A new concept for this world: Firewatch

Victor Callister lay back inside the virtual reality capsule, feeling the structure close around him with a soft hum. Although he wasn't part of the judging committee for this exam, his daughter Bera had personally asked him to review the project of a particular student. He couldn't help but wonder what was so special about this Damian Grant to catch her attention.

Not that he minded. After all, it wasn't every day that his daughter asked him for a favor like this. Besides, he had come to the Grand Solís Academy to enjoy tomorrow's Festival and get a glimpse of the emerging talent. As an Archon, his influence in the creative industry was undeniable. He had revolutionized virtual experiences, taking them beyond their traditional use in filmmaking, concerts, events, extreme experiences, and tourism. He had been the driving force behind the idea of making them more fantastical and interactive, with deeper mechanics and immersive narratives. Because of this, the major academies were now pushing this new direction through this exam, seeking to explore the potential of the medium and the hidden talents that could contribute to this young industry.

So yes, he was curious.

When his consciousness entered the capsule's default virtual space, Victor navigated through the students' projects until he found Damian Grant's. The first thing that caught his attention was the project's icon: a warm-colored illustration of a watchtower surrounded by trees, with a mountain in the background. The artwork was beautiful, evocative, and inviting—it had certainly fulfilled its purpose perfectly. Below the icon, the project's title: Firewatch.

Then he noticed the number of participants. Two people.

"Only two?" He raised an eyebrow. Normally, these projects required at least three or more students. Damian Grant and Clara Voss—those were the only names listed.

Out of curiosity, he checked the project's submission time.

"Hm… This was uploaded on Friday…?" he murmured, impressed. They had been the first group to submit their project on the exam platform.

Intrigued, he moved on to the project description.

> Firewatch is a first-person adventure and mystery game. You take on the role of a fire lookout. From a watchtower, you must explore your surroundings and communicate with your supervisor via radio as you uncover the region's mysteries.

Victor tilted his head. A "game"? The term was familiar, but he wasn't sure why it would be used to describe a virtual experience.

"I only know board games, children's games, or card games… Did he try to translate that concept into a virtual experience?" he muttered, frowning.

He didn't recall ever seeing that word used in the context of virtual experiences before. Perhaps this student was proposing a new way to experience these worlds—which only piqued his curiosity further.

Without hesitation, he decided to enter the project.

His entire field of vision darkened. Then, a minimalist logo appeared: a creature resembling a lizard, accompanied by the text Mirage Arts and the names of the two students.

The scene changed, leaving only his consciousness.

The first impact was visual. From a distant perspective, he saw a wide shot of a stunning forest at sunset, with the project title floating in the sky. Then, the scene transitioned to a watchtower atop a mountain. It was now daytime. Beside him, a menu appeared with several options.

Victor blinked. Just from a visual and artistic standpoint, this was already stunning, sparking various ideas in his mind. The dynamic between the art and movement seemed like such a simple concept, yet it had never occurred to him to use it.

It was as if something inside his brain had unlocked, and now he saw the obvious.

But he needed to focus. No matter how beautiful this opening was, what mattered now was the so-called "game." First, he had to check this interface.

"A start menu…"

Normally, virtual experiences began with the user directly entering an environment. There might be small option panels or AI characters to guide the experience, but he had never seen this type of dynamic for users before.

New Game. Load Game. Settings. Exit.

Driven by curiosity, he selected Settings first.

His perspective smoothly glided over the landscape as the interface changed, displaying multiple customization options: sound, lighting, subtitles, sensory sensitivity…

"Wow…" he murmured.

It was surprisingly intuitive. Why hadn't he thought of something like this before? Virtual experiences were typically designed with fixed parameters, adjusted according to the content. But here, users could modify different aspects according to their preferences.

He hadn't even played the project yet, but he had already found new and useful concepts.

After exploring for a few minutes, his curiosity finally got the better of him. He selected New Game.

Everything darkened once more.

