Shōtengoku—Victory Heaven Island
From the Personal Audio Journal of Cassandra Mercier Codename: Arctic Fox
Undercover alias: [REDACTED]
Operation Codename: [REDACTED]
Location: Shōtengoku (Jackpot Island)
Date: [REDACTED]
Begin recording.
"The first thing you notice isn’t the noise. It’s the rhythm."
Everything here moves. Not in chaos—but in cadence. Escalators fold into walkways. Transit rails reroute mid-ride. Neon signs blink out and reappear two blocks over. Whole corridors vanish behind sealed bulkheads like they're embarrassed to have let you pass.
Shōtengoku doesn’t stand still. It mutates. It shuffles its pieces like a dealer shuffles cards—always grinning, always in control. And if you don't move with it? You get left behind. Or worse—you get noticed.
I landed three nights ago under diplomatic cover. Ghost ID, encrypted clearance, carbon-scrubbed history. Not even Northforce has my real itinerary. That’s the cost of doing black work in a place where truth is entertainment and survival is the highest-rated show on air.
I’m embedded in the Lower Ring—scaffold slums and rusted corridors built like a forgotten level in some urban platformer nightmare. You don’t walk here. You climb, you vault, you cling to ropes and rails because the floor is either flooded, missing, or on fire depending on the hour. I counted five different route changes just getting to my hab-cube. And not glitches—design choices.
People live around them.
Adapt to them.
Some even game them.
There’s a kid who runs the “morning maze.” Times himself from his rooftop to the protein ration kiosk every day. He’s memorized the layout like a puzzle—where the bridge falls at 06:17, where the gap opens at 06:21. I tailed him yesterday. He made it in 3:12. All in all pretty decent give the kid was only 13 maybe fourteen
. That’s the thing about Shōtengoku. It punishes assumptions. Streets aren’t just streets. Stairs aren’t just stairs. They’re test cases. Traps. Opportunities. One building I passed had what looked like a fire escape—but halfway up, the rungs twisted into razorwire spirals unless you pulled a hidden lever under the bottom step. Another stairwell just rotated—spinning pedestrians 180 degrees and dropping them in a new zone if they weren’t quick enough to jump off.
And above all this—above the maze and the smoke and the scaffolding—floats the Crimson Coin. A holographic monolith, spinning lazily in the sky like some all-seeing eye. When it flips, the whole city stops. Everyone looks up.
That flip means a new game’s begun.
Sometimes it’s something benign. A trivia round in the transit tunnels—winner gets food credits. Other times? It's a Bounty Game. This morning, a sanitation worker near my sector was tagged mid-shift. Six hours to reach the safe zone or forfeit his reward—and maybe his life. A dozen runners swarmed the scaffolds after him. I don't know if he made it. No one really talks about the losers here. Just the victors. Just the ratings.
There are rules, though. The Gamemaster is sadistic—but structured. Everyone knows the Five Rules. They’re scrawled in graffiti, recited by kids, and piped through station announcements like prayers.
“The prize equals the risk.”
“The rules are sacred.”
“A win is a win.”
“Never cheat.”
“Only the condemned are forced to play.”
The people live by them. Die by them too.
What’s strange—and maybe the most dangerous part—is how normal it becomes. I watched a man get ambushed by a holographic riddle kiosk on his way home. Didn’t even flinch. Just sighed, lit a cigarette, and answered three questions about submarine cable routing. Walked away with a voucher for free ramen.
Adaptation isn’t optional here. It’s cultural. It’s architectural. Even biological, if you look at the rats.
Yes—the rats. They're everywhere. Smart. Too smart. Some of them glow. Others hunt in packs. I saw one with a twisted cybernetic eye and a plastic tag stapled into its shoulder like it was part of a lost experiment. They're not just pests here. They're citizens of the underlevels. Survivors. Scavengers. Mirrors.
Some days, I think the people here are just better-dressed rats.
Upper Ring's different. Cleaner. Sharper. Like a corporate casino built by a megalomaniac who binge-watched too many anime villain monologues. Everything gleams. Waitstaff in synthsilk. Champagne piped through the walls. Gamemaster-branded robes and cosmetic surgeries as souvenirs. But even there—it shifts.
They just hide the shifting better.
I passed a woman in a chrome wheelchair with a glittering visor. Looked like royalty. Her arm was twitching—prosthetic readjustment. When I glanced, she whispered, “It changed again.” No context. Just stared out the window as her suite corridor rotated three degrees. Enough to ruin her sunlight alignment. Enough to matter.
Even here—nothing stays in place.
The island breathes like a living thing. It learns. It punishes stagnation. Rewards risk. The ground isn’t safe. The sky’s a scoreboard. Every second, someone is playing whether they want to or not.
It’s seductive in a way. The logic. The clarity.
I understand why people come here and never leave.
You always know the stakes. You always know the rules.
You just have to be willing to change with the game.
End log.
Undercover alias: [REDACTED]
Operation Codename: [REDACTED]
Location: Shōtengoku (Jackpot Island)
Date: [REDACTED]
Begin recording.
"The first thing you notice isn’t the noise. It’s the rhythm."
Everything here moves. Not in chaos—but in cadence. Escalators fold into walkways. Transit rails reroute mid-ride. Neon signs blink out and reappear two blocks over. Whole corridors vanish behind sealed bulkheads like they're embarrassed to have let you pass.
Shōtengoku doesn’t stand still. It mutates. It shuffles its pieces like a dealer shuffles cards—always grinning, always in control. And if you don't move with it? You get left behind. Or worse—you get noticed.
I landed three nights ago under diplomatic cover. Ghost ID, encrypted clearance, carbon-scrubbed history. Not even Northforce has my real itinerary. That’s the cost of doing black work in a place where truth is entertainment and survival is the highest-rated show on air.
I’m embedded in the Lower Ring—scaffold slums and rusted corridors built like a forgotten level in some urban platformer nightmare. You don’t walk here. You climb, you vault, you cling to ropes and rails because the floor is either flooded, missing, or on fire depending on the hour. I counted five different route changes just getting to my hab-cube. And not glitches—design choices.
People live around them.
Adapt to them.
Some even game them.
There’s a kid who runs the “morning maze.” Times himself from his rooftop to the protein ration kiosk every day. He’s memorized the layout like a puzzle—where the bridge falls at 06:17, where the gap opens at 06:21. I tailed him yesterday. He made it in 3:12. All in all pretty decent give the kid was only 13 maybe fourteen
. That’s the thing about Shōtengoku. It punishes assumptions. Streets aren’t just streets. Stairs aren’t just stairs. They’re test cases. Traps. Opportunities. One building I passed had what looked like a fire escape—but halfway up, the rungs twisted into razorwire spirals unless you pulled a hidden lever under the bottom step. Another stairwell just rotated—spinning pedestrians 180 degrees and dropping them in a new zone if they weren’t quick enough to jump off.
And above all this—above the maze and the smoke and the scaffolding—floats the Crimson Coin. A holographic monolith, spinning lazily in the sky like some all-seeing eye. When it flips, the whole city stops. Everyone looks up.
