2010-2013

Job Peeves

           Summer, 2010. An early morning Saturday at Jared Reiner’s childhood home’s garage. It’s a mess inside, even with about half of everything already packed in cardboard boxes. In the studio are empty cups, a ratty old Goodwill black couch, the primitive and thick flatscreen in front of it, and the hooked-up Nintendo Wii. The gaming setup rests atop a coffee table that was once in the house, and usually provides a space to take a break or cool down after a long game dev run. Today, there is no time for such frivolity.

           There are five workstations crammed into the garage, on desks or old tables of varying quality—one of the monitors is even a bulky CRT from the early 2000s—but at the moment, three of the recent college grads trying hard to create a game stand behind a fourth, seated on a rickety office chair with a USB game controller in his hand. Above his screen is the garage’s single window; a small square of light connecting the studio to the outside world, and sometimes the only “clock” anyone working there will notice.

           “Do that again, Chase?” Wes, the young man with the creative vision, asked of his world programmer. “I saw that it crashed, but I didn’t really see the reason why.”

           “It’s faster if you just tell him, Chase,” Jared groaned. “We aren’t firing on all cylinders anymore, but I think I get what happened. If I’m right, it’s weird, though.”

           “Okay, look,” Chase said after resetting the game and quickly cleaning his glasses. “Boots up fine. Load one of the saves from our last build, no problem. If you start a new game, though… Character creator works okay… Name them in all caps? You’re good. But, if you put in any lowercase letters…” his fingers were a moving blur on the beat-up controller, “the game will play the intro normally,” he continued as a pixel-built 1990s bedroom late at night loaded, “but as soon as Mom says your character’s name…”

           And then it crashed again, with a stack dump cluster of text filling the screen.

           “The player name’s doing it?” Brian surmised from under his long hair. “And only in a new game from the latest build? Am I getting it right? I know I just make the art…”

           “It’s even more specific than that,” Chase said. “All uppercase letters, works fine.”

           “A text string does it? That doesn’t make any sense,” Wes grumbled and rubbed his dry eyes. “Damn it. I haven’t named my file in a video game in all caps since Ocarina, when I called Link ZELDA for… some reason. Any idea when this started? We can’t just rollback to our midnight backup—not when we’ve been at it through the night.”

           “Could’ve began weeks ago, Wes. I told you—we don’t do enough fresh starts.”

           “No one could’ve planned for some random bull… crap like this!” Wes snapped.

           “Wes. Dude,” Jared tried to calm him down, “Chase did keep telling us that our code is spaghetti. There’s no telling how any kind of user input might affect the game.”

           “But this doesn’t even make sense. What does the player name have to do at all with…” Wes groaned and rubbed his entire face this time. “Okay, once Pete is back in his chair, we’ll have him test previous builds and find out when this starts popping up.”

           “Why don’t we all just go home and get some sleep?” Chase muttered. “We can come back when we’re rested—we still got a shot of uploading the demo tonight.”

           “I wanted it available at midnight,” Wes said and began pacing around the studio.

           “We promised the Kickstarter donators a demo sometime today, Wes,” Jared reminded. “We have fifteen hours left to get it done, right? We’ll just have to set up the computers somewhere else for a few hours. I promised my dad we’d give him the garage back by today, too. That means we still have to clear this place out.”

           “He just had to get a nice car he wants to protect while we’re using it…”

           “Yeah, well, he deserves it. He’d been driving around that shitty pickup truck since we were kids. Is Sadie still okay that you two are losing your garage next?”

           “I mean, I guess so. And it’s big enough for two cars, which is nice. But listen, guys, I really think if we just buckle down, we can finish this demo by noon. A nice vertical slice—that’s all I’m looking for. One great first act that gets people invested.”

           “That’s not exactly something to be proud of, Wes,” Jared argued. When he got glared at, he threw his hands up and explained his take, “We’ve had all these problems so far because we took shortcuts at the start. I told you that importing so many assets from the RPG Maker version of Suburban Kingdom was a mistake. If we had remade it on the new engine from scratch, we’d be pushing out a demo for a working game today, instead of a gilded opening section that might not represent the finished product—if we get there. The demo may end up being the last thing we publish. An obscure almost-was.”

           Chase added under his breath, “Not to mention that all of the fixes we made for our vertical slice won’t do much of anything for the rest of the game. We moved in this direction two weeks ago to meet a deadline, and now the demo’s a rush job at best.”

           “It’ll work,” Wes tried to assure them. “It barely counts as ‘faking it until we make it.’ The Kickstarters will be happy, the money will come in, and we can breathe again.”

           “A-anything I can do in the final stretch, Wes?” Brian asked. “The art is d-done, isn’t it? I m-mean, I finished the sprite cleanup at around three in the morning, so…”

           “Ah, yeah, I got something for you, bud. Bootup still has that ‘A Game by Wes, Jared, Brian, Chase, and Pete’ text, right? Maybe doll that up a bit, add some of your nice pixels? NPCs in a walking animation, your favorite location—anything at all.”

           “Y-yeah, I think I can come up with something. We really need a studio name…”

           “Still working on that. When we pick one, we’re stuck with it.”

           Brian gave Wes a sleepy nod, and returned to his computer off in the corner: his own iMac from college, which he had lent to the studio. It was the only Apple machine in the garage, but as he just did the artwork, it didn’t cause any compatibility issues with the rest of the development. Wanting to speak to him for a moment, Jared gestured for Wes to follow him to near the studio’s server, one of Arthur’s former gaming PCs. Over the sound of its constantly-clicking hard drive, Jared shared what was on his mind.

           “Wes, you do see how hard you’ve been working us, right? I can handle it, but the other three are obviously at a breaking point. We finish the demo, they get a week off, and we don’t make them help with the move to the new garage. Deal?”

           “I mean… if you’re putting your foot down on this one…” Wes sighed.

           “This time, I am. Have you been hearing Brian? He hasn’t stuttered like that since high school! You’re really stressing us out, and keep in mind, we’re doing this as a passion project; we give them ten bucks a day and food. And speaking of money, how do we know this Kickstarter thing is even going to pay out? The concept’s still brand new.”

           “We just have to trust that it will. And, if not… we’ll figure it out. We both make decent money at our IT jobs, and the original Suburban Kingdom is still getting us around fifty bucks a week in sales. It’s not much, but it helps. Especially if we keep getting new fans out of the buyers, right? Jared. We’re going to do this. I can feel it in my bones.”