The first thing he heard was the murmur of a bar and a soft melody playing in the background. Then, a violet gradient appeared, with some dim lights. There were no modeled environments, no characters. Only text beginning to form in front of him.

"I'm still just a consciousness. It's not uncomfortable, but I wonder what the objective is…"

> Colorado, 1975.

Victor blinked. He didn't recall any place called that. And the year… it was quite far back in time.

> You see Julia.

His confusion started to clear. It seemed like the creator was trying to introduce an initial story.

> You're in a bar. Julia is with her university colleagues. You are with some friends.

A narrative text. Victor had never seen a virtual experience structured this way—a new perspective.

"So this is how it begins…?"

He continued reading. The story described how the main character, Henry, saw Julia, found her attractive, and approached her.

The way the narration unfolded felt similar to a movie. It was strange… yet, at the same time, he felt compelled to follow it without interruptions.

The words had a calm, steady rhythm. Victor simply had to mentally arrange the next words, and so it continued until the sensation of floating in nothingness faded away.

Victor felt his body again, the lightness of his consciousness replaced by a tangible presence. His senses gradually awakened, and as he opened his eyes, he found himself inside an enclosed space.

He remained still, his thoughts trying to catch up with what he was seeing.

An elevator.

Or at least, it looked like one.

It was a small, ordinary space with metallic walls and dim lighting. However, something felt off. It wasn't just the environment… it was the way he perceived it.

He looked around with a rigid expression. Everything had an unusual appearance, as if it didn't belong in the real world. It wasn't hyper-realistic or overly detailed. Instead, it felt as if he were inside a drawing.

The texture of the walls, the sheen of the floor… everything had a unique visual style.

"What is this?" he murmured to himself.

His eyes lowered, noticing a backpack on the floor. He bent down to pick it up, but as he did, his attention wavered for a second.

He saw his arm.

His fingers halted just before touching the fabric of the backpack.

It wasn't a realistic hand.

It was anatomically correct but consistent with the distinctive style of the environment. A defined outline, flat colors with just enough shading to give it shape. It looked strange, yet it didn't feel unnatural. As if it had always been that way.

A soft, flickering light caught his attention.

One of the elevator buttons was glowing intermittently. Still distracted by the stimuli, he extended his hand and pressed it.

With a mechanical sound, the doors slid open.

Before him lay a garage.

Spacious, empty, with dim lighting that cast soft shadows over the concrete. There wasn't much in the space—except for one object that immediately stood out.

A red truck.

Old in design, but vibrant in color, it stood out against the dim atmosphere of the place.

Instinctively, Victor took a step forward.

Before he could move further, a thought appeared in his mind.

"Don't forget your backpack."

The message had no voice, no sound. It just… emerged in his head, like a reminder implanted by the game.

"…Right."

He stepped back, grabbed the backpack, and left the elevator.

The air in the garage was dense, lacking any breeze. He observed the truck, and without knowing how, he simply understood that it was his.

That he had to drive it.

The sensation was strange, yet at the same time, natural. Whether it was thanks to the game mechanics that allowed the developer to subtly guide the player, or the composition of colors, environment, and lighting that intuitively showed the way forward—it simply worked.

The backpack was quite large and heavy, so it was obvious where to place it. Without thinking too much, he left the backpack in the back of the truck.

Then, he reached for the driver's door.

And the scene changed again.

Everything disappeared in an instant, leaving only a blue background with dim lights.

There were no objects, no bodies—only words.

The melody had never stopped playing, but it began to change slightly. Through the phrases that appeared, Victor understood what was happening.

Henry and Julia's story was progressing.

Their relationship blossomed, their days filled with happiness. Small moments were shown, like choosing between two types of dogs or how they seemed to plan on having children.

They loved each other.

They understood each other.

They got married.

Victor hadn't noticed at first, but little by little, he began to take an interest in them—in their dynamic, in how they developed.

Just when the feeling of connection settled in, the scene changed again.