That flip means a new game’s begun.
Sometimes it’s something benign. A trivia round in the transit tunnels—winner gets food credits. Other times? It's a Bounty Game. This morning, a sanitation worker near my sector was tagged mid-shift. Six hours to reach the safe zone or forfeit his reward—and maybe his life. A dozen runners swarmed the scaffolds after him. I don't know if he made it. No one really talks about the losers here. Just the victors. Just the ratings.
There are rules, though. The Gamemaster is sadistic—but structured. Everyone knows the Five Rules. They’re scrawled in graffiti, recited by kids, and piped through station announcements like prayers.
“The prize equals the risk.”
“The rules are sacred.”
“A win is a win.”
“Never cheat.”
“Only the condemned are forced to play.”
The people live by them. Die by them too.
What’s strange—and maybe the most dangerous part—is how normal it becomes. I watched a man get ambushed by a holographic riddle kiosk on his way home. Didn’t even flinch. Just sighed, lit a cigarette, and answered three questions about submarine cable routing. Walked away with a voucher for free ramen.
Adaptation isn’t optional here. It’s cultural. It’s architectural. Even biological, if you look at the rats.
Yes—the rats. They're everywhere. Smart. Too smart. Some of them glow. Others hunt in packs. I saw one with a twisted cybernetic eye and a plastic tag stapled into its shoulder like it was part of a lost experiment. They're not just pests here. They're citizens of the underlevels. Survivors. Scavengers. Mirrors.
Some days, I think the people here are just better-dressed rats.
Upper Ring's different. Cleaner. Sharper. Like a corporate casino built by a megalomaniac who binge-watched too many anime villain monologues. Everything gleams. Waitstaff in synthsilk. Champagne piped through the walls. Gamemaster-branded robes and cosmetic surgeries as souvenirs. But even there—it shifts.
They just hide the shifting better.
I passed a woman in a chrome wheelchair with a glittering visor. Looked like royalty. Her arm was twitching—prosthetic readjustment. When I glanced, she whispered, “It changed again.” No context. Just stared out the window as her suite corridor rotated three degrees. Enough to ruin her sunlight alignment. Enough to matter.
Even here—nothing stays in place.
The island breathes like a living thing. It learns. It punishes stagnation. Rewards risk. The ground isn’t safe. The sky’s a scoreboard. Every second, someone is playing whether they want to or not.
It’s seductive in a way. The logic. The clarity.
I understand why people come here and never leave.
You always know the stakes. You always know the rules.
You just have to be willing to change with the game.
End log.
Geography
Shōtengoku is an entirely artificial island-nation constructed atop a reinforced seamount in the central Pacific Ocean. Located between the Phoenix and Line Islands, it floats far outside the jurisdiction of any recognized state. Satellite maps and maritime charts show only open water—thanks to advanced obfuscation tech and jamming systems that shield it from casual detection.
The island itself spans several kilometers in radius and is divided into concentric sectors arranged like a giant casino chip. At the core rises the Coinspire, a towering spiral of luxury and command infrastructure. Radiating outward are elevated causeways, commercial districts, transit tubes, and layered hab-zones—each descending in status and sanitation the farther they are from the center.
Built in layers, the island’s elevation is tiered by class:
Upper Ring: Elevated above sea level on pressure-resistant struts, this district houses the casinos, nightclubs, auction suites, high-end labs, and luxury residences. It is bathed in artificial lighting, holographic advertisements, and curated climate control systems.
Middle Decks: Industrial processing bays, warehouse sectors, maintenance access, and syndicate storefronts occupy this less-glamorous zone. Many black-market trades are brokered here, away from the glamour but still above the mire.
Lower Ring: Closer to sea level and often partially submerged during storms, this section consists of interlinked platforms, scaffolded slums, and modular worker housing. Power cables, drainage vents, and transit tracks snake between makeshift corridors. The architecture is patchwork—functional, not aesthetic. These quarters are hot, loud, overcrowded, and constantly shifting as modules are added, removed, or collapsed for scrap.
Beneath the surface lie support pylons, ballast systems, and hidden sub-decks housing power cores, surveillance nodes, and rumored experimental labs. These submerged zones are pressurized and heavily guarded, accessible only to authorized personnel or contestants condemned to underwater game scenarios.
Shōtengoku is a triumph of rogue engineering—a fusion of naval architecture, offshore oil rig design, and futurist urban planning. It is not a naturally habitable space, but one forged by necessity and ambition. Its weather is artificially stabilized with localized cloud dispersal systems and solar-baffling tech, ensuring clear skies above the main arena and event zones—though typhoons and seismic activity remain external threats, met with brutal lockdowns rather than evacuation.|
Despite its slick presentation, the island is always shifting. Sectors are rebuilt or repurposed regularly. Old modules vanish. New ones rise overnight. Streets reroute. Structures collapse or reappear. To survive here, you adapt. Shōtengoku may be artificial—but it’s alive in the way a machine is alive: humming, updating, indifferent to who’s crushed beneath its gears.
The island itself spans several kilometers in radius and is divided into concentric sectors arranged like a giant casino chip. At the core rises the Coinspire, a towering spiral of luxury and command infrastructure. Radiating outward are elevated causeways, commercial districts, transit tubes, and layered hab-zones—each descending in status and sanitation the farther they are from the center.
Built in layers, the island’s elevation is tiered by class:
Upper Ring: Elevated above sea level on pressure-resistant struts, this district houses the casinos, nightclubs, auction suites, high-end labs, and luxury residences. It is bathed in artificial lighting, holographic advertisements, and curated climate control systems.
Middle Decks: Industrial processing bays, warehouse sectors, maintenance access, and syndicate storefronts occupy this less-glamorous zone. Many black-market trades are brokered here, away from the glamour but still above the mire.
Lower Ring: Closer to sea level and often partially submerged during storms, this section consists of interlinked platforms, scaffolded slums, and modular worker housing. Power cables, drainage vents, and transit tracks snake between makeshift corridors. The architecture is patchwork—functional, not aesthetic. These quarters are hot, loud, overcrowded, and constantly shifting as modules are added, removed, or collapsed for scrap.
Beneath the surface lie support pylons, ballast systems, and hidden sub-decks housing power cores, surveillance nodes, and rumored experimental labs. These submerged zones are pressurized and heavily guarded, accessible only to authorized personnel or contestants condemned to underwater game scenarios.
Shōtengoku is a triumph of rogue engineering—a fusion of naval architecture, offshore oil rig design, and futurist urban planning. It is not a naturally habitable space, but one forged by necessity and ambition. Its weather is artificially stabilized with localized cloud dispersal systems and solar-baffling tech, ensuring clear skies above the main arena and event zones—though typhoons and seismic activity remain external threats, met with brutal lockdowns rather than evacuation.|
Despite its slick presentation, the island is always shifting. Sectors are rebuilt or repurposed regularly. Old modules vanish. New ones rise overnight. Streets reroute. Structures collapse or reappear. To survive here, you adapt. Shōtengoku may be artificial—but it’s alive in the way a machine is alive: humming, updating, indifferent to who’s crushed beneath its gears.