           “See, I just can’t be that optimistic. We used to have fun in this garage, and took things at our own pace between all the multiplayer-game bonding we did. Until you got more and more serious when you started to see some distant goal come into focus.”

           “Because it began to feel real! We were actually making a real, original game, and not just resting on one RPG Maker success. I know I may have set high expectations…”

           Jared crossed his arms. “Uh-huh. You told us to ‘triple everything’ in the remake.”

           “Because I saw a winning team in us. I knew we were capable of greatness.”

           “Yeah, nice bravado, but I keep telling you, that just isn’t true for Pete. We should have fired him when we found out he lied about his level of programming knowledge, and replaced him with someone more talented. But, no, all you saw was his ‘passion for gaming,’ and turned him into some kind of ‘daily beta tester’ instead. It’s wasteful.”

           As if on cue, Pete the slacker finally opened the kitchen-garage door and rejoined the hard-working rest of the team, carrying a bottle of soda in one hand and a breakfast Hot Pocket in the other, and looking totally oblivious to the plight of the majority.

           “Sorry it took a while, peeps,” he said with a yawn. “I accidentally put it in for a minute too long, and you know how that goes. Nuclear hot, needed more time to cool.”

           “Great. That’s interesting, Pete,” Wes said. “Hey, we’re having a bit of a major last-minute problem here, so why don’t you go ahead and get on the computer next to Chase, and you two can work together to diagnose it, okay? We got builds to scour.”

           “Uh, sure. I can do that,” Pete said and sat by Chase. He bit into his food, getting out between bites, “Was hoping you had a new version for me to try out, but whatevs.”

           “I really do work faster on my own,” Chase grumbled, his temper starting to flare.

           Jared groaned again. “Wes… We have to help them. You and me are going to sit, concentrate, and get into the zone like we did in college… Right after I get us coffee.”

           Wes had come to hate busywork, but he did at least recognize that now was not the time to argue with his righthand guy who did have the team’s best interests at heart. As Jared left for the kitchen, Wes returned to his desk and began checking through the large amounts of messy code full of remnants from the game’s first iteration.

           In the kitchen, Jared started a fresh pot and shut his strained eyes for a moment by the window overlooking the backyard. The tiny bit of relief he got from doing so was quickly forgotten when he saw the empty Hot Pocket box and cooking sleeve Pete had left on the counter. His own nerves starting to fray, he cursed under his breath as he disposed of the trash in bins covered with helpful reminders for the crew, in the form of game character stickers espousing cleanliness practices through speech bubbles.

           He went back into the garage after several minutes of beloved quiet and isolation, handing Wes a metal mug of hot coffee that he took a whiff of without a thank you. The bickering had been replaced by the sound of progress: the click-clacking of keyboards.

           But it was short-lived, and the brief dip into zen-mode was shattered by the unexpected and rather startling sound of the garage door belt suddenly activating—a sound that hadn’t been heard since the studio was first established several years ago.

           “What?!” Wes exclaimed and noticed the growing line of sunlight under one of their four ‘walls.’ “Who just… Does one of you have the opener?”

           The morning light nearly blinding them at first, the five game creators saw Jared’s dad emerge in the driveway as their eyes adjusted, standing next to his new black Audi. But he wasn’t alone; Sadie was standing by him, holding her infant sleeping son Warren. And amid this loud, bright interruption was the odd clatter of… boxes falling?

           “Jared?” his dad yelled. “What’s going on? You haven’t emptied it at all!”

           “Sadie!” Wes burst before Jared could respond. He left his chair and ran over, nearly stumbling over the old furniture on the way. “Honey, what are you doing here?”

           “What are you doing here?” she whispered back sharply, trying not to wake their baby. “You never came home. I drove over to check on you, then Mr. Reiner showed me his car, and…” She looked at the others, and saw their fatigue. “Did you seriously make everyone pull an all-nighter? You can’t do that to employees! Or friends!”

           “Sade, we’re really close. We need a little more time, and the demo will be ready.”

           “That’s what you’ve been doing all night?” Jared’s dad muttered. “Here I thought you were done with that at midnight, and have been clearing out the garage since then!”

           “Dad, why would we waste an all-nighter on packing and moving?” Jared sighed, and had made it over just as his pop also happened to notice the collapsed pile of empty, greasy pizza boxes that had apparently been stuffed between the game corner couch and the garage door. “Who did that?” Jared exclaimed and looked at his dad’s livid reaction.

           “O-oh, yeah—sorry about that, dude,” Pete said, barely embarrassed. “I’ve been stuffing them back there. I was gonna take care of them. You know how pizza boxes are; can’t recycle ’em, pain in the ass to fit into trash bags. Figured we’d deal with it later.”

           Looking slightly sick, Chase puffed out, “Guess that explains the roaches…”

           “What kind of ‘game studio’ are you all running here?” Mr. Reiner asked coldly.

           “Wes, we need to talk. Now,” Sadie insisted. She added as Wes tried to get a word in, “Guys, I’m sorry that he’s been making you work so hard. You all deserve better.”

           “I… I can’t do this right now,” Jared moaned. “I’ll be out back. Taking a break.”

           As Wes, Mr. Reiner, and Sadie began to squabble, Chase and Pete also got into it, and Brian stayed non-combative in the corner while working on his art, Jared used the backdoor of the garage that opened up on the patio. He went past the artificial pond in its center and got onto the edge of the decaying wood fort surrounded by now well-kept grass. Dangling his legs off a hideaway that was once only second to Colin’s treehouse as far as outdoor refuges went, he took out a vape pen and listened to the birds chirping.

           Some minutes later, Wes emerged from the garage, let out a long sigh, and slowly walked over and leaned against the fort with hands in his pockets. “Well…” he said after an uncomfortable moment of silence, “Chase Monroe and Pete Dunlap are… suddenly no longer part of the crew. They literally just left. We’re back to being the original trio.”

           “Dude,” Jared exhaled a cloud, choking on some of it. “You fired Chase, too?!”

           “I didn’t fire either one!” He looked at the ground and huffed. “Chase finally had enough and stormed out, then Pete was all like… ‘there’s a serious lack of chill here, so I’ll go, too.’ Even though the guy who bugged him most left. I guess I did push too hard.”

