Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
I grin, then go back to playing innocent.
“People, please, stop asking about Emerald Cove,” I say as I take my avatar to the bank and store my materials from my run in the wintry tundra-filled wasteland.
NightBolt: IF YOU DON’T DO THE COVE, YOU CAN’T RAID MAGLUSORTH!
I chuckle as the message comes through. “Thanks for the twenty dollars, Sumo Sam. And yeah, you’re right. But the thing is, a lot of us play this game for the sandbox aspect. For the freedom aspect, really.”
The chat:
Cherrymist: Auntie is getting philosophical again…
DarkFurry: She’s so hot when she talks like this.
Foxxy_Foe: Don’t simp, bro.
I like when my regular subscribers call me auntie. It’s like they’re distancing me from any of the online games. The low-cut shirts. The viral moments.
“The Cove is the opposite of freedom. So, until Jackson Cross fixes his game, I’ll be sticking to old content. Even if it means I progress slower and…some of you, sniffle sniffle, abandon me.”
I pout at the screen with an overly sad face. It’s a little mean, this character I do, especially when I go cross-eyed on purpose. It’s a parody of a certain kind of streamer, one who relies solely on gooners, on simps, on incels, whatever word one uses. I flirt with that side of things, use it occasionally to my advantage, but I’m terrified of making it my whole brand.
My personality has to shine too. Or I might as well just do OnlyFans. Not that I’d ever judge anyone for that. It’s just not my thing.
AbyssBliss: Maybe you need a private meeting with Halcyon!
As I absentmindedly guide my flying mount through the skies of the city’s residential district, I chuckle. “I don’t think the big shots at Halcyon would like what I have to say about this latest expansion. Don’t get me wrong, folks. I love this game. I’m attached to this game. For life. But they messed up. Bad.”
One of my longtime subscribers pops in.
HAVOCnight: You’re big enough to get a meeting, Dakky.
Others agree.
SavageQueen99: You could do it.
BowieB: Put them in their places.
SkyBite: They need gamers, not businessmen!
I smile, enjoying their encouragement, until a private moderator message flashes up on the screen. A moderator is someone who monitors my chat and makes sure no one does anything hateful, gross, or otherwise against community standards.
WatchTower: Guessing this is a ban?
My chat moderator asks, with a message attached.
HOTBRAD: You stupid slut, think you’re so clever and hot, I would pour boiling water down your throat and laugh in your fat face as you choked to death.
I quickly type back
DakkyDuck: How did you guess?
WatchTower: Guessing that’s sarcasm?
DakkyDuck: Right-O
I don’t know whether to laugh or scream.
I’ve built a small empire playing Empire’s Fall, but the significance of this video game’s name is not lost on me. My empire could fall just as easily as the one in the game. All it’d take is the weirdos winning. The negative messages outweighing the good.
Then, I might just end it all.
I glance at the photo again. Me, Noah, and Mara. And remember the promise I made.
CHAPTER 2
JACKSON
Being a CEO, for me, takes a lot of tennis balls. I go through a few a week, at least. A few of my employees have hinted at getting proper stress balls, objects designed to withstand the constant tension that comes with this position. But they don’t understand that breaking the damn thing is one of the most satisfying parts.
I leave the ruined tennis ball on my desk and walk to the tall windows of the top-floor office, looking down like some king over his kingdom. The name I gave to my flagship video game seemed perfect before the stock price started to go down, and the shareholders made demands that had nothing to do with the integrity of the game.
I’ve just finished a meeting with our Japanese office. We run extremely similar versions of the game, but the Japanese version has far more monetization in it. Which essentially means they’re more comfortable with milking their users dry.
We’re not quite there. Yet.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.
“Yes,” I grunt.
Peter walks in, head of media and one of my oldest friends. He’s on the shorter side, with horn-rimmed glasses and a constantly hurried expression on his face. Like he’s always thinking about the next thing. We met in the early days of Halcyon, when I was a gamer with big dreams, and he was a slick PR guy with bleached white teeth.
“Good meeting?” he asks, gesturing at the tennis ball.
“Hmm.” I drop heavily into my seat.
“Selling stuff makes money,” he says with a note of irony. “See? I’m more than just a media guy. I’ve got business savvy too.”
I shake my head. “They’re selling horse colors, Pete. Not just specific mounts. Colors for the mounts. Five bucks and you can make your horse gray instead of black. Is that seriously what we want to become?”