Ecosystem
Shōtengoku’s ecosystem is entirely artificial, shaped not by nature but by the needs and excesses of its inhabitants. There is no native flora or fauna—only what was brought, bred, or smuggled in to serve a purpose. As a result, the island’s biosphere is a functional byproduct of habitation and exploitation, not a sustainable environment in its own right.
The most common animals are domestic species—livestock, poultry, working dogs, and occasionally service primates used for maintenance tasks in hard-to-reach areas. Some are raised in vertical farm towers or enclosed rooftop paddocks to provide food for the elite. Others exist solely in factory-scale meat labs buried deep in the Middle Decks, producing protein for processed rations distributed to the lower classes.
In the Lower Rings, feral populations of rats, cats, and dogs have adapted aggressively to the metallic slums and dense infrastructure. The rats are especially numerous—descendants of ship-borne stowaways, kitchen escapees, and failed bio-control experiments. Hardy, fast-breeding, and nearly impossible to exterminate, these urban survivors have carved out their own food chain in the slums. Scavengers in name, some grow unnaturally large, feeding on chemical waste, flesh, or arena debris.
Fishing is common around the island’s perimeter and within its controlled aquaculture zones. The relatively calm waters surrounding Shōtengoku—chosen specifically for their lack of major sea storms or tectonic volatility—make it ideal for low-impact marine harvesting. Workers in the lower sectors often rely on fishing not just for supplemental food but for trade and minor income. Crude piers, cage-fishing rigs, and floating algae farms dot the outer edges of the Lower Ring, extending just far enough to avoid arena spillover zones.
There is no “wild” greenery. What few plants exist are vertical crops, hydroponic greens, or luxury greenhouse flora reserved for the Upper Rings. A few smuggled herbs and recreational botanicals are cultivated in private quarters or black-market grow sheds—either for culinary status or narcotic trade.
Biosecurity is minimal. Pests thrive. Sanitation is tiered by wealth. In the Lower Ring, disease vectors, insect swarms, and animal infestations are facts of life. In the Upper Ring, such issues are dealt with swiftly—by automation, by drone, or by imported exterminator Specials with sterilization-based powers.
Shōtengoku’s ecosystem is less a balance and more a layered, synthetic feedback loop—built to feed the games, house the labor, and maintain the illusion of sustainability. Nature isn’t nurtured here. It’s weaponized, regulated, or ignored.
The most common animals are domestic species—livestock, poultry, working dogs, and occasionally service primates used for maintenance tasks in hard-to-reach areas. Some are raised in vertical farm towers or enclosed rooftop paddocks to provide food for the elite. Others exist solely in factory-scale meat labs buried deep in the Middle Decks, producing protein for processed rations distributed to the lower classes.
In the Lower Rings, feral populations of rats, cats, and dogs have adapted aggressively to the metallic slums and dense infrastructure. The rats are especially numerous—descendants of ship-borne stowaways, kitchen escapees, and failed bio-control experiments. Hardy, fast-breeding, and nearly impossible to exterminate, these urban survivors have carved out their own food chain in the slums. Scavengers in name, some grow unnaturally large, feeding on chemical waste, flesh, or arena debris.
Fishing is common around the island’s perimeter and within its controlled aquaculture zones. The relatively calm waters surrounding Shōtengoku—chosen specifically for their lack of major sea storms or tectonic volatility—make it ideal for low-impact marine harvesting. Workers in the lower sectors often rely on fishing not just for supplemental food but for trade and minor income. Crude piers, cage-fishing rigs, and floating algae farms dot the outer edges of the Lower Ring, extending just far enough to avoid arena spillover zones.
There is no “wild” greenery. What few plants exist are vertical crops, hydroponic greens, or luxury greenhouse flora reserved for the Upper Rings. A few smuggled herbs and recreational botanicals are cultivated in private quarters or black-market grow sheds—either for culinary status or narcotic trade.
Biosecurity is minimal. Pests thrive. Sanitation is tiered by wealth. In the Lower Ring, disease vectors, insect swarms, and animal infestations are facts of life. In the Upper Ring, such issues are dealt with swiftly—by automation, by drone, or by imported exterminator Specials with sterilization-based powers.
Shōtengoku’s ecosystem is less a balance and more a layered, synthetic feedback loop—built to feed the games, house the labor, and maintain the illusion of sustainability. Nature isn’t nurtured here. It’s weaponized, regulated, or ignored.
Ecosystem Cycles
The region surrounding Shōtengoku is remarkably stable—geographically and climatically. Located near the equator in a relatively placid patch of the Central Pacific, the island experiences minimal seasonal variation.
This environmental consistency makes year-round crop growth not only possible but economically efficient. While the island relies heavily on artificial systems, its climate reduces the need for extensive external temperature regulation. Vertical hydroponic farms and rooftop greenhouse modules benefit from abundant solar exposure and predictable humidity levels, enabling stable production of vegetables, microgreens, and medicinal plants.
Shōtengoku does not operate on a natural seasonal cycle. Instead, its agricultural and ecological rhythms are dictated by economic demand, tournament schedules, and resource efficiency metrics. Food production ramps up prior to major arena events. Medical harvests are synced with experimental trials. Fisheries adjust output based on black-market cuisine trends.
In the Lower Ring, there is no concept of seasons at all—only uptime and downtime. Workers live under permanent artificial light, with internal schedules managed by sirens, shifts, and security cycles. Any sense of natural time is obliterated by necessity.
In the Upper Ring, lighting and ambiance may simulate seasonal aesthetics for the sake of luxury or novelty—autumn leaves in a café, snowfall in a VR lounge—but these are curated illusions, not ecological truths.
What ecosystem cycles exist are shallow, functional, and engineered. In Shōtengoku, time moves not with the earth—but with the rhythm of the Game.
This environmental consistency makes year-round crop growth not only possible but economically efficient. While the island relies heavily on artificial systems, its climate reduces the need for extensive external temperature regulation. Vertical hydroponic farms and rooftop greenhouse modules benefit from abundant solar exposure and predictable humidity levels, enabling stable production of vegetables, microgreens, and medicinal plants.
Shōtengoku does not operate on a natural seasonal cycle. Instead, its agricultural and ecological rhythms are dictated by economic demand, tournament schedules, and resource efficiency metrics. Food production ramps up prior to major arena events. Medical harvests are synced with experimental trials. Fisheries adjust output based on black-market cuisine trends.
In the Lower Ring, there is no concept of seasons at all—only uptime and downtime. Workers live under permanent artificial light, with internal schedules managed by sirens, shifts, and security cycles. Any sense of natural time is obliterated by necessity.
In the Upper Ring, lighting and ambiance may simulate seasonal aesthetics for the sake of luxury or novelty—autumn leaves in a café, snowfall in a VR lounge—but these are curated illusions, not ecological truths.
What ecosystem cycles exist are shallow, functional, and engineered. In Shōtengoku, time moves not with the earth—but with the rhythm of the Game.