           “Shit, I’m sorry. But… this can happen when you start a remake project with the totality of your vision being ‘make it bigger.’ No outlines, no real plan, just… chaos. Look, I’ll help you fix the demo. If you still want to get it done.” He waited for Wes, either sulking or contemplative like he often got as a kid, to respond. When he did not, Jared asked, “What do you want it to say? Is it worth the effort? Like, I get that it’s about our childhood, and you’re trying to immortalize it before we forget, but you remember it in more detail than the rest of us—and through some kind of… ‘magical realism’ lens.”

           Wes, staring at the pond that Sadie sprang out of during a water gun match, answered, “It’s not the memories I’m afraid of losing, J. It’s the feeling itself of being young, that sense of wonder, the curiosity of the new. That’s starting to fade. If I can’t capture it in our first game and show the world our vibe before it’s too late…”

           After another puff, Jared said, “I always thought being an adult would be boring. Turns out, it’s mostly just stressful. I didn’t used to worry this much when I was a kid.”

           “… Does that gross-smelling thing help you with that? Don’t believe the ‘studies’ that say it’s better than smoking. It’s all dubious. Wait a few years for the real science.”

           “Yeah, well…” Jared chortle-coughed as the old friends enjoyed some needed fresh air. “If my dad quit the cigs, I’m sure I can stop. If you don’t keep driving me to it.”

           It’s a warm late night in 2011. Jared quietly closes his car door and creeps up to a garage in the dark. But the sneaking effort feels for naught, once the big door begins to noisily roll up into their second game studio. He stops it halfway, ducks under it, brings it back down, and before the motion light turns off, he flicks on his desk lamp.

           Unlike the old place, this one was better organized and made optimal use of the space; it had to, since ten stations were now set up. Some desks were pre-used, but half had been new cheap purchases from Walmart. Jared, being “senior staff,” had the nicest model along with Wes, but they were still junk compared to their IT office furniture.

           He logged onto his machine, opened one of the latest build’s database files, and got to work while he had the room to himself. After some time, the hallway light came on, and Sadie joined him, looking just as restless. Such a get-together was not unusual.

           “Hey, Jared…” she murmured and just about collapsed onto the nearby futon. “Insomnia again? I finally got Warren down… No idea how Wes sleeps through it.”

           “I do my best game balancing alone, at night,” Jared replied. “It’s not something I usually need to collaborate with others on. Still feels weird just coming in here, though. It’s like I’m breaking into your house. But the pressure to get our game done is starting to get to me. I keep waking up after dreaming about impatient, angry fans chasing us.”

           Sadie looked up from the futon to ask, “Hasn’t it been a year since the demo?”

           That dawned on Jared, too. After checking the date on his Windows 7 desktop, he replied, “Yeah, you’re right… Well, in another fifteen hours. God, those last two were rough. I thought my dad was about to start ripping our computers out of their outlets.”

           For several minutes, Sadie enjoyed and began to drift off to the ambience of an old, close friend’s mechanical keyboard; a sound of effort and creativity. Then she sprang back to life, and apropos of nothing, revealed, “Wes proposed this evening.”

           Jared stopped typing, and swiveled in his chair towards her. “He did? Finally?”

           “You’re the first person I’ve told. I think he wanted to play his ‘I still care a lot about you, too’ hand. I admire his passion on the game, but… he’s missing moments.”

           “Yeah, well,” Jared laughed, “he can only use that card once. Happy for you guys.”

           “I miss the others, so I’m glad you’re still here, J. But I’d like a garage eventually.”

           “Wes is planning a launch by Christmas, so maybe that’ll be your present.” Jared got back to it, adding, “Sleep if you can… But the team’s Saturday starts in four hours.”

           Fluorescent lights flicker to life, and a fledgling indie game crew fills the garage—but this isn’t four hours later. It’s May, 2012, and delays have led to the realization that their first title still has a long way to go before it’s ready for a final coat of paint.

           “Overall, this new batch of townie NPCs looks great, Brian,” Jared said as he slid and pinched with one hand to study a sprite sheet on Brian’s second-generation iPad. “I can tell how much work you’re putting in for these guys. I know that Wes asking for every character to look unique was a tall order when we got over a hundred of them.”

           Brian scratched his neck as he looked around at the seven other people at their desks or taking a break in the new, smaller version of the game corner, and replied meekly, “Yeah, but… people keep complaining about the side views of the characters, saying they ‘don’t look right,’ or that they have ‘goofy’ proportions.”

           “Okay, well, they could phrase it better, but I promise you, no one complains about your art. It’s constructive criticism, that’s all. Everyone knows you’re great and do things the rest of us can’t.” Jared patted Brian’s shoulder and returned the tablet. “They’re really close to being perfect. Try adjusting some pixels, find ways to ‘cheat’ a little if you have to. Even a masterpiece like Earthbound had a few NPCs that looked kind of weird when they’re facing left or right. And… Wes swears that there’s some new generation of indie games on the horizon that are going to use that graphical and storytelling style.”

           “It’s tough, Jared. It’s harder than it used to be. Every pixel has to be just right.”

           “We’re challenging you, I get it—but we’re pushing everyone.” He leaned in and whispered, “Fact is, it’s the rest of us that are taking forever; you could walk away today and we’d have enough great art to finish the game. If you’re stuck waiting anyway, might as well use the time to pursue perfection, right? Your work is what people will see in the trailers and screenshots, and it’s the glossy paint that covers the surface of our… mess.”

           “So, you’re saying… take my time and get it right.”

           “You’re lucky, dude; you’re so far ahead of everyone else, that you’re under much less pressure and are pretty much your own boss. Oh, and when you have a second, Wes wants some more definition on the trees. Blue House #3 could use a little touching up, too. One more thing—we’d both like to see some mock Super Nintendos in the kids’ rooms. Think you can come up with a nice, copyright-free sprite?”

           “Sure… No problem. Thanks, Jared. I… I feel a little better now.”

           “Hey, Jared?” one of the younger guys, a sound designer, said behind him. “The MIDI composer’s crashing again. I think it updated to that version that doesn’t work right with my machine. Could you show me how to get the legacy build of it again?”

           “Sure, Brent, no problem.” Jared checked his watch. “I just have to make a quick call first. In the meantime, could you help Walton with a sound effect? He told me earlier that the last quarter second of it gets cut off each time it plays in game.”

