Nobody asked me to make a wargame. Nobody put a Nerf gun to my head and said the world needed another set of rules rolling dice and pushing plastic soldiers around a table. But here we are.

I've been rolling dice for over forty years. Ever since my Mom brought home the D&D Red Box and I couldn't figure out the rules. Cardboard counters, hex maps, rulebooks thicker than a phonebook. I grew up in the glow of a CRT watching Red Dawn on repeat and getting my ass handed to me in Squad Leader by my buddies, who treated a Saturday afternoon like the Tet Offensive. That stuff gets into your blood.

Then I went and got a career scribbling television. Alias. Lost. Heroes. Hannibal. Star Trek: Disco. American Gods. Decades of crafting stories where people sneak and peak, shot at, blown up, pushed to the absolute edge. Somewhere in there, I started doing narrative design for games too — building worlds for Activision, LucasArts, Riot, crafting VR Predator experiences. Every single one of those gigs taught me the same lesson: the best stories come from characters making impossible choices under pressure.

That's what I wanted on the tabletop. That gut-punch moment where the plan falls apart and you've gotta improvise with whatever you've got left, or collab with your party pals and just pray it's enough to avoid saving throws.

I come from a world where character plus situation creates a condition that generates a story. With OpTac, I've tried to bring that ethos to the tabletop. The point was never to simulate ballistics. The point was to make you sweat, scream obscenities at your buddy, and crack a post-game Cadbury egg as you talk about the stories that emerged from playing with dice and plastic.

I made this because I spent my whole life loving this genre. So yeah. Nobody asked for this. I made it anyway. If you're a foul-mouthed degenerate who loves Starship Troopers, Ralph Bakshi Animation, overbuilt TTRPG worlds, miniature wargames, and anything-goes kitbashing — I made it for you too.