Localized Phenomena
While outsiders often assume the chaos of Shōtengoku is confined to the bloodstained spectacle of Yūgeki-tō, those who live within its metallic borders know the truth: the entire island is a game. Every corridor, every train car, every alley and service hatch is part of the Gamemaster’s living, breathing playspace. His rule is not enforced through brute oppression alone, but through controlled chaos, performative choice, and the omnipresent lure of reward.
Citizens and residents have learned to adapt to unpredictability as a way of life. Danger and opportunity blur. The streets themselves may shift, and the simple act of walking to work can become the opening move in a larger, hidden game.
Platformer Design
Much of Shōtengoku’s infrastructure—especially in the Middle and Lower Rings—is deliberately constructed with platformer-style architecture. Walkways hover above pits. Service routes zigzag between scaffold towers. Maintenance ducts open into maze-like spaces. These aren’t flaws—they’re features.
Kataoka calls it "environmental engagement." To encourage exploration, the Gamemaster has hidden thousands of Point Caches and Power-Ups throughout the city. These hidden caches contain real-world rewards: credits, gear, rare food vouchers, stolen weapons, cybernetic mods, or even illegal augment serums. Some are simple to reach—placed for street kids or workers willing to climb a scaffolding tower or leap between rooftops. Others are guarded by automated drones, deadly traps, or timed mechanisms. The more valuable the prize, the more punishing the obstacle.
Construction in Shōtengoku is never permanent. Corridors close. Routes shift. New scaffolds appear overnight. Players talk about "level updates" like commuters track traffic delays. Urban exploration isn't a hobby—it's survival. Random Gameshows
At any moment, in any part of the city, spontaneous televised games may begin. Transit passengers may suddenly find themselves contestants in a trivia gauntlet, answering questions for prizes—or punishment. Fishermen may be rerouted into scavenger hunts for submerged tokens. Factory workers may arrive to find their shift replaced by a "promotion challenge" involving obstacle courses or riddles, all filmed and broadcast on Gamemaster TV.
These shows vary wildly in tone and risk—from sitcom-style "Employee of the Month" skits to intense "solve or die" scenarios. Participation is technically voluntary… unless you’ve already stepped onto the stage.
Quest Systems
Holographic kiosks, interactive consoles, and AI assistants periodically issue “quests” to citizens. These range from simple delivery jobs and trash collection to assassination bounties or smuggling tasks. The Gamemaster’s voice (or one of his many avatar hosts) may even appear to narrate the quest, assigning point values or bonuses.
Some quests are openly televised. Others are hidden challenges that reward clever interpretation or lateral thinking. Success can mean food, gear, rank boosts, or temporary immunity from arrest. Failing rarely leads to death—unless, of course, the stakes were high to begin with.
Many citizens live by these quests. For some, it's their only way to eat.
Bounty Games
One of the most infamous local phenomena is the Bounty Game—a high-stakes, high-visibility survival match dropped on unsuspecting civilians. A citizen might wake to find themselves marked with a glowing icon or digital tag—declaring them "it." They then have a limited time to reach a designated safe zone while being pursued by others hoping to claim the reward for capturing or eliminating them.
Sometimes it’s a solo target. Other times, whole groups are chosen. The prize might be food, gear, or full relocation to the Upper Ring. These games are fast, brutal, and deeply traumatic for those involved—but completely legal under the Victory Code.
Other Gamified Events and Features
Achievement Pop-Ups – Small digital rewards for first-time accomplishments: first successful theft, first rooftop traversal, first arena win. These occasionally come with real bonuses—if claimed in time.
Status Tiers & Rankings – Every resident has a hidden "player score" visible only to the system. High-ranking citizens may receive bonus quests, “legend” status, or upgrades in housing.
Loot Drops – Drones will sometimes randomly release sealed capsules into public spaces. These contain randomized equipment, drugs, or junk—often triggering short brawls or mini-challenges to claim them.
Narrative Patches – City-wide events can temporarily change the “rules of engagement” for an entire district: increased enemy spawns, double rewards, reversed gravity in walkways. These are announced through glowing Rule Cubes or citywide alerts.
Propaganda “Endings” – Every few months, the Gamemaster will “end” a citizen’s story arc with a public victory cutscene, complete with credits, fanfare, and a fabricated heroic epilogue—often before quietly recycling them into new games under a different name.
The Five Rules of the Game
Over time, the people of Shōtengoku have learned the sacred rules of the Gamemaster’s world. They are not just laws—they are doctrines. To live here is to play by these rules… or suffer the consequences.
The Prize Equals the Risk
A small game might cost you your pride. A major one might cost you your life. The greater the reward, the deadlier the challenge.
The Rules Are Sacred
Every game comes with its rules, and anyone may ask to hear them in full before participating. No trickery. No fine print. Hisashi despises unfair play.
The Gamemaster Keeps His Word
If you win—you win. Whether it’s freedom, wealth, or a cybernetic body upgrade, the prize is yours. The system honors its contracts to the letter.
Cheaters Never Prosper
Cheating is the gravest sin. Caught cheaters are immediately sentenced to Yūgeki-tō, where the odds are merciless and escape is nearly impossible.
Participation Must Be Voluntary
No one is forced to play—except enemies of the state. For everyone else, choosing to play is a matter of personal agency. You can always walk away… until you’ve made your choice.
Citizens and residents have learned to adapt to unpredictability as a way of life. Danger and opportunity blur. The streets themselves may shift, and the simple act of walking to work can become the opening move in a larger, hidden game.
Platformer Design
Much of Shōtengoku’s infrastructure—especially in the Middle and Lower Rings—is deliberately constructed with platformer-style architecture. Walkways hover above pits. Service routes zigzag between scaffold towers. Maintenance ducts open into maze-like spaces. These aren’t flaws—they’re features.
Kataoka calls it "environmental engagement." To encourage exploration, the Gamemaster has hidden thousands of Point Caches and Power-Ups throughout the city. These hidden caches contain real-world rewards: credits, gear, rare food vouchers, stolen weapons, cybernetic mods, or even illegal augment serums. Some are simple to reach—placed for street kids or workers willing to climb a scaffolding tower or leap between rooftops. Others are guarded by automated drones, deadly traps, or timed mechanisms. The more valuable the prize, the more punishing the obstacle.
Construction in Shōtengoku is never permanent. Corridors close. Routes shift. New scaffolds appear overnight. Players talk about "level updates" like commuters track traffic delays. Urban exploration isn't a hobby—it's survival. Random Gameshows
At any moment, in any part of the city, spontaneous televised games may begin. Transit passengers may suddenly find themselves contestants in a trivia gauntlet, answering questions for prizes—or punishment. Fishermen may be rerouted into scavenger hunts for submerged tokens. Factory workers may arrive to find their shift replaced by a "promotion challenge" involving obstacle courses or riddles, all filmed and broadcast on Gamemaster TV.
These shows vary wildly in tone and risk—from sitcom-style "Employee of the Month" skits to intense "solve or die" scenarios. Participation is technically voluntary… unless you’ve already stepped onto the stage.
Quest Systems
Holographic kiosks, interactive consoles, and AI assistants periodically issue “quests” to citizens. These range from simple delivery jobs and trash collection to assassination bounties or smuggling tasks. The Gamemaster’s voice (or one of his many avatar hosts) may even appear to narrate the quest, assigning point values or bonuses.