And this time, Victor was left speechless.

Before, he had been in a dark garage. Now, he was surrounded by nature.

The landscape was beautiful.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dynamic shadows on the grass-covered ground. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves. There was an atmosphere of absolute calm, accompanied by birdsong.

He was beginning to recognize that the visual style was the same as in the opening scene. But now, he was seeing everything from within the place.

—This is… beautiful.

He couldn't help but say it in a low voice.

Despite not being realistic, the level of detail in the environment conveyed a unique beauty.

The path in front of him seemed like the only way forward.

Instinctively, he started walking.

The scene changed again.

More of Henry and Julia's story.

Arguments over coming home late.

Moments of fun, like when Julia drew Henry naked in a ridiculous pose.

The small differences and conflicts that arise in daily life together.

The forest reappeared, but this time in warm tones.

The sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and red as Victor continued down the path.

He tried to step off the trail.

He couldn't.

His body wouldn't respond.

Every time he attempted to change direction, something pushed him back—an invisible force guiding him.

His steps led him to a fallen log.

Without thinking, he jumped over it.

And the story continued.

Time passed in Henry and Julia's lives.

A mugging on the street.

A job offer that would separate them.

Then, the news that changed everything.

Julia was diagnosed with early-onset dementia at forty.

The knot in Victor's chest tightened.

The story returned to the forest.

He was sitting, camping in the middle of the night.

In front of him, a journal.

He flipped through the pages and saw a drawing of Henry naked.

The contrast between the gravity of the story and that small touch of humor made him chuckle softly.

Little details like that made the characters feel more real.

Julia's decline was relentless.

At first, she tried to keep working. Then, she had to stop.

Her family's visits, Henry's emotional exhaustion.

Until the inevitable question came.

"Do you want to put her in a care facility?"

No.

He decided to take care of her himself.

The forest appeared again.

It was daytime once more.

But the brightness of the landscape contrasted with Victor's thoughts.

He was getting more and more invested in the story.

He crossed another log without hesitation.

The background gradually darkened.

What started as a violet hue turned into a depressing blue.

Henry began going out at night—at first, afraid to leave Julia alone. Then, with less guilt.

Confessing his problems to a waitress while drunk.

One night, the police stopped him for drunk driving.

Henry had to call Julia's sister to take care of her.

When the family arrived, they found the house in ruins.

They took Julia away.

He promised to visit her.

But he didn't.

And then, he found a job offer online.

Victor's curiosity about the characters and how they had reached this point was finally becoming clear.

The background music went through several changes as the story unfolded, and with a more emotional tone, one final phrase appeared before Victor.

> Do you accept...

The forest appeared again.

It was nighttime.

In front of Victor stood a watchtower.

He had reached his destination, and the music slowly faded away.

...

In the vast evaluation hall, the atmosphere was charged with an electrifying tension. Professors and industry leaders had their eyes fixed on the main screen, which displayed Victor Callister's perspective inside the immersion capsule.

They were supposed to be reviewing four projects simultaneously, but no one was paying attention to the other three. All the focus was on what was unfolding before them—an immersive experience that was pulling them in deeper than any of them had expected.

From the very first moments, the audience had been captivated. The story wasn't just being told masterfully; the integration of all the elements—the music, the art, the visual composition, and the user interface—felt so natural and seamless that it seemed like a technique refined over years.

In their industry, immersion was often spoken of as a goal to strive for. But what they were witnessing wasn't just immersion… it was something deeper, something that resonated on an emotional level with everyone in the room.

One of the creative leaders crossed his arms, not taking his eyes off the screen.

—This... is this really the work of a couple of students? —he murmured, a mix of awe and disbelief in his voice.

Another, who had years of experience in virtual experiences, shook his head in astonishment.

—Not many dare to experiment with this level of customization in settings. It's a risk. A single misstep in implementation, and the experience loses coherence. But here… everything flows.