           Taking one more admiring glance at a team working together in relative peace for a change, Jared left the garage and headed into Wes and Sadie’s house to check on things before he had his call. Wes was toddler-watching for a few hours, while working from his laptop on the living room couch. Warren, slightly older cousin Jace, and their friend Laurie babbled nonsense, grabbed each other’s toys, and wandered around in a playpen set up in the living room as a CGI kids’ show played on the TV.

           “Everything good in there?” Wes asked, his eyes glued to his screen.

           “Has been all day,” Jared assured him. “Any idea when the girls will be back?”

           “Sadie texted that they’re on their way now. Once I’m done babysitting, I’ll come back and make that big announcement,” Wes said, as Jared’s eyes went back and forth between the very not-watched kids and the laptop reflecting in his buddy’s pupils. “You’re a good manager, J. The others like you. I just wish you weren’t being pulled away from code work so often. You’re gonna get rusty, and engine adjustments are coming.”

           “Oh, no worries, man. I retain everything.”

           “By the way, is my monitor still off down there? I’ve been remoted-in on my PC, and you know how I feel about people watching my desktop without me knowing.”

           “Yeah, of course. Anyway, I told my dad I’d call around now. Should be quick.”

           After Wes gave him a thumbs-up, Jared went upstairs into little Warren’s nursery for some privacy and rang his pop, who was still grateful about having his garage back.

           “Jared,” he said on the other end, and already sounded like the nervous, on edge version of himself his son grew up seeing frequently. “I’m glad you called, but I’ve been thinking, and, yeah, I’m just not ready yet to get back on stage. I mean, I don’t need to—we’re doing better money-wise these days, your mom and I. So why stress it?”

           Jared let out a disappointed sigh. “Dad, I miss seeing you happy after one of your routines. You should keep doing what you love, even if it’s scary. And doesn’t pay much.”

           “Easy for you to say, kid. I know you’re working hard on your game, but it’s not really ‘scary,’ is it? I went to a stand-up last night, to look for some inspiration and get in the mood, and I pictured myself getting up there and just… just bombing again.”

           “You need to change your perspective on things, that’s all. You’re too worried—too lost in doubts. Look, I was always too young to come to one of your shows back when you did them. And now I just want to see at least one before, you know… you’re too old to do it at all. Would it help if I worked on your material with you? I’m learning a lot about writing humor with the guys. The dialogue they come up with that me and Wes have to approve—it’s so good. We just gotta get you feeling confident again.”

           “Well… All right. We can try that, I guess. But you’ve been so busy lately.”

           “I know, it’s the wedding—we’re all crunching right now, before… whatever Wes and Sadie getting hitched might do to production. Got some big deadlines to meet.”

           “Which you set yourselves, didn’t you? I’m not complaining. I think what you’re doing together is great. Reminds me of when I was still on the circuit full-time, the long nights with my little team of writers in LA… Don’t worry about me. I can wait until you have a free couple of days. I still have mental preparation to do, anyway.”

           “Okay, Dad,” Jared wrapped it up as he heard the door open downstairs and multiple people coming in. “I better get going. We’ll talk more later. Take care…”

           Crap, Jared thought as he ended the call. Is that Conrad’s voice? He listened in until he heard a familiar laugh, and now dreaded going back downstairs. There goes the nice day.

           “The car… broke down?” Wes repeated as Jared descended the steps and gave the living room a peek to see that Sadie, her soon-to-be sister-in-law Lucy, and most unfortunately her jerk of a husband Conrad Baker, were now in the way on the path back to the sanctuary that was the game studio. “Where is it now?” Wes asked patiently as he tolerated Conrad’s presence. “Still at the mall, or towed already?”

           “Oh, they couldn’t tow it yet, bro,” Conrad said. “The parking lot’s too busy right now; guy said he’d arrive closer to, uh, closing.” He then knelt down to the playpen and tried to get a disinterested Jace to notice him. “Jacey! Psst… Jace, it’s papa.”

           “Today of all days…” Lucy muttered, she and Sadie still putting down bags full of clothes and decorations for the wedding. “Conrad could barely fit his truck into the driveway, Wes—can’t you get some more of the team to carpool or something?”

           “Um, no, Luce. They’re pretty maxed out already. Why does Conrad need a pickup that big, anyway? It’s not like he works in construction or something.”

           “Because I’m all about that beast, bro!” Conrad exclaimed, causing Lucy to let out a nervous, embarrassed laugh and Wes to visibly cringe. “Hey, are you guys still working on some video game or whatever? Is that, like, gonna be done this year? I keep hearing about how the world might end in December. I mean, if I were you, I’d just take it easy and hold off until we find out if it’s true. Because if it is, like… there goes all that effort.”

           “Cool, Conrad. Great,” Wes scoffed. “I’m sure that would be my first concern as I watch the world end. Sade, Sis—I’m heading back into the office to get some work done. And don’t follow me this time, Conrad; it’s strictly employees only now.”

           “Pfft. Sure, bro. I’ll just chill with my kid and nephew, whatever.”

           “Dinner’s at six, Wes!” Sadie called out as Jared, grateful that things didn’t get worse, tagged closely along. “And everyone needs to be heading home by then.”

           “Sure thing, honey,” Wes shouted back and led the co-founder back to their safe space. “Anything big happen while I was dealing with four little children, J?”

           “Four? … Oh. Ah, not really. I need to reinstall the MIDI program. Paul found a couple more logic breaks in side quest flow charts, and Andrew has some tonal concerns about the new script changes in chapter five. Nothing we can’t cover in a few hours.”

           “Good stuff. I think my little announcement should motivate them, too. It just got sent to me around noon, and man, it looks great. I couldn’t stop looping it.”

           “It? Uh, okay. Here I was hoping we’d be giving them another pay increase.”

           “We’ll see about that, buddy. Depends if you and me get raises first—then we can talk about twenty bucks a day for the others. I paid attention to your talks about how motivation is proportional to… whatever, I promise. But this will help with that, too.”

           They made it to the garage door at the end of the hallway and went inside to return to their busy bees. A few guys were goofing off or taking a break, but most kept at the work on their towers or laptops. After stopping briefly to smile at some printouts on the wall of his favorite concept or pixel art, Wes went over to the mounted flatscreen used for meetings near the garage’s tiny bathroom, got the remote, and turned it on.

           After whistling to get the team’s attention, Wes said as he plugged in his laptop, “Everyone, eyes front. Got the final version of a little something I’ve been working on.”