Some quests are openly televised. Others are hidden challenges that reward clever interpretation or lateral thinking. Success can mean food, gear, rank boosts, or temporary immunity from arrest. Failing rarely leads to death—unless, of course, the stakes were high to begin with.
Many citizens live by these quests. For some, it's their only way to eat.
Bounty Games
One of the most infamous local phenomena is the Bounty Game—a high-stakes, high-visibility survival match dropped on unsuspecting civilians. A citizen might wake to find themselves marked with a glowing icon or digital tag—declaring them "it." They then have a limited time to reach a designated safe zone while being pursued by others hoping to claim the reward for capturing or eliminating them.
Sometimes it’s a solo target. Other times, whole groups are chosen. The prize might be food, gear, or full relocation to the Upper Ring. These games are fast, brutal, and deeply traumatic for those involved—but completely legal under the Victory Code.
Other Gamified Events and Features
Achievement Pop-Ups – Small digital rewards for first-time accomplishments: first successful theft, first rooftop traversal, first arena win. These occasionally come with real bonuses—if claimed in time.
Status Tiers & Rankings – Every resident has a hidden "player score" visible only to the system. High-ranking citizens may receive bonus quests, “legend” status, or upgrades in housing.
Loot Drops – Drones will sometimes randomly release sealed capsules into public spaces. These contain randomized equipment, drugs, or junk—often triggering short brawls or mini-challenges to claim them.
Narrative Patches – City-wide events can temporarily change the “rules of engagement” for an entire district: increased enemy spawns, double rewards, reversed gravity in walkways. These are announced through glowing Rule Cubes or citywide alerts.
Propaganda “Endings” – Every few months, the Gamemaster will “end” a citizen’s story arc with a public victory cutscene, complete with credits, fanfare, and a fabricated heroic epilogue—often before quietly recycling them into new games under a different name.
The Five Rules of the Game
Over time, the people of Shōtengoku have learned the sacred rules of the Gamemaster’s world. They are not just laws—they are doctrines. To live here is to play by these rules… or suffer the consequences.
The Prize Equals the Risk
A small game might cost you your pride. A major one might cost you your life. The greater the reward, the deadlier the challenge.
The Rules Are Sacred
Every game comes with its rules, and anyone may ask to hear them in full before participating. No trickery. No fine print. Hisashi despises unfair play.
The Gamemaster Keeps His Word
If you win—you win. Whether it’s freedom, wealth, or a cybernetic body upgrade, the prize is yours. The system honors its contracts to the letter.
Cheaters Never Prosper
Cheating is the gravest sin. Caught cheaters are immediately sentenced to Yūgeki-tō, where the odds are merciless and escape is nearly impossible.
Participation Must Be Voluntary
No one is forced to play—except enemies of the state. For everyone else, choosing to play is a matter of personal agency. You can always walk away… until you’ve made your choice.
Climate
There are no winters, no monsoons, and few significant storm events. Temperatures hover consistently in the mid-20s to low-30s Celsius (70s–80s Fahrenheit), with only slight shifts between wetter and drier months.
Fauna & Flora
Shōtengoku hosts no native wildlife. As an entirely artificial island complex, all flora and fauna are imported, engineered, or incidental—selected either for practical use, aesthetic value, or as a side effect of human settlement. While the surrounding waters remain part of a relatively stable Central Pacific ecosystem, the island itself is a carefully curated—or in the case of the slums, neglected—biosphere.
Marine Life|
The waters around Shōtengoku are rich with Central Pacific marine species, including:
Yellowfin tuna and skipjack—commonly fished for local consumption
Reef sharks, barracuda, and needlefish—often seen near the island’s underbelly Giant trevally, a prized target during high-stakes “hunting quests”
Octopuses and cuttlefish, occasionally captured for exotic cuisine in Upper Ring eateries
Sea turtles, protected in theory but often poached or traded as black-market pets
Fishing operations in the Lower Ring rely on a mix of hand-casting, sonar rigs, and nets. Some aquaculture pens line the artificial reef base to supply protein-rich biomass for ration processing.
Domestic & Feral Animals
Animals were brought to the island by necessity, not nature. The most common species include:
Chickens – Kept in rooftop coops or warehouse pens for both meat and eggs
Goats – Hardy, adaptable, and common in Middle Deck settlements
Pigs – Raised in controlled waste-recycling enclosures; valued for their efficient feed-to-yield ratio
Cats – Initially introduced for pest control in the slums, now common as both pets and minor status symbols
Dogs – Varied by class; Lower Ring dogs are mutts or just often feral scavengers, while Upper Ring residents favor expensive pure bred hounds.
The Rats of Shōtengoku
No creature is more emblematic of the island’s ecosystem than the rat.
Found in every ring—but especially dominant in the Lower and Middle tiers—these rodents are descended from shipborne stowaways, escaped lab specimens, and failed pest control projects. Over the years, many have mutated or hybridized, whether by exposure to chemical waste, stray biotech runoff, or discarded experimental serums.
Variants include: Smoke Rats – Small, black-furred rodents with minor resistance to toxins; often seen nesting in vent systems
Ironfangs – Aggressive tunnel rats with metallic-stained teeth and a tendency to chew through light wiring
Glowbacks – Bioluminescent scavengers rumored to be a result of failed espionage cloaking tech
Brainbiters – Rare, larger rats believed to have enhanced cognition; hunted in “intelligence quests” for sport or study
In the Lower Ring, rumors persist of entire rat “kingdoms” in old sewage corridors—hyper-territorial, strangely organized, and growing smarter with each generation. Some even whisper of experiments in psionics that have resulted in rats swarms that form highly intelligent and functional hive minds.
Imported Flora
Though vegetation is strictly artificial, a variety of functional and ornamental plants have been introduced, particularly in farming zones and the curated gardens of the Upper Ring. Influenced by both efficiency and aesthetics—especially the Gamemaster’s cultural preferences—the following species are most common:
Edible / Agricultural Plants:
Komatsuna (Japanese mustard spinach) – Grown in hydroponics farms; nutrient-dense and quick-growing
Daikon radish – A staple in both ration cuisine and luxury dishes, the The Gamemaster himself supposedly rather enjoys Daikon.
Shiso (Perilla leaf) – Used in both medicine and high-end cuisine
Rice variants – Grown in stacked aquaponics vats; vital for prestige dishes
Medicinal & Utility Plants: Ashitaba (Angelica keiskei) – Valued for regenerative properties and used in biopharma research
Wasabi root – Cultivated in sterile conditions for elite dining and experimental purification tonics
Kudzu vine – Brought for erosion control and later weaponized in adhesive formulas
Ornamental Flora (Upper Ring Gardens):
Black bamboo – Cultivated in manicured terraces; symbolizes discipline and resilience
Sakura (cherry blossom) bonsai – Grown under artificial seasonal lights; used in executive lounges and VIP sanctuaries
Lotus blooms (engineered variants) – Float in controlled koi ponds; genetically modified to produce faint bioluminescence at night
Red maple miniatures – Iconic in “pause zones” meant to evoke seasonal serenity in a city without seasons
Though these plants are confined to tightly managed ecosystems, their presence serves both function and illusion—feeding workers, treating ailments, and providing an upper-class mirage of peace in a nation built on pressure and performance.
