"Good evening, my lovely little slaves to fate."
Shishimai Rinka was a highschooler who ran a small café named Lion House in place of her grandmother. She lived her life much like any other person her age, but one day, she was caught up in an explosion while returning home on the train alongside her friend, Hitsuji Naomi. In an attempt to save her friend's life, she shields her on instinct the moment the explosion goes off, losing her life in the process. However, before she knew it, she was back at Lion House, happily chatting with her friends as if nothing had happened in the first place.
A few days later, she found herself in a strange world. Here she met Parca, an odd girl claiming to be a goddess. It turns out that she had somehow become a participant in Divine Selection, a ritual carried out over twelve weeks by twelve people, which allowed them to compete in order to undo their deaths. What shocked Rinka most of all, however, was the presence of her friend Mishima Miharu amongst the twelve.
In order to make it through Divine Selection, one must eliminate others by gathering information regarding their name, cause of death and regret in the real world, then "electing" them.
This turn of events would lead to her learning about the truth behind her death, as well as her own personal regrets. She would also come to face the reality that Miharu was willing to throw her life away for her sake, as well as the extents to which the other participants would go to in order to live through to the end.
Far more experiences than she ever could have imagined awaited her now, but where will her resolve lead her once all is said and done...?
こんにちは、あいうえおカンパニー代表の飯田（あけお）です。
「FATAL TWELVE」のKICKSTARTERキャンペーンは、皆様のおかげで無事、目標金額に到達することができました。
ご支援いただいた皆様、本当にありがとうございました。
遅ればせながら、この場を借りてお礼を申し上げます。
振り返ってみると、キャンペーンの１か月間は長いようでとても短い期間でした。
キャンペーンの開始からおよそ１時間で目標額の半分近くに到達し、その後も約10日間で最初のゴールを達成しました。
最終的なキャンペーンの総額は$50,516、支援人数は1,089名、中国語・フランス語への翻訳決定というストレッチゴールまで到達いたしました。
念願のフルボイス化だけでなく、今までにない３ヶ国語への翻訳まで行えることになり、とても嬉しく思っています。
そして多くの皆様に期待していただいている一方で、その期待に応えられるものを制作しなければいけないな、と責任も感じています。
実はこのお礼を書いている時点で既にシナリオは最終段階で、間もなく音声収録のための台本化作業となっています。
これからは演出の指定やイラスト等の素材制作、そしてゲームとして組んでいく作業が本格的に進行していきます。
お届けまでいましばらくお待ちください。
最後に、個人的な感想を。
昨年の夏「FATAL TWELVE」を発表した時点でKICKSTARTERの実施はほぼ決まっていたのですが、時期やリターン内容、コストの確認、HPやPVの制作など想像以上に準備が多く、無事キャンペーンを開始できた時点でほっとしておりました。
結果を見ると想像以上に多くの方からご支援いただき、飛び上がりたいくらいに喜んでいます。
このお礼を書いている時点でそろそろシナリオ作業も完結しますが、ラストスパートが迫り胃の痛い限りです。
とはいえ、無事物語にFINと書くことができれば、イラストや音楽の制作、今回は更に収録も待っています！
初めて制作するあいうえおカンパニーのフルボイスゲーム。担当キャストの皆様がどんな演技をしてくださるのか楽しみで仕方がありません。
あらためまして、「FATAL TWELVE」KICKSTARTERキャンペーンにてご支援いただいた皆様、ありがとうございました。
そして「FATAL TWELEVE」に興味を持っていただいた皆様も、ありがとうございました。体験版を公開していますので、この機会にプレイしてみてください。
ぜひ、今後の情報にご期待ください！
以上をもって、KICKSTARTERキャンペーン終了およびお礼のご挨拶とさせていただきます。
今後とも「あいうえおカンパニー」をよろしくお願いいたします。
あいうえおカンパニー代表 飯田泰貴
Opening Movie
Fatal Twelve PV
Voiced Demo Teaser #1
Voiced Demo Teaser #2
Voiced Demo Teaser #3
Fatal Twelve Teaser Trailer
The final, most curious element is the platform: “ok.ru.” Formerly known as Odnoklassniki (“Classmates”), ok.ru is a Russian social network launched in 2006, primarily popular in post-Soviet states. Its presence here is profoundly incongruous. Why would a term so archetypally “Western” and 90s-centric reside on a platform built for connecting former Eastern Bloc classmates? The answer reveals the globalization of nostalgia. Ok.ru has become an unlikely digital landfill—or, more charitably, an unregulated museum—for content erased from more polished platforms like YouTube or Vimeo. Obscure 90s music videos, forgotten TV commercials, and user-uploaded time capsules thrive there, often stripped of metadata, title in broken English, viewed only by a handful of ghosts. The subject line “jaded -1998- ok.ru” suggests a file uploaded by someone who was either archiving their youth or reposting a found artifact, with the platform’s URL serving as a spatial coordinate for digital detritus.