           Wes didn’t have a great track record for good, interesting, or well-planned announcements, so Jared was already swaying a little nervously with his arms crossed by the time the guy with the vision had loaded up a file called “RVfinal.mov.”

           On the TV, all 32 inches of it, a beautifully-animated, fluid, and colorful logo played over white. It featured a road in the foreground, moving backwards in a Mode 7 type of way to mimic 3D effects on some SNES games, as a pixelized version of Royal Valley’s skyline went by in a parallax-heavy fashion. After two seconds of empty road, a detailed recreational vehicle that looked like it was from the 90s came rolling up at the viewer, belching out exhaust fumes over engine sound effects. Notably, it had a giant crown adorning its roof. The building lights then turned off until just enough windows remained to spell out “RV” in big letters, and “Indie” in smaller ones underneath them by using several dozen lit squares—also a shout-out to the studio having a pixel-oriented focus. The vehicle’s tires kept spinning in a loop, giving time for a set fadeout.

           Of course, the reaction was strong, immediate, and full of adoration. The quality of the logo was shocking, after all, especially in comparison to the studio’s size. Brian, the 16-bit-lover that he was, clapped the hardest. Jared, however… was stone-faced.

           Reveling in the moment, Wes beamed and said, “Isn’t that just beautiful? I made sure it was future-proof, too; it’s fully hi-def and runs at sixty frames a second.” He then looked at Jared, seeking further affirmation. “J, what do you think? Isn’t that amazing?”

           “Um, yeah, man. Amazing. Just like you,” he said coolly, and all eyes turned to him.

           “Is there… something you don’t like about it? The studio that whipped this up for us will make minor adjustments for free—and I know how to shift colors myself.”

           “Wes. Not to be the buzzkill I’ve been called since second grade, but how—”

           “You want to know how much,” Wes spoke over him as the room became completely quiet otherwise. He huffed out, “Of course, that’s your first concern. I get it.”

           “Do I need to remind you that we have not settled on the name yet? We aren’t even sure we can call ourselves that. You really should’ve consulted me first.”

           “I just wanted this to be a surprise,” Wes said, now frowning as the logo kept looping at shoulder height by him. “Dude, don’t worry about it. I got a discount because we aren’t a brand name yet. It’ll save us money later, so it made financial sense.”

           “Is that what the animation studio told you?”

           “Yeah, man! I said we were a little startup, still getting our bearings, and they cut us a deal. Hey, I can negotiate, too. I… I really thought you’d like this.”

           “I do. That’s not the problem. What if we can’t use it? How much did this cost?”

           “Chill, Jared. You’re about to ruin my day. Look, it came out of my own pocket.”

           “Everything around here comes out of our own pockets, so that means nothing! We have no game yet, Wes! Why are we spending money on something Brian can make?”

           “Because this is beyond the scope of one guy, no matter how talented he is. The studio logo is the first thing you see when you turn a game on; it has to stick. Valve? Iconic. Rare, changing it up with every title? That extra effort. This baby will last us the next ten, maybe fifteen years, at least. And we can make the RV an easter egg in games, too.”

           “Last time I’m asking,” Jared said, rubbing a temple, “how much was it?”

           Wes let out a long sigh and finally replied, “Eight hundred. Again, a good deal.”

           “Eight! Hundred!” Jared burst—and some of the other guys also seemed to now be a little shocked as the reality of what things cost hit them. “Wes! We could’ve given everyone a pay increase lasting months with that kind of money! Maybe even gotten a few people to work an extra night or two! The game is still at least a year—”

           “It’s not a year out. I keep telling you that. We’re close enough now to start working on a trailer, J, and trailers need that memorable logo at the start or end.”

           “God’s sake, man, you have a serious problem with what’s realistic! You have ever since we were kids, and I usually get called a ‘jerk’ or a ‘downer’ for trying to bring you back to Earth. When have I been wrong, Wes? I will always look out for you, but I just wish that for once, you’d show me a little respect for what I put up with. It’s great that you’re a genuine dreamer, and you have a head full of ideas, but I… I need a break.”

           “J, could we not do this in front of everyone? Do we need to take it outside?”

           “No, man, I’m not wasting anymore more breath. I’m done. Don’t let me ruin the rest of everyone’s Saturday,” Jared groaned and stormed out, past worried faces.

           Wes somehow got the team back to work, and after giving Jared a minute alone, joined him out front on the porch. He had been trying to calm down by vaping again.

           “I, uh…” Jared coughed and looked at all the cars. “I guess I’m boxed in, so…”

           Back against the wall, Wes eventually asked, “Soo… Still coming to the wedding?”

           After a long puff, Jared assured him, “… Um, yeah. Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

           The wedding is not big, glamorous, or traditional, with Wes and Sadie deciding to make the whole affair a more low-key event. Held at the Venetian Italian restaurant in downtown Royal Valley, the event is more about the food, a selection of their favorite music, and a relaxed atmosphere that feels similar to the sleepovers the gang got so used to while growing up. As the betrothed chat some more with each other’s families near the live music stage serving as their “altar” for the evening, Jared is more comfortable hanging back and chilling with all the friends in town for the occasion.

           “Jared, my man,” Colin said as he came over to join the others, who were lightly drinking in one of the brick corners. After they touched fists, Colin got out the question bugging him the most, “Brian told me you quit the studio last week. That true?”

           “I guess? For about, like… five minutes,” Jared answered. “It was the third time I ‘quit.’ It’s no big thing. Just a way to blow off steam, if anything.”

           Ash, holding her sleeping baby Hazel, replied, “How can everyone not be at each other’s throats, working in a garage for little pay, for, what was it? Twelve hours a week?”

           “We believe in the project.” Jared took a sip. “If we get it right and go big, we’ll all get a cut. But, yeah, we need a bigger space. Wes is trying to get a loan for something. Thinks the intro gives us clout and’ll make the bank take us seriously.” He looked at the newlyweds. “If we make it that far. Last he said, I’ll be running the place for two weeks.”

           As Lucy rushed by them in an effort to wrangle Jace and Warren, who were now tired, irritable, and running around in their fancy little outfits, Celeste gave Jared some of the encouragement he needed, “You’re going to do fine, J. You can keep a cool head.”

           “Yeah, man!” Zach—who was wearing some kind of party suit he must’ve taken to many other functions—also backed him up and swung an arm around his shoulders. “Maybe you weren’t always like that, but these days, you’re mellow and dependable.”