Shōtengoku’s flora and fauna do not thrive. They persist, perform, and mutate—just like its people. Everything here was brought for a reason. And anything without purpose… disappears.
Marine Life|
The waters around Shōtengoku are rich with Central Pacific marine species, including:
Yellowfin tuna and skipjack—commonly fished for local consumption
Reef sharks, barracuda, and needlefish—often seen near the island’s underbelly Giant trevally, a prized target during high-stakes “hunting quests”
Octopuses and cuttlefish, occasionally captured for exotic cuisine in Upper Ring eateries
Sea turtles, protected in theory but often poached or traded as black-market pets
Fishing operations in the Lower Ring rely on a mix of hand-casting, sonar rigs, and nets. Some aquaculture pens line the artificial reef base to supply protein-rich biomass for ration processing.
Domestic & Feral Animals
Animals were brought to the island by necessity, not nature. The most common species include:
Chickens – Kept in rooftop coops or warehouse pens for both meat and eggs
Goats – Hardy, adaptable, and common in Middle Deck settlements
Pigs – Raised in controlled waste-recycling enclosures; valued for their efficient feed-to-yield ratio
Cats – Initially introduced for pest control in the slums, now common as both pets and minor status symbols
Dogs – Varied by class; Lower Ring dogs are mutts or just often feral scavengers, while Upper Ring residents favor expensive pure bred hounds.
The Rats of Shōtengoku
No creature is more emblematic of the island’s ecosystem than the rat.
Found in every ring—but especially dominant in the Lower and Middle tiers—these rodents are descended from shipborne stowaways, escaped lab specimens, and failed pest control projects. Over the years, many have mutated or hybridized, whether by exposure to chemical waste, stray biotech runoff, or discarded experimental serums.
Variants include: Smoke Rats – Small, black-furred rodents with minor resistance to toxins; often seen nesting in vent systems
Ironfangs – Aggressive tunnel rats with metallic-stained teeth and a tendency to chew through light wiring
Glowbacks – Bioluminescent scavengers rumored to be a result of failed espionage cloaking tech
Brainbiters – Rare, larger rats believed to have enhanced cognition; hunted in “intelligence quests” for sport or study
In the Lower Ring, rumors persist of entire rat “kingdoms” in old sewage corridors—hyper-territorial, strangely organized, and growing smarter with each generation. Some even whisper of experiments in psionics that have resulted in rats swarms that form highly intelligent and functional hive minds.
Imported Flora
Though vegetation is strictly artificial, a variety of functional and ornamental plants have been introduced, particularly in farming zones and the curated gardens of the Upper Ring. Influenced by both efficiency and aesthetics—especially the Gamemaster’s cultural preferences—the following species are most common:
Edible / Agricultural Plants:
Komatsuna (Japanese mustard spinach) – Grown in hydroponics farms; nutrient-dense and quick-growing
Daikon radish – A staple in both ration cuisine and luxury dishes, the The Gamemaster himself supposedly rather enjoys Daikon.
Shiso (Perilla leaf) – Used in both medicine and high-end cuisine
Rice variants – Grown in stacked aquaponics vats; vital for prestige dishes
Medicinal & Utility Plants: Ashitaba (Angelica keiskei) – Valued for regenerative properties and used in biopharma research
Wasabi root – Cultivated in sterile conditions for elite dining and experimental purification tonics
Kudzu vine – Brought for erosion control and later weaponized in adhesive formulas
Ornamental Flora (Upper Ring Gardens):
Black bamboo – Cultivated in manicured terraces; symbolizes discipline and resilience
Sakura (cherry blossom) bonsai – Grown under artificial seasonal lights; used in executive lounges and VIP sanctuaries
Lotus blooms (engineered variants) – Float in controlled koi ponds; genetically modified to produce faint bioluminescence at night
Red maple miniatures – Iconic in “pause zones” meant to evoke seasonal serenity in a city without seasons
Though these plants are confined to tightly managed ecosystems, their presence serves both function and illusion—feeding workers, treating ailments, and providing an upper-class mirage of peace in a nation built on pressure and performance.
Shōtengoku’s flora and fauna do not thrive. They persist, perform, and mutate—just like its people. Everything here was brought for a reason. And anything without purpose… disappears.
Natural Resources
Though Shōtengoku is an artificial island-state with no native land-based resources, it draws heavily from the surrounding ocean and seafloor to sustain its infrastructure and economic autonomy. The bulk of its physical resource extraction is marine-based—supplemented by synthetic manufacturing and black-market trade.
Aquaculture
Aquaculture is the island’s most reliable and productive natural resource, supporting both subsistence and luxury markets. Carefully managed fish pens, algae beds, and bio-shell farms line the submerged outer ring of the island. These facilities supply:
Staple protein for ration production and worker consumption
Exotic seafood for Upper Ring gourmet dining
Biomass algae used in fuel supplements, medical paste, and industrial feed
Pearlstock clams bred for both decoration and soft-shell harvest
Aquaculture provides work for thousands of lower-tier citizens, though most labor is heavily automated and supervised by AI or drone oversight. Illicit fishing operations also occur, targeting high-value or endangered species smuggled to black-market buyers.
Deep Sea Mining
Shōtengoku’s location atop a volcanic seamount gives it access to rich deep ocean mineral deposits. Mining drones and pressurized submersibles are routinely deployed to extract:
Manganese nodules – Vital for superalloys, reactor parts, and cybernetic shells
Cobalt and rare earths – Used in advanced electronics, weapons systems, and arena mech components
Methane hydrates – A volatile energy source harvested in small, controlled batches for internal use or illicit export
Biogenic compounds – Harvested from deep-sea vent ecosystems and used in experimental drugs, mutagens, or enhancement serums
All mining activity is done outside international jurisdiction and in violation of multiple treaties—but protected by Shōtengoku’s de facto sovereignty and stealth infrastructure.
Wave & Current Energy
Rather than relying on fossil fuels or external grid connections, Shōtengoku draws most of its power from wave-motion generators and tidal current turbines embedded beneath and around the island platform. These modular systems:
Provide clean, consistent energy, critical for powering the arena’s massive simulations and environmental controls
Are monitored by autonomous maintenance systems and upgraded with scavenged tech from fallen contestants or smuggled supertech
Supplement their load with solar farms in the Upper Ring and thermal vent siphons below the platform in emergencies
While not limitless, this energy independence is key to Shōtengoku’s operational security and its ability to function without external support.
Aquaculture
Aquaculture is the island’s most reliable and productive natural resource, supporting both subsistence and luxury markets. Carefully managed fish pens, algae beds, and bio-shell farms line the submerged outer ring of the island. These facilities supply:
Staple protein for ration production and worker consumption
Exotic seafood for Upper Ring gourmet dining
Biomass algae used in fuel supplements, medical paste, and industrial feed
Pearlstock clams bred for both decoration and soft-shell harvest
Aquaculture provides work for thousands of lower-tier citizens, though most labor is heavily automated and supervised by AI or drone oversight. Illicit fishing operations also occur, targeting high-value or endangered species smuggled to black-market buyers.
