are rarely open to the general public, nor do they issue tickets for players. For most livestreams and promotional videos, the cheering crowds seen on screen are usually composed of company staff. In open exhibitions, employees or professional performers are often arranged to create a lively atmosphere.
The front row at most press events tends to look similar. Yet, most attendees, except for those in the know, don't realize this, unless something unexpected occurs. For example, during certain ticketed conferences, officials might excitedly announce a seemingly incredible piece of news, say, a beloved IP is getting a sequel, developed in collaboration with a major foreign studio.
"What? Is it going to be a mobile game? What happened? That's going to boost revenue like crazy!" The front-row employees would erupt in applause and cheers.
Meanwhile, the ordinary ticket-holders in the back, those who paid to attend, might be stunned and furious. "What the hell? I paid for this event because I wanted to see new games, and now you're turning my favorite series into a mobile game?"
Inside the conference hall, John took the stage and addressed the audience: "I won't say too much. All the reporters here, and everyone watching the livestream, are here for one thing: what kind of game has PixelPioneers Games brought us this time?"
"So, let's skip the formalities and get straight to the main event," John said with a smile.
Most game companies tend to recap achievements and thank players at length during these events. But John, with a deliberate choice made alongside Armani, bypassed that routine. Instead, he focused directly on what players cared most about.
This was a conscious decision to craft a conference with its own unique character, one that reflected John's relationship with players. His reputation among fans was notably higher than that of most developers. He regularly posted updates on his official blog and carefully curated his public image, earning him the nickname "star producer." Meanwhile, his company also needed a distinct identity.
"Before we reveal the new content, let's watch a video, just like always." With a composed smile, John moved gracefully toward the stage's edge, and the lights dimmed.
As the video started, the media and viewers watching from home instantly sharpened their focus. After all, the main reason to tune into a PixelPioneers launch was to see what kind of game they would unveil. What would this time's masterpiece be?
Under the eager gazes of players and reporters alike, the giant screen flickered to life, and the sound echoed throughout the hall. A black screen appeared, then suddenly, alarms blared. Mechanical engines roared. Gunfire and explosions intertwined in chaos. Darkness was pierced by the appearance of narration text, emerging slowly.
"This war will fully tap the potential of humanity."
"The brightest moment. The darkest hour."
"The summit of courage. The abyss of hatred."
"Hope. Endurance. Atrocity. Death."
"1939, Germany invades Poland."
The scene unfolded across the screen: along the rivers, German forces advanced toward Warsaw. Fighter planes streaked across the sky, tanks rolled over scarred land, and soldiers crossed raging rivers under heavy fire. Though night fell, shells lit up the darkness.
In the same year, the Soviet Union pushed across Poland's eastern border, claiming to protect Ukrainians and Belarusians eager to fall under Soviet control, while also preventing German expansion.
As the narration continued, cinematic war scenes exploded before the viewers' eyes. If typical multiplayer battles offered excitement, this cinematic CG delivered pure shock.
Skyscrapers crumbled into rubble. Armored divisions surged across vast terrains. The visual impact was staggering; destruction roared across the screen as the war expanded.
"Norway, 1940. German night raid on the port of Wervik."
"France, 1940. Germany invades France."
Less than half a year earlier, France had fallen. The British Expeditionary Force retreated from Dunkirk, and Paris was under German control. The scope of conflict kept expanding. The Axis Powers, led by Germany, and the Allied Powers, led by the United States and the Soviet Union, appeared one after another.
German tanks pressed toward Moscow through frozen snowfields. Suddenly, the camera pulled upward, revealing a massive world map unfurling before the players' eyes.
Countless nations were engulfed in flames. Fires surged skyward, gradually merging into the game's logo. The screen froze, and the lights in the hall brightened once more.
John returned to the stage's center. The employees below clapped quietly, measured, composed, without over-the-top cheers.
The players, still immersed in the shock of the trailer, felt a mixture of awe and curiosity. While their main goal was to await the detailed reveal, this opening sequence had already surpassed expectations as a powerful teaser. They weren't disappointed.
Judging purely from the footage, something extraordinary was clearly at play, especially the sweeping scale of the battlefield. But what intrigued them even more was what lay beneath the surface of this trailer.
World War? In reality, such a war had never occurred. When had Germany become so dominant? And that "Soviet Union", wasn't Moscow supposed to be Russia's capital? All viewers stared at the story unfolding before them, confusion blending with curiosity, eager to learn more.