           And it was Arthur, who had just started working in the government, that went the furthest with it as he took his handed-over niece to give his sis a break. “J, to be honest… from what I’ve seen, maybe you should be the one running the business.”

           Jared laughed. “O-oh, no, dude. I don’t know how to tell stories like Wes does.”

           “It’s a saga, making a game. Living in Japan makes me want to try,” Colin said.

           Millie sighed, “Well. Here’s to another wedding. Is there hope for the rest of us?”

           Zach stifled a chuckle. “J, Colin, Arty, me? Tch. I think we’re eternal bachelors.”

           The lights come on in a small office unit in the Torus Building, Royal Valley’s oldest commercial tower and now its third tallest. This is a workplace that, aside from its updated carpet, is aesthetically stuck in the 1960s. But it is a real office, and the air of “professional operation” it provides is both priceless… and quite expensive. It is now early summer, 2013. The demo is nearly three years old. Today is the final crunch.

           “All right, team, here is my ‘ultimatum,’” Wes began the morning with a pep talk meant to set the twelve other employees’ hearts ablaze, with Jared at his side. “It’s now Friday, and the end of the two weeks of PTO Jared and I saved up at the IT jobs we’d like to quit. Yes, we both have to return to that drab existence tomorrow to help with a server migration. Our Steam and Good Old Games storefront pages are nearly perfect, but we still have a few annoying bugs to stomp, and the final playtesting that will need to be done afterwards. No matter what, the game will launch at midnight; approval takes time, so we had to upload our files before Suburban Kingdom was truly ready. I know that it sucks. I didn’t want to do a day one patch if I could help it, but it is what it is.

           “People will forget all about it within a month of launch, though. What matters is what we do, and correct, today. The two of us won’t be available the next few days to help with any further hotfixes, and this is the risk of doing a weekend launch. Still, you should all be proud of yourselves. At the very least, it won’t be a disaster.

           “But back when we were growing up, you only got one real chance to put a game out since it couldn’t be fixed later, except through a rerelease. A ‘gold master’ stage used to mean something in that regard. I know that sticking to that philosophy through our development hell has made it tough at times, but that’s just what it’s always been; a mindset, the pursuit of perfection, getting it right the first time. I want us to explode out of the gate and leave a dent on not just the retro-style market, but gaming as a whole. It sounds hyperbolic, but if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing loud. Now, let’s get to work.”

           With that, the team gave Wes a smattering of applause and went to their desks. While some people had cubicles, most of the office space was wide open, to provide a sense of freedom and “inspire spontaneous collaboration,” as Wes often described it.

           “Good speech, Wes,” Jared said as they turned towards the only private office room in the place, which they both used. “How long did you practice that one?”

           “All night,” he huffed out tiredly. “Literally. I couldn’t sleep, I was so nervous.”

           “The game’s in good shape, bud. Most of the remaining bugs are in the later chapters, that the majority of players probably won’t even get to before Monday.”

           “We both know that, J—it’s not the quality I’m freaking out about. I can’t stop thinking about the responses. What if people don’t get it, and it bombs? What if they love it, and we really do take off? I want us to make enough money where we can do this full-time, and afford to keep paying the team past… Crap, how much money do we have left? A month’s worth, maybe? But could I handle that fame? The trailer renewed interest in the OG game, but it still barely helps pay for this place and real employees.”

           “Breathe, Wes. Even if sales are right down the middle, we’ll have some capital coming in. If there’s at least enough to let us hold on and make a second game, that’d still be a success, right? Now, what was first on our agenda again? Oh, right.” He turned away from their office and stuck his hand up. “Chase! Yo, Chase, we need you!”

           Mr. Monroe, who had one of the higher-end desks and machines on the “factory floor,” perked up, left his chair, and hustled over. He also liked being the best-dressed.

           “What’s up, guys?” he asked them. “Is there something else I should be doing other than finishing up my work on the patch? I think I’ll have a pretty open schedule.”

           “Chase, first of all…” Wes patted his shoulder, “you’re awesome, truly. I am so grateful that we won you back, and that you get to do what you do best, away from all the chaos of the garage days. Well, mostly. We have to be smart about any post-launch raises, but you and Brian are definitely first in line. I just want to get that out.”

           “Oh,” Chase smiled, “um, thanks, Wes. That’d be amazing.”

           “And now, the tough part,” Jared groaned and brought his hands up near his mouth in that almost-pleading way. “We know how big a last-minute change this is, but me and Wes talked about it last night, and realized just how good an idea this could be. Do you think, that by the end of today…” a deep breath, “you could move the player’s house to the west corner of the block it’s on? Where that road T-junction is at?”

           Chase blinked and replied, “Can I just move the existing house’s door warp—”

           “No, we want the entire house exterior to swap with the one that’s there now,” Wes emphasized. “The player’s home is perfect. Brian must’ve spent thirty hours alone on it, getting it just right. We want it moved there, since it fits the theme of player freedom in the game; instead of two paths you can explore at the start, there will be… well, three.”

           “Right, right… I get it, 50% more freedom…” Chase thought. “Okay. It’s done.”

           Wes breathed out in relief. “Thanks, Chase, seriously. I was thinking of how the first Zelda game gave you three directions to go in at the start, with no indication on which one was ‘right,’ and I… Well, you know how my brain works by now.”

           “It’s no problem, Wes. I’ll have it done in an hour. Two, tops.”

           “He’s good, Wes,” Jared said on the way to their shared office. “See, I told you it’d be worth trying to rehire him. Maybe we should give Pete a second chance next.”

           “Don’t push it, J,” Wes muttered lightheartedly and closed the door behind him.

           They sat at their desks, and while Jared was eager to get to work on a few fixes and opened up some files on the server, Wes was too antsy to concentrate. After just a few seconds on his chair, he got back up, gazed at his beloved Super Nintendo encased on the wall, and then turned his attention to Victory Plaza, looming large in the office’s window and taunting him from a few blocks away. That building was the real dream.

           “We’ll be working from there within five years,” Wes proclaimed. “You’ll see.”

           “Sure, Wes. After we upgrade to Dawn Tower first, right?” Jared amused him.

           “Nah, screw Dawn Tower. We sell two hits, then straight to the plaza.”