—The music… —one of the professors whispered—. It doesn't just set the mood; it dictates the emotional tone of the story. How many people can actually achieve that without it feeling forced?

Many in the room didn't have the confidence to claim they had ever created something with such emotional impact. And yet, they were watching a simple student pull it off with almost insulting ease.

Several began to wonder: Is this the future of virtual experiences?

Director Bera Callister, sitting in her usual spot, showed no expression on her face, but internally, she was deep in thought.

When she had assigned this task to Damian Grant, she had high expectations. But he had far surpassed them.

What surprised her the most wasn't just the flawless execution of the experience—it was the fact that he had taken a completely different approach from his kiwi short film.

How much versatility did this young man have?

There was no doubt about it.

Damian Grant was going to be great.

The screen showed Victor Callister walking through a dark forest, illuminated only by the moonlight. The atmosphere was serene, but the isolation was almost palpable. Every creak of wood and whisper of the wind through the trees made the immersion absolute.

He climbed the watchtower stairs with steady steps, pausing to admire the view before entering.

As soon as he crossed the doorway, a subtle text appeared in his field of vision: "Turn on the power."

It wasn't intrusive, nor did it break the immersion—it was simply there, a natural reminder of his next step.

Victor activated the switch without hesitation.

The lights flickered on, casting shadows on the aged wooden walls. Everything in the room had a cozy yet lonely feel.

Suddenly, the static of a radio interrupted the silence. Then, a female voice broke the stillness with a casual, confident tone:

—Hello, Two Forks.

A new text appeared before Victor, giving him the option to respond. The interface was subtle, unobtrusive, allowing the interaction to feel natural.

He selected the only available option, and the entire room listened as the characters exchanged words.

Delilah's voice carried a charismatic warmth, a touch of easy humor, and a relaxed confidence. She sounded like someone who had been alone for a long time and had learned to fill the silence with jokes and lighthearted conversation.

The audience, almost without realizing it, began to take an interest in her. The way she spoke made everything feel more natural, more human.

Some took hurried notes, jotting down details like the response system, the fluidity of the dialogue, and how the story progressed without artificial interruptions.

The response options that appeared later had a sarcastic and playful tone. Víctor chose one, and the conversation flowed effortlessly.

After a few more exchanges, Henry, exhausted, decided to sleep.

The screen suddenly faded to black, and the game's title appeared in large letters.

Silence filled the room.

It was the end of the first scene.

But not of the experience.

A new screen appeared: Day 1.

The image returned, showing Henry typing on an old typewriter. Víctor took control again and explored the room. As he looked around, the names of objects appeared in his field of vision, indicating what he could interact with.

Delilah spoke again, initiating a lighthearted conversation. Her relaxed tone made the protagonist's routine feel more pleasant, more bearable.

But the peace didn't last long.

Something caught his attention—fireworks lighting up the distant sky.

"Oh, great..." Delilah muttered in an exasperated tone. "We have idiots setting off fireworks in the middle of the forest."

There was a brief silence before she let out a resigned sigh.

"You have to go stop them."

Víctor left the tower, and the entire room leaned slightly forward in their seats.

For the first time, they were truly seeing how the game's exploration worked.

In one hand, Víctor held a compass pointing him in the right direction. In the other, a paper map that seemed static at first glance… but as he advanced, the audience noticed something: the map updated in real-time, reflecting his location.

"The visual style is… fascinating," a professor murmured.

"It's an open world, but structured," another added. "It doesn't force you down a single path, but every detail is placed with intention."

Víctor followed the trail, descended a slope using a rope… which ended up snapping.

He stood up, dusted himself off, and continued, all accompanied by Delilah's voice.

Everyone watched with growing fascination as Víctor Callister immersed himself in the experience of Firewatch. Each event in the game captured their attention and provoked various reactions.

They watched as Henry approached the lake to confront the girls setting off fireworks. The interaction resulted in an unexpected confrontation, where the girls accused him of being a "creepy old pervert."

