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)
“It’s just the Japanese version.”
“See? That pisses me off. Just. They deserve a good gaming experience too. And how long before the shareholders feel the bump and demand it everywhere else too?”
Peter looks at me for a long moment, then shrugs. He chuckles. “Sorry, man, I’ve got no answers.”
“How does it look from a PR perspective?”
“Bad,” he admits. “Greedy. Turns us from a lovable game developer into just another soulless corporation.”
I open my drawer. Take out a new tennis ball and squeeze.
“Anyway,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Analytics on the Emerald Cove stuff,” Peter says.
I wave a hand. “People hate it. The grind is too hard. It takes too long to get all the enchanted seashells. By the time people get them, doing the boss doesn’t feel like fun. It just feels like another chore.”
“Well…” He smiles tightly.
“Am I wrong?”
“No, Jack, you’re not.”
“I was certain people would like this,” I mutter. “There are five enemy varieties in that one area. All with unique move sets and weaknesses. What more do people want?”
“Are you genuinely asking me?”
“Yes, Pete. Goddamn it.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he says. “I can’t tell you how to make a game, but I’ve found this streamer. DakkyDuck, that’s her online name. But she uses her name on her streams. Dakota. Plays Empire’s Fall exclusively. She’s been playing it since its release.”
I shrug. “Okay.”
“Last week, during the special event, she had forty thousand viewers for the giveaway portion.”
“Good for her,” I mutter.
“That’s a lot,” he says, as if I’m not aware.
“I know—and good for her.”
He grits his teeth for a moment. A gesture I know well.
“Just say it, Pete, whatever it is,” I tell him.
“You should watch her stream,” he says.
“Should I?”
He frowns at me. “Jack, how is sulking going to help anything? You want to know why people don’t like Emerald Cove? Tune into Dakky’s stream. She makes some good points. And she’s not one of these booby streamers.”
“Booby… what? You’re aware we’re both in our forties, Pete?”
“Hey, it’s my job to know stuff like this. A booby streamer is a woman who pretends to stream games, but mostly just sits there with her tits out.”
“Why do I feel an HR call is incoming if this conversation continues?” I grunt.
“She’s got substance,” he replies. “That’s all I’m saying.” He stands, rubbing his hands as though washing them clean. “I’ve done my job.”
I ask her name again before he leaves. What have I got to lose?
I log onto the most popular streaming website. As I search her name, I expect another empty internet personality. Part of me—a big part—hates the way the internet has gone. It used to mean something. Working away for hours on end on a website or game. Getting rewarded for hard work.
Now? It’s memes, viral moments, and stupid crap half the time. Or maybe it just seems stupid because I don’t understand it.
My gamer instincts activate when I realize I’ve caught her in the middle of a raid. A raid is an event where the game sends waves of enemies at a player’s base. These are optional, meaning the player can turn them off, but keeping them on means you get better rewards.
I lean forward, watching as she ducks and dives past three zombies. She’s only got 3 health points left, and no potions.
She chews on her lip and tosses her hair to get it out of her face. Pete’s right. She’s not a booby streamer.
But, hell, she’s hot.
Even in a plain black hoodie, no makeup, she’s beautiful. Her hair frames her focused, stunning face. Wide eyes that take in all the action. Biting her lush lip in a way that triggers a wave of heat inside of me.
My dick twitches in my jeans. Like I’m one of those online weirdos drooling over a woman I’ve never even met.
“Okay,” she snaps, nodding as her health bar fills up.
I blink, then rub my eyes. What the hell just happened?
Then I let out a laugh.
That was fast. In the space of a second, she dodged two attacks, and mid dodge, she must’ve activated her life steal, bumping her health back up to halfway. She leads the remaining enemies—a mix of deformed sea creatures, ghosts, and zombies—down a narrow corridor she’s clearly built for this purpose.
Her tone turns casual as she takes them out.
“Phew,” she says, rubbing her forehead.
I grin. Widely. Easily. It feels slightly unnatural, like my face isn’t used to the gesture, and honestly, I can’t remember the last time I smiled like this.
I can feel her relief emanating through the screen.
Suddenly, a message pops up.
Mysterious-BOI: I don’t want to be a creep, but you looked so hot when you almost died just then. I know, weird comment!
I grind my teeth together. Who the fuck is this guy? How often does she get comments like these?
It doesn’t matter to me. Obviously. Shouldn’t anyway. But… well, it’s a little goddamn presumptuous. And yeah, fine, I was just thinking the same thing. But I didn’t write it out.