           “Just because you say it, doesn’t make it so…” But Jared had learned that it was best to find a middle ground between his reality checks and Wes’ dreams, and added, “It is good to have a goal, though. I hate those interview trap ‘where do you see yourself in five years?’ questions, but I’m starting to get why employers ask them.”

           “I’ve been thinking about the garages again,” Wes said, hands now in his pockets as he stared into the distance outside. “Why do they already feel like the ‘good old days?’ They were messy, full of yelling and untempered egos. And it was surprisingly hard to get just five or ten people together in the same place for an evening or on the weekend.”

           “That changes when you can start paying them hourly. You’re just nostalgic like usual. The unchangeable past feels different—it’s like rewatching movies and knowing how they end. One day, you’ll want to come back to the Torus Building, too.”

           “Yeah, maybe…” Wes murmured. “But the garage era will always feel special. Ten bucks a day, pizza or fast food included, heh…” He smiled wistfully and turned back to Jared. “I wonder how it was for Vanni and her band. All that passion in one place that your parents pay for, with money concerns light or nonexistent. But it can’t last.”

           “Hey, if you outgrow it, that means you’re doing something right,” Jared noted. “By the way, Wes, this day one patch? It changes a lot. We’re gonna see YouTube videos in a few years about the hard-to-get first version. Might give the game more… mystique.”

           Wes smirked. “I didn’t plan it that way, but, yeah, you could be right.”

           There was a knock at the door, and Andrea came in holding a binder without waiting for an invite. The first and still only team member without a Y chromosome, she was a little forward, a little tall, and had brought a whole lot of value to the studio.

           “Wes, Jared—got the final versions of all the marketing materials for approval,” she said, opening the binder up on Wes’ desk for him to peruse. “I’m still putting the last touches on the launch trailer; it should be ready by lunch. Oh, did you have a chance to write up an updated storefront summary? We should get that refreshed ASAP.”

           “Um, yeah,” Wes said, his hand searching for a piece of paper as his eyes stayed glued on the promotional stuff Andrea had polished. “I wrote it last night in my home office, while listening to my favorite game soundtracks. Felt like some kind of hallowed moment. Like, everything from the first time we booted up RPG Maker led to it. Got a little emotional, to be honest. Here—it says what I want, but I know you’ll ‘betterfy’ it.”

           Andrea took the printout, and like she always did, read it out loud so everyone in the room could pass judgment. “All right… In Suburban Kingdom, a top-down RPG set in the 1990s, you play as a kid of your own making in typical suburbia. Explore your home and the playground of childhood, as you make new friends and try to solve generational mysteries. Find out which urban legends are real, and which are pure schoolyard myths. Each turn-based battle is a unique challenge, and everything from bullies, to homework, chores, arguments, and annoying inanimate objects can be conquered. As your dreamy-eyed hero slips deeper into their imagination, they begin to see their little world through a magical lens, and your neighborhood gradually blends together with a fantastical realm. Is it all in their head, or another layer of reality that lies just beyond a veil only the young can peer through? Like every other choice in the game, that’s for you to decide.”

           “Well?” Wes asked, his hands clasped nervously. “Is that something you’d play?”

           “It’s… it’s really good, Wes,” Andrea told him. “I’ll tweak it and make it great.”

           “Thank you, Andrea. And I’ll shower you with more gratitude for your coding prowess, too. It couldn’t have been easy fixing up the tangled cords we call a game.”

           She gave him one of her rare, earned smiles. “I love the challenge. As storage formats get bigger, I feel that optimization will become a lost art. So… glad to help.”

           “You cut the game’s file size in half. Heck, I didn’t even think a 2D game could start chugging on modern hardware. Anyway, sorry—I know praise makes you feel a little uncomfortable. I’m like that, too. I’m just in the mood to hand it out today.”

           “Don’t worry about it, Wes. I’ll, um… get back to work. And good luck tonight, guys. I’m sure the launch will go great. But try to concentrate on the migration, too.”

           After Andrea left, Jared muttered, “Yeah, that’ll be about impossible.” He then let out a chuckle. “Hey, Wes, remember when we hired her, and everyone went a bit slack-jawed when she walked in for the first time? I get that it’d been a boys’ club until then, but, like, guys… you’ve seen girls before, haven’t you? Ah… what was that semi-creepy term of endearment you used to call her? Like… our bow and wrapping paper?”

           Wes grumbled in shame. “She joined up around Christmas time, J… She was the studio’s present last year, though. She knows both marketing and code optimization, and somehow a bunch of losers like us snagged her. I thought she’d quit within a week. Hey. Jared?” Wes closed the promo binder. “Speaking of Christmas, can I ask you a strange question that I’ve been holding off on for a while now? This whole time, my vision with the game—it’s been about trying to recapture a feeling, right? You know when you were a kid, and you got a new game for a present? One of the good ones, that became a classic. You take it out of the box, put it in the console, start playing, and it’s… magical. Before you figure out what the gameplay loop is gonna be, or have any idea how long it’ll last, you get those brief first few hours where it feels like anything is possible. Did we…”

           “Capture all that?” Jared closed a file and took his eyes off his screen to see Wes staring back at him in contemplation. “Honestly, I don’t think we can have that feeling again, no matter how hard we look for it. We’re not kids anymore, and it seems like the people that are kids are growing up in a different world than we did. More… cynical in some ways, but also more connected, with a lot more to play. Still, we got really close.”

           “Yeah… The ideal always feels just out of reach.” Wes gazed out at nothing for a few moments more, then seemed to get a jolt of energy. “I don’t want to stay in here all day, bud. We should be out there, with our staff. Give me someone we can ‘bother.’”

           “Er, hm… I think Brian’s working on something special.”

           The two left the office after accomplishing next to nothing, walked across their beige and brown workplace, and went over to Brian’s desk, at his new 2012 iMac and using its webcam to have a video call and collaborate with another old school chum.

           “Yeah, it’s looking great…” Brian said before he noticed Wes and Jared sneaking up on him. “I think that just leaves the last part of the credits. Should we do it the same way, or…” He saw the guys behind him on the camera window, and turned around. “Oh, hey! Um, this was going to sort of be a surprise we don’t have to use, but…”

           “Brian, my man, don’t discount another awesome idea,” Carson said from his little apartment in San Diego, which was full of instruments, including his guitar and the keyboard and mixer he’d been using to compose the game’s soundtrack remotely. “Hey, Wes and J, what’s up? Big night, huh? Me, Gerald, and the rest of the Desert Porters are down here wishin’ you luck. Heeey, if you wanna, like, release an official OST… let me know, and we’ll get on that. Can’t cram all 60 tracks on there, but I’d help you curate.”

