Gamelit 31 (convergence) (Patreon)

            When the alarm went off at 7 am, Mollie was still under her froth of pale blue blankets. The scent of espresso wafted from the direction of the kitchen, which made sense because the coffee maker was programmed to go off at 6:35. What didn’t make sense was that she was in bed, instead of already up, thumbing through her email on her phone.

            She’d done a good job painting around the crown molding when she’d moved in. She congratulated herself on that, since she was currently staring at it instead of getting up.

            It had not been her idea to work for a gaming company. She liked people. She liked marketing. She had gamer friends growing up, because who didn’t? It had been Larry who’d pointed out how big a business games were. ‘You want to get rich doing your job? Then this is the industry you want to be in,’ he’d said, and of course since it had been Larry there were graphs and charts and for a week straight he’d sent her every article he ran across talking about the gaming boom. Since he’d been right, it hadn’t been hard to find fresh ones. She remembered asking him why he was pushing her in that direction so hard, and he’d said… what? Something about being passionate about it, and wanting everyone to be as passionate as he was.

            That had been what convinced her, when she’d been browsing internships. She’d wanted to work with people who really believed in their product, and in gaming she’d found an entire ecosystem of people creating new games that created gamers who created new games. It was like discovering the hydrologic cycle, but with people. She would never lack for work in an industry that was continually creating its next generation of users.

            Once she’d waded into it, she’d gotten swept away by the enthusiasm. She hadn’t lied when she’d bubbled at the AI about how exciting the conventions were, and the costumes, and the fan art activity… it was all incredibly awesome. Marketing things people weren’t hyped about was challenging, but also inherently sad somehow. Like talking to someone who wasn’t as into you as you were into them. Struggling to sell furniture to people who mostly wanted to get a couch and go home, and no, they weren’t interested in your upsell, thanks… no, she hadn’t wanted that. Other industries had different problems—like fashion, which seemed entirely based on making people who wanted desperately to look attractive feel bad about themselves by accident.

            But gaming was wholesome! Family fun! A way to bring people together!

            Until the AI had asked her, she hadn’t thought about the fact that she’d never played the game she’d spent her career promoting.

            And then there was Jonah.

            Mollie pressed her palm to her forehead. Jonah. Totally not her type. She liked tanned, athletic, confident guys. Tall guys, because at 5’9” she’d been looking down at people most of her life and not enjoying it. And then Jonah had exploded into her office, and into her life, and he was short, undersunned, not athletic, and did she mention short? The only box he ticked was confidence, and he took it to such extremes he came off as arrogant and didn’t care who was bothered by it. Honestly, he had the look of a trust fund kid who’d never been told no in his life, and it had been hard to stop thinking about him. A guilty pleasure, because the Marketing VP falling for one of the company founders sounded like a bad romance novel plot, and she didn’t want to lose her job because she enjoyed her job.

            That part, she was sure of. She enjoyed her job. She believed in Omen Galaxica.

            But she didn’t play.

            She was busy, of course, but….

            The alarm went off again—no, not the alarm. That was her email dinging, because after 7 am notifications went audible again. Reluctantly, she rolled upright and retied her ponytail to get her hair out of her face. Coffee smelled good. And a shower. No, shower and then coffee. She paused on her way to the bathroom to wake her phone and her eyes caught on the last notification.

From: Marvelous Assistant Avery

Subject: Hey, this one’s from one of the beta testers

            Opening it revealed another of Avery’s succinct notes: ‘better read this one’, and then a forwarded message. Mollie glanced at it, then stopped walking to the bathroom, read the whole thing, and flipped to her contacts.

            “Hey boss. You’re up late.”

            “I know,” Mollie said. “Don’t worry, I’m still picking up your chai on the way in. That beta tester email…”

            “I did the research. It’s the from the mom-and-teen pair.”

            Jonah’s Choice. Mollie tried not to flinch, because she was not super—all right, she was superstitious, and it had to mean something that the duo she talked the senior execs into allowing into the beta based on her extrapolation of Jonah’s tastes… now wanted to talk to him in the hospital. “So the boy.”

            “Yep. I’ve got their info if you need it. They’re on the other side of the country so if he wanted to do this chat, the way he’s suggested is probably the only way. Unless you want to prop a phone up next to Jonah’s ear.”

            Mollie chewed on her lip. “Any reason the hospital wouldn’t okay it?”

            “Don’t think so, but I can call them and ask.”

            “Do that. And while we’re at it, run the idea past Legal, make sure we’re not opening the company to something.”

            “Got it. Anything else?”

            Mollie started to say ‘no, thanks,’ and paused. “Do you play?”

            “Pardon?”

            “Omen. Do you play?”

            “Oh sure. Not seriously, though. I can’t keep up with it. But I like doing the pet collection stuff. I’d be doing that on some mobile app if I wasn’t doing it on Omen, and this way I’m not paying for the gatchas.” Mollie could hear her assistant’s grin. “Our artists are good at cute when they decide to do it.”

