The paperwork smelled like ink, cheap coffee, and inevitability.
Luke stared at the final document on the library table—Articles of Incorporation—his name typed cleanly at the bottom, no aliases, no shell fronts, no clever misdirection.
Just Luke (Lu Kong).
For someone who had lived a thousand lives under borrowed names, that felt heavier than any System contract.
He signed.
The pen clicked.
And just like that, the hustle became a company.
Second Nature Games
He didn't choose the name lightly.
Second Nature wasn't about reflexes or muscle memory. It was about the moment when something unnatural—discipline, restraint, kindness, responsibility—became instinct.
When survival stopped being a fight and started being a craft.
The System pulsed faintly at the edge of his vision.
Entity Registered: Second Nature Games
Legal Status: Clean
Narrative Alignment: HIGH
Luke exhaled. No alarms. No karmic penalties.
Good.
A Studio Without Illusions
Second Nature Games didn't open in a glass tower or a downtown incubator.
It began in a refurbished warehouse just off campus—cheap rent, bad heating, excellent internet. Half the desks were reclaimed doors. The chairs didn't match. The whiteboard still had equations from a previous tenant.
Luke liked it that way.
"We're not here to sell power fantasies," he told the four people who showed up the first week—two coders, one artist, one sound designer. All of them sharp. All of them tired of building dopamine traps for ad metrics.
"We're here to build mirrors."
They looked at him like he was insane.
Then he explained.
Authenticity Simulators
Luke coined the term on the spot.
Not RPGs where players became gods.
Not shooters where violence erased consequences.
But life simulators—gritty, systems-driven experiences where:
You didn't win by being ruthless.
You didn't lose by being kind.
Every shortcut left a scar.
Every choice had a cost that lingered.
Games where survival wasn't about stats, but about judgment.
"Think of it like this," Luke said, sketching on the board.
"You can escape your past. But the game remembers."
The System flickered.
Concept Resonance: 93%
World of Remorse Alignment: CONFIRMED
The First Prototype
The first project didn't have a marketing name.
Internally, Luke called it Ash Streets.
A stripped-down simulation of a collapsing neighborhood—limited money, fractured family ties, systemic pressure from every direction. Players could cheat, steal, manipulate.
They'd survive faster.
They'd also burn bridges faster.
The game didn't moralize. It tracked.
Relationships frayed. Opportunities narrowed. Endings closed.
If you wanted a better outcome, you had to think long-term.
Sound familiar?
Luke never said why he understood the systems so well.
The Unspoken Rule
There was one rule Luke enforced without exception.
No loot boxes.
No predatory monetization.
No manipulation disguised as engagement.
Second Nature Games would make money—but not by hollowing people out.
"This studio lives or dies on trust," he said calmly.
"If we betray that, we don't deserve to exist."
No one argued.
Some nodded like they'd been waiting to hear it their whole careers.
System Reflection
That night, alone in the studio, Luke leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
The System manifested—not as a panel, but as a presence.
Observation: You are recreating the World of Remorse—
—without possession.
Luke smiled faintly.
"People don't need a System," he said.
"They just need a place where consequences make sense."
The System was silent for a long moment.
Then:
Karma Accrual (Passive): ACTIVE
Path Status: Self-Sustaining
A Studio With Memory
As the lights dimmed and the servers hummed, Luke looked around the room.
This wasn't a mission.
There was no Wish List.
No exit condition.
Just people, building something honest, one system at a time.
For the first time since the Dream System had found him—
Luke wasn't fixing a broken life.
He was building a space where others could understand their own.
And somehow, that felt harder.
And better.