           Jared leaned in and asked closer to the camera, “What’s up, Carson? The staff’s been rocking out to the game’s jazzy tunes. And they thought it wouldn’t work at first.”

           “We always aim to please, J! Brian, just go ahead and tell ’em what we’re doing.”

           “Oh, all right…” Brian swiveled in his chair and revealed, “You know how we got all the characters coming out at the end credits? I thought it’d be cool to sync their walk and idle animations more with the music tempo. So, Carson’s helping me get the timing down. It’s been a little trickier than I expected, but we almost have it perfect.”

           Wes grinned. “That is a good idea. You don’t have to be shy about them, bud.”

           As Brian blushed and rubbed his neck, he replied, “Yeah, I know… Hey, guys, while we’re talking about the credits and ideas, I was thinking… I mean, I wouldn’t want players to think he died or something, but what if we add a little dedication to Jason?”

           “Jason Connor?” Carson asked, as Wes and Jared immediately began to consider the idea. “You know, if not for his advice back in fifth grade… My band might not exist. Heck, Brian might’ve taken up sports, like his brother. We all sort of… owe him.”

           “We’ll definitely talk it over,” Wes said. “Man, I miss that kid. Hey, guys—any suggestions on a place to take the team tonight, to celebrate and destress? I wouldn’t normally pick a bar, but going out somewhere to party has never really been my thing.”

           As the other three thought, Jared murmured, “… I have an idea that may work.”

           Not every last member of the studio was able to make it to the comedy club that was close to the Torus Building later that night, but as the clock neared twelve, Jared, Wes, Brian, Chase, five others, and even Andrea, were anywhere between their first to fourth drinks by the time Jared’s dad took the stage. The audience had thinned out a little by the last act of the night, but Jared made up for it with loud cheers for his pop from the back of the room, where most of the team was seated at a narrow, long table.

           “Hey, everyone,” he started a tad nervously after grabbing the mike. “Comedy is apparently my ‘passion,’ or so my kid says. I once thought I was good enough to do it full-time, which in about a half-hour, probably none of you will believe. But he’s always encouraging me with crap like, ‘oh, it doesn’t matter if you’re not the best, Dad—if you like it, keep doing it.’ Fine, I finally relent. I’ll give it a shot again. But where would I draw material from? I’ve worked the most boring office job for… hold on, my boss isn’t out there, right?” he said to some chuckles as he pretended to survey a crowd he couldn’t see. “He tells me, ‘you can always find something funny about what you know.’ Guess we’re about to find out if he’s right,” he said, and did his trademark cheek-puffing.

           “Okay, a few days ago, I’m taking it easy at my desk. It’s been a long week, and I figure I’ll slow down a little. Suddenly he walks over, and I figure he’s seen me going at third gear. Comes up with that ‘what do you think you’re doing?’ look and asks me one of those old trap questions, ‘so, Mr. Reiner, do you like work?’ Shit, I think. I’m a few seconds from getting chewed out, so I figure, hell, maybe I can make him laugh at least. I reply, ‘sure, I love work. I could sit around and watch it all day.’” He paused for some chortles. “All right, anyone who just laughed has clearly never heard that classic. Neither had he, apparently. I don’t think he even thought it was a joke, because he just gives me this proud smile of all things, pats me on the back, and says, ‘see, I knew you were middle management material.’ Yeah,” he soaked in some modest laughter, with a good portion of it coming from his son’s table, “maybe I’m on my way to CEO next.”

           Before he got started on the following setup, Wes took yet another glance at his phone. Upon seeing that it was midnight, Jared watched as he checked the Steam page for the game. Just as scheduled, it really had gone live. The two friends traded smiles in the dark with quiet reverence, then Wes pocketed the phone and they got back to watching the show with their fellow creators. For a moment, they lived in one.

           It's Saturday. During Wes’ and Jared’s lunch break, they’ve managed to sneak in one more little celebration at Cosmo’s, the New York-style pizza place close to where they work their still-needed-for-now main jobs. The only other person with them is Brian, bringing the original trio together. He and Jared are content, but Wes is fidgety.

           “So…” Brian said after taking a bite of his big slice. “Back to where it all began. A Saturday in May, I think it was. Senior year at University. You guys treat me to pizza and ask if I want to help you make a game after we graduate. And… now look at us.”

           “Yep,” Jared sighed, “sneaking in a bite while data transfers at a nearby office. I swear, this is the last time I’m doing a migration. Wes! Calm down and eat, man,” he said from his side of the booth. “The game’s selling. We know that. You don’t need to keep checking your phone every thirty seconds. Weee, numbers go up, how exciting,” he teased.

           Bordering on a freakout, Wes put his phone face down on the table and ruffled his hair. “This is nuts, guys. I haven’t had time yet to find what big name must’ve posted an article or uploaded a video or what, but it has to be going viral, with numbers like this. And all the thumbs-ups on Steam… i-is this real? I feel like… I dunno, how I might’ve if I actually did get into the Toy Run. All the long nights, the fights, the freakin’ pile of pizza boxes…” He tore into his slice. “It all ended up meaning something. Is this success? Is this what being noticed feels like? Maybe Zach got used to it as a kid, but wow, it’s a rush.”

           “All right, Wes, deep breaths. Don’t jump right into talking about upsizing and ‘new digs’ just yet. Let’s maybe give that a week and see if the sales keep up, yeah?”

           “No promises.” Wes laughed breathlessly. “Oh, man… Feels like I’m dreaming.”

           After taking a sip of soda, Brian got up and announced, “Going to the bathroom; been kind of jittery all day. Don’t leave without me—still got a few things to talk about.”

           Once Brian had walked off across the checkerboard floor, Wes nervously tapped on the table. Jared assumed he was approaching a nervous breakdown about the release, until he leaned in and revealed some other big news, “So… Uh… Sadie’s pregnant again.”

           Jared stopped mid-bite and stared. “Wow. Warren’s getting a sibling…? Beats my big update, that I’m trying online dating. Shame it didn’t happen earlier, though.”

           “Why’s that?”

           Smiling, Jared turned to the window, looked at the people on the street living out their own busy lives, and replied, “We could’ve added a production baby to the credits.”