The numerical anchor, “1998,” serves as the essay’s historical pivot. This was a liminal year in both music and technology. It was the year of the iMac and Google’s founding, yet the web was still dominated by GeoCities, dial-up screech, and pixelated JPEGs. Culturally, 1998 was the twilight of the CD-ROM and the dawn of MP3 sharing via Napster (which would launch a year later). To tag something with “1998” is to invoke a specific analog-digital hybridity: the grain of VHS tapes, the gloss of late-90s fashion, the thick guitar riffs of bands like Garbage or The Verve Pipe. It suggests a source material—likely a music video, a low-resolution film clip, or a fan-made montage—that has since degraded, both physically and metaphorically. The date functions not as a mere temporal marker, but as an aura, a claim of authentic vintage melancholy. jaded -1998- ok.ru
The first component, “jaded,” is a word steeped in the cultural lexicon of the late millennium. To be jaded in 1998 was not merely to be tired; it was to be world-weary in the aftermath of Generation X’s cynicism, the saturation of alternative rock, and the quiet anxiety preceding Y2K. Musically, the term evokes the post-grunge melancholy of songs like Aerosmith’s “Jaded” (released in 2001, but thematically anchored in the prior decade) or the drowsy, disillusioned vocals of artists like Mazzy Star or Portishead. “Jaded” functions as a keyword for a specific emotional register: disaffected, overstimulated, yet romantically yearning. It is the feeling of having seen too much too young—a perfect descriptor for the first generation of internet users who were already experiencing digital burnout before the century turned. The final, most curious element is the platform: “ok
In the sprawling, chaotic archive of the early social internet, few artifacts capture a specific emotional and temporal dissonance quite like the subject line “jaded -1998- ok.ru.” At first glance, it appears as little more than a file name or a video title—a sparse collection of characters. Yet, when deconstructed, this phrase becomes a poetic timestamp, a commentary on nostalgia, and a haunting reflection of how memory is preserved (and corrupted) across digital platforms. It bridges the raw, grunge-inflected malaise of the late 1990s with the repurposing machinery of a 2010s Russian social network, creating a unique object of study for the digital archaeologist. The answer reveals the globalization of nostalgia
Taken as a whole, “jaded -1998- ok.ru” functions as a three-part poem about transience. The emotional state (jaded) meets the historical moment (1998) inside an unexpected, fading container (ok.ru). It implies a video or audio file—perhaps a grainy recording of a 90s MTV broadcast, a fan-made tribute to a broken romance, or even a home movie set to period music—that has been orphaned from its original context. To view it is to experience a layered melancholy: the original content’s jadedness, the nostalgia for 1998, and the eerie quiet of a platform where no one comments, where the view counter ticks slowly into the hundreds.
In conclusion, the subject line is more than a search query or a forgotten post. It is a miniature allegory for the internet as a vast, indifferent cemetery of feeling. Each element—a worn emotion, a specific year, a decaying platform—collides to produce a resonance greater than the sum of its parts. To write “jaded -1998- ok.ru” is to issue an invitation to a very specific ruin. It asks the reader or viewer to confront not only the content of the file, but the weight of its journey: from the jaded heart of a 90s teenager, through the compression algorithms of two decades, to a dusty shelf on a Russian social network, waiting for one more pair of eyes to remember that once, someone felt very tired, very young, very online.