Back at the lookout tower, a mysterious figure shined a flashlight on Henry in the middle of the night. The tension in the room was palpable—they all wondered where this story was heading.

Upon reaching his tower, Henry discovered it had been vandalized.

As the in-game days passed, Víctor delved deeper into the vast natural environment. The relationship between Henry and his supervisor, Delilah, grew stronger through radio conversations filled with humor and vulnerability as he tackled various tasks throughout the days. The leaders and professors noticed how these interactions added layers of emotional depth to the narrative. They were surprised by how much Delilah conveyed—she felt incredibly human.

The plot became even more intriguing when Henry discovered a severed communication line and an abandoned campsite—each mystery escalating the story.

And just when they thought things had settled, Henry discovered that someone had been listening to his conversations… only to be knocked out shortly after.

The appearance of detailed reports on Henry and Delilah's lives, along with an unknown campsite, added a layer of mystery that kept everyone on the edge of their seats. The director reflected on how the game used suspense elements to emotionally engage the player.

The discovery of Brian Goodwin's body in the cave was a heartbreaking moment that silenced the room. The professors and leaders realized that the game didn't shy away from dark and emotional themes, sparking discussions about the potential of virtual experiences to tackle complex and mature narratives—something that was only just beginning to be explored.

As the game neared its conclusion, Ned Goodwin's entire scheme was revealed. Meanwhile, a massive wildfire forced Henry and Delilah to evacuate the area, and their relationship seemed to reach a critical point.

Now, everyone had only one thought—finally seeing Delilah. They were all eager to find out what would happen when the helicopter arrived at her lookout tower.

Hoping she was still there, even Víctor Callister was completely immersed in the story. Without realizing it, he had formed a strong bond with Delilah—a character who, despite being fictional, felt incredibly real.

Then, silence.

When Henry reached the tower, he found it empty.

She was gone.

A sense of melancholy filled the room. Henry picked up the headset Delilah had left on her desk and put it on.

Her voice was still there. But she wasn't.

"Hey, yeah, it's me."

With her characteristic sarcastic tone, Delilah responded, teasing him about his truck, which she could see from the helicopter. Henry agreed, joking about how they'd have to find something else to do next summer and how tedious the interrogation about the fire would be.

But then, the final choice appeared.

One last chance for both of them.

With a lump in his throat, Henry decided to be honest:

"Come to Boulder with me."

Delilah was silent for a moment before responding:

"Mmm… I think you should go see Julia. Maybe you two can still work things out. I have things I need to figure out, too."

And, wishing him all the best, she said goodbye.

Henry boarded the helicopter, watching as the tower, the forest, and everything he had lived there faded into the distance.

The screen darkened.

A melancholic melody began to play as words of gratitude for playing appeared on the screen. The in-game photos scrolled by one after another—images of Henry, Ned, Brian, and moments captured throughout the journey. Each image was a memory of something that was now gone.

And when the final image passed, the game returned Víctor to the main menu.

But then, a notification popped up in the top corner of the screen:

"Ending completed: 1 of 3."

The leaders in the room quickly took notes—this concept of multiple endings had just been introduced.

Víctor finally exited the game. The capsule opened, and he let out a deep sigh, trying to steady the emotions still coursing through him. Looking around, he noticed the room was still dimly lit by the screens—everyone seemed lost in thought, some still writing on their panels.

Víctor raised his voice to break the collective trance.

"Tell me… what kind of genius created something like this?"

The others slowly reacted, returning to reality. The director checked the time on her panel and was surprised to see how late it was. She looked around and noticed that the other three capsules had been empty for quite a while—the leaders who had used them had been just as engrossed in the project as everyone else.

This virtual experience had lasted nearly four hours.

Straightening up, she quickly organized the group.

"It's time to publish the results of the second exam."

Everyone began discussing their impressions, but there was one thing no one doubted:

Damian Grant and Clara Voss's project deserved the highest score.