Deep Sea Mining
Shōtengoku’s location atop a volcanic seamount gives it access to rich deep ocean mineral deposits. Mining drones and pressurized submersibles are routinely deployed to extract:
Manganese nodules – Vital for superalloys, reactor parts, and cybernetic shells
Cobalt and rare earths – Used in advanced electronics, weapons systems, and arena mech components
Methane hydrates – A volatile energy source harvested in small, controlled batches for internal use or illicit export
Biogenic compounds – Harvested from deep-sea vent ecosystems and used in experimental drugs, mutagens, or enhancement serums
All mining activity is done outside international jurisdiction and in violation of multiple treaties—but protected by Shōtengoku’s de facto sovereignty and stealth infrastructure.
Wave & Current Energy
Rather than relying on fossil fuels or external grid connections, Shōtengoku draws most of its power from wave-motion generators and tidal current turbines embedded beneath and around the island platform. These modular systems:
Provide clean, consistent energy, critical for powering the arena’s massive simulations and environmental controls
Are monitored by autonomous maintenance systems and upgraded with scavenged tech from fallen contestants or smuggled supertech
Supplement their load with solar farms in the Upper Ring and thermal vent siphons below the platform in emergencies
While not limitless, this energy independence is key to Shōtengoku’s operational security and its ability to function without external support.
History
Shōtengoku was not discovered.
It was not inherited.
It was built—designed from the sea up by one man with a vision: Kataoka Hisashi, the strategist-tyrant the world would come to know as The Gamemaster.
Born into poverty in the back alleys of Tokyo, Hisashi clawed his way to power not with fists or fire, but with logic, discipline, and cold-blooded understanding of systems. Where others saw chaos, he saw patterns. Where others fought for control, he built it into the rules. He didn’t want to overthrow the world. He wanted to design one better—a world that obeyed the game.
By his late twenties, Hisashi had already amassed a criminal empire through tournament wins, manipulated gambling syndicates, and flawless black-market investments. But money was not his endgame. He wanted a sovereign space where his vision of structured chaos could live—a place that functioned by game logic, not laws.
In secret and over years, Hisashi acquired an unclaimed volcanic seamount in a politically gray region of the Central Pacific—international waters just beyond enforcement range. Using a combination of corporate shell fronts, mercenary labor, rogue systems, and off-book shipping deals, he began construction of Shōtengoku, “Victory Heaven.”
The first iteration was little more than a ring of modular platforms built around a central hub. But layer by layer, tower by tower, it expanded—always evolving. The Upper Ring became a haven for criminal elites. The Lower Ring, a slum of opportunity and risk. The central district, crowned by the Coinspire, emerged as the heart of his new rogue nation.
By the time world governments took notice, it was too late. The island was already shielded by satellite spoofing systems, guarded by automated defense drones, and functionally independent. Arrest warrants were issued. Bounties were posted. But no one could touch him—not without entering the game.
The rise of Yūgeki-tō, the Island of Tactical Games, cemented Shōtengoku’s identity on the global stage. What began as spectacle quickly became institution: criminals, superhumans, vigilantes the world over, and enemies of the state alike were thrown into public death games, judged by logic, not law. The darkweb broadcast exploded in popularity. Sponsors lined up. Underground syndicates pledged allegiance. Even some governments quietly engaged, using Shōtengoku as a convenient off-the-books disposal site for uncontrollable assets.
Now, Shōtengoku stands not just as a rogue microstate, but as a living philosophy—a place where power, risk, and reward exist in balance. A realm where anyone can play, but only the clever survive. Where the rules are sacred, and the Gamemaster’s word is law.
For those outside, it is a cautionary tale.
For those within, it is the only world that makes sense.
It was not inherited.
It was built—designed from the sea up by one man with a vision: Kataoka Hisashi, the strategist-tyrant the world would come to know as The Gamemaster.
Born into poverty in the back alleys of Tokyo, Hisashi clawed his way to power not with fists or fire, but with logic, discipline, and cold-blooded understanding of systems. Where others saw chaos, he saw patterns. Where others fought for control, he built it into the rules. He didn’t want to overthrow the world. He wanted to design one better—a world that obeyed the game.
By his late twenties, Hisashi had already amassed a criminal empire through tournament wins, manipulated gambling syndicates, and flawless black-market investments. But money was not his endgame. He wanted a sovereign space where his vision of structured chaos could live—a place that functioned by game logic, not laws.
In secret and over years, Hisashi acquired an unclaimed volcanic seamount in a politically gray region of the Central Pacific—international waters just beyond enforcement range. Using a combination of corporate shell fronts, mercenary labor, rogue systems, and off-book shipping deals, he began construction of Shōtengoku, “Victory Heaven.”
The first iteration was little more than a ring of modular platforms built around a central hub. But layer by layer, tower by tower, it expanded—always evolving. The Upper Ring became a haven for criminal elites. The Lower Ring, a slum of opportunity and risk. The central district, crowned by the Coinspire, emerged as the heart of his new rogue nation.
By the time world governments took notice, it was too late. The island was already shielded by satellite spoofing systems, guarded by automated defense drones, and functionally independent. Arrest warrants were issued. Bounties were posted. But no one could touch him—not without entering the game.
The rise of Yūgeki-tō, the Island of Tactical Games, cemented Shōtengoku’s identity on the global stage. What began as spectacle quickly became institution: criminals, superhumans, vigilantes the world over, and enemies of the state alike were thrown into public death games, judged by logic, not law. The darkweb broadcast exploded in popularity. Sponsors lined up. Underground syndicates pledged allegiance. Even some governments quietly engaged, using Shōtengoku as a convenient off-the-books disposal site for uncontrollable assets.
Now, Shōtengoku stands not just as a rogue microstate, but as a living philosophy—a place where power, risk, and reward exist in balance. A realm where anyone can play, but only the clever survive. Where the rules are sacred, and the Gamemaster’s word is law.
For those outside, it is a cautionary tale.
For those within, it is the only world that makes sense.
Tourism
Tourism is the lifeblood of Shōtengoku—not in the traditional sense of sightseeing and postcards, but in the form of indulgence, anonymity, and unapologetic vice. While its economy thrives on black-market trade and resource extraction, it is the island’s reputation as a criminal paradise that draws the true wealth—and the most dangerous visitors.
A Safe Haven for the Unsafe
Shōtengoku caters exclusively to those who cannot—or will not—vacation elsewhere. It is the ultimate retreat for supervillains, corrupt oligarchs, rogue technocrats, and syndicate royalty, offering luxury, protection, and complete disregard for international law. It is a place where:
You can gamble with blood and crypto in the same hand.
You can watch a live execution disguised as a talent show while sipping cocktails by the pool.
You can disappear into a hotel room for a year, or a back ally doctors and come out with a new face, new identity, and forged biography.
Here, no extradition treaty exists. There are no customs, no border agents, no questions asked.