            “They are,” Mollie agreed. “Thanks for this, and I’ll see you in a bit.”

            Half an hour later, Mollie was on her way to work and thinking again about how she didn’t play Omen Galaxica. When she tried to imagine herself doing so, she couldn’t, because it wasn’t real.

***

            “So when’re you gonna go back to your adoring public?”

            Lucas threw the basketball at Mason, who snatched it from the air and feigned a dodge that Lucas ignored, because his brother had been faking him out all their lives. “When I’m bored of winning against you.”

            “Hah, you haven’t won yet.” Mason tossed the ball over his head and into the hoop at the end of the driveway.

            “That’s what makes it interesting.” Lucas jogged after the ball, scooped it up and ran hard at the hoop. Mason went for him and they struggled, but Lucas managed to drive it in anyway.

            “Now it’s war, little bro.”

            “It’s always war, decrepit bro.”

            Mason laughed, and they did another four points before their mother interrupted with a tray of lemonade. Then it was time to lounge on the chairs and enjoy the sun, because hell if he became a pasty gamer just because he made bank selling his adventures to the terminally online. “So how’s the working life?”

            “No change,” Mason said.

            “Still sucking.”

            “Yep.”

            They drank. It was ridiculously oversweetened, just the way Mom always made it.

            “How’s the college life?”

            “No change.”

            His brother grinned. “Boring, except for the money?”

            “Boring, except for the money.”

            “Like being home for summer?”

            “Eh. Saves money. Dorm life—”

            “Sucks,” they said in unison, and laughed.

            “Well, buck up,” Mason said. “It’ll be over soon, and then you can spend the rest of your life being miserable in a cubicle, like me.”

            “Not a chance,” Lucas said. “I’m going to roll around in the sweet sweet streaming dough and watch it multiply in my investment account. If I stick with it for another few years, I might be able to retire.”

            “I can’t believe the crap thing you started doing because you were bored one day is paying off this big,” Mason said.

            Lucas smiled tightly. “Yeah, well. Some things have a life of their own. But don’t worry, bro, you can live with me anytime.”

            “I’d rather not be there when you get doxed and your adoring public comes for you,” Mason said with a guffaw. He put his empty glass on the tray. “Ready for another round?”

            “Let’s go.”

            Mom had a big dinner waiting for them, and watched them eat it with a bright smile. She didn’t eat much, but she hadn’t been a big eater even before the divorce. After it… Lucas had been little, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing her eat. He had hated leaving after high school, but he’d also been going crazy. With Mason gone, it had been the two of them, and it had gotten too hard. Not that she ever complained, or clung, or did anything wrong. In fact, she was so good it made him feel bad. Well, that and enraged, because how could Dad have left someone so good for that bimbo? He hadn’t even kept the bimbo long before replacing her with a new one.

            No, he was nearly sure he imagined the air of tragedy that hung around the house. Nearly. But it had been real enough that he’d put all his anger into games. He thought it had been that anger that had made him turn on the mic the first time. Like he hadn’t cared if he self-destructed on camera. And it had been cathartic to have someplace to put the rage.

            Now… now it was the money. Because with enough money, he could tell the world to go to hell, and that was mostly what he wanted anymore. To be left alone. To make the world leave his family alone. To get them out of this house with the ghosts of the past that kept drifting through the rooms, reminding him that they’d once been whole.

            “I hate having a villainous origin story,” he told Mason later, when they were drinking in what passed for their backyard. “It’s a cliché.”

            “At least you turned your villainous origin story into a cash cow,” his brother said. “You souring on it?”

            “How can I sour on something so lucrative?”

            “Easy. That’s another cliché, right? Guys selling their souls for their careers. You gonna make a career out of streaming?”

            “Hell no. The only thing more pathetic than being a streamer at 20 is being a streamer at 40. I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

            Mason mmmed. “And how will you know when you’re ahead enough to do that?”

            “Hell if I know.”

            After his brother had wandered off, Lucas flicked his set-up on and checked his channel stats. Revenue was up. Numbers were good. People were liking the direction he was going. They weren’t bored—which is good, because he’d gone off on this crazy direction to avoid boredom. His own schtick was old to him, but it was also what people expected, and breaking off to make an entire new identity and rebuild the audience… no. Way too much work, and with no guarantee of return. Another year or two of this kind of cash and he could turn off the faucet. He was pretty sure. He could walk away from money. At least, that’s what he was telling himself.

            It was in the referrers that he discovered that a lot of his traffic was leaving for some rando’s channel… and why. He clicked through one short, and then another… and then a video… and another… and with every minute that passed, he got angrier.

            “Oh no,” he growled. “I did not tear down that town so that you could steal the story from me. I’m the star of this show.” He tapped his messenger client.

GOLDIE WAKE UP

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