Two-Tiered Tourism Economy
Tourism in Shōtengoku is as stratified as the island itself, with a sharp divide between elite decadence and criminal underclass survival:
Upper Ring Tourism (Luxury Tier):
Sky Suites & Luxery Domes – Personal towers for high-stakes guests, each with private guards, chefs, and neural entertainment rigs
Gilded Casinos & Pleasure Theatres – Places where fortunes shift on whims, and every vice has a curated boutique
Executive Game Salons – Invitation-only offering live and VR experiences or viewing rooms for elite fans of Yūgeki-tō matches
Therapeutic Dens & Rejuvenation Clinics – Advanced medical care is available ranging from Cloned organ replacements to upscale spas, and aesthetic reconstructive labs
Lower Ring Tourism (Survival Tier):
Dive Bars & Shadow Inns – For smugglers, pirates, mercs, and fugitives needing a bolt-hole
Tattoo parlors & back-alley docs – Identity scrubs, biometric scramblers, and street surgeries
Street arenas & micro-gameshows – Tourists on the run can gamble their way back into solvency or infamy
Black Markets as Attractions – More than trade hubs, these are full sensory bazaars where rare, dangerous goods are displayed like museum pieces on auction
Quest Hostels – Budget hotels that offer patrons a discount in exchange for participating in minor televised quests or errands
The Perpetual Show
At the core of the tourist experience is entertainment—always live, always evolving. From city-wide gameshows to sudden bounty hunts, every visit to Shōtengoku is potentially part of a story. For some, it’s a thrill ride. For others, it’s a way to burn through blood money in style.
Gamemaster TV, the island’s darkweb broadcast empire, is wired into every luxury suite and every gutter dive. Whether you’re watching a gladiator duel from a silken chaise or huddled in a rusted bar during power rationing, the Show never stops.
Why They Come
They come because here, they’re safe.
They come because here, no one asks who they were.
They come because here, anything is legal if it’s part of the Game.
For the criminal elite, Shōtengoku is the only place on Earth where they can truly be themselves: unrestrained, unpunished, and entertained.
It is the Las Vegas of the lawless, the Monaco of monsters, the Bali of blacksite billionaires.
And for many… it’s the only home they trust.
A Safe Haven for the Unsafe
Shōtengoku caters exclusively to those who cannot—or will not—vacation elsewhere. It is the ultimate retreat for supervillains, corrupt oligarchs, rogue technocrats, and syndicate royalty, offering luxury, protection, and complete disregard for international law. It is a place where:
You can gamble with blood and crypto in the same hand.
You can watch a live execution disguised as a talent show while sipping cocktails by the pool.
You can disappear into a hotel room for a year, or a back ally doctors and come out with a new face, new identity, and forged biography.
Here, no extradition treaty exists. There are no customs, no border agents, no questions asked.
Two-Tiered Tourism Economy
Tourism in Shōtengoku is as stratified as the island itself, with a sharp divide between elite decadence and criminal underclass survival:
Upper Ring Tourism (Luxury Tier):
Sky Suites & Luxery Domes – Personal towers for high-stakes guests, each with private guards, chefs, and neural entertainment rigs
Gilded Casinos & Pleasure Theatres – Places where fortunes shift on whims, and every vice has a curated boutique
Executive Game Salons – Invitation-only offering live and VR experiences or viewing rooms for elite fans of Yūgeki-tō matches
Therapeutic Dens & Rejuvenation Clinics – Advanced medical care is available ranging from Cloned organ replacements to upscale spas, and aesthetic reconstructive labs
Lower Ring Tourism (Survival Tier):
Dive Bars & Shadow Inns – For smugglers, pirates, mercs, and fugitives needing a bolt-hole
Tattoo parlors & back-alley docs – Identity scrubs, biometric scramblers, and street surgeries
Street arenas & micro-gameshows – Tourists on the run can gamble their way back into solvency or infamy
Black Markets as Attractions – More than trade hubs, these are full sensory bazaars where rare, dangerous goods are displayed like museum pieces on auction
Quest Hostels – Budget hotels that offer patrons a discount in exchange for participating in minor televised quests or errands
The Perpetual Show
At the core of the tourist experience is entertainment—always live, always evolving. From city-wide gameshows to sudden bounty hunts, every visit to Shōtengoku is potentially part of a story. For some, it’s a thrill ride. For others, it’s a way to burn through blood money in style.
Gamemaster TV, the island’s darkweb broadcast empire, is wired into every luxury suite and every gutter dive. Whether you’re watching a gladiator duel from a silken chaise or huddled in a rusted bar during power rationing, the Show never stops.
Why They Come
They come because here, they’re safe.
They come because here, no one asks who they were.
They come because here, anything is legal if it’s part of the Game.
For the criminal elite, Shōtengoku is the only place on Earth where they can truly be themselves: unrestrained, unpunished, and entertained.
It is the Las Vegas of the lawless, the Monaco of monsters, the Bali of blacksite billionaires.
And for many… it’s the only home they trust.
“They call it the ‘New Libertalia of the Pacific,’ and honestly? I disagree. Shōtengoku isn’t some copy-paste of our glorious nation—it’s its own creature. Sharper. Stranger. Slightly more theatrical, certainly, but no less important. The Gamemaster’s island is a necessary anomaly in the modern ecosystem of crime and supervillainy. New Libertalia respects that. We have excellent relations with Hisashi and his people. And between us? Even a queen needs to rest by the pool and sip a margarita now and then.”
— Lady Armora, Supreme Leader of New Libertalia
“I’d liken it to a circle of hell—except here, it’s not purification through punishment. It’s reward through the willing acceptance of risk… of suffering… of death. That’s what makes Shōtengoku so dangerous. No one is forced to kneel. They kneel by choice. And they call it freedom.”
— Tachibana Takashi, Steel Samurai
“Want to know what an old G-man thinks? Shōtengoku’s not just a den of sin—it’s a hotbed for intelligence gathering and black ops leverage in the Pacific operations zone. Get an international warlord liquored up on Mai Tai's, and you’d be surprised what slips between umbrella sips. Me? I don’t gamble. I just listen.”
— Agent Wilkes, CSIS Liaison to Northforce
— Lady Armora, Supreme Leader of New Libertalia
“I’d liken it to a circle of hell—except here, it’s not purification through punishment. It’s reward through the willing acceptance of risk… of suffering… of death. That’s what makes Shōtengoku so dangerous. No one is forced to kneel. They kneel by choice. And they call it freedom.”
— Tachibana Takashi, Steel Samurai
“Want to know what an old G-man thinks? Shōtengoku’s not just a den of sin—it’s a hotbed for intelligence gathering and black ops leverage in the Pacific operations zone. Get an international warlord liquored up on Mai Tai's, and you’d be surprised what slips between umbrella sips. Me? I don’t gamble. I just listen.”
— Agent Wilkes, CSIS Liaison to Northforce
Alternative Name(s)
Jackpot Island, The Arcade Arena, The Apex Strip, The New Libertalia of the Pacific
Type
Island, Floating
Location under
Owner/Ruler
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