Alex laughed when the idea first formed, but now, with each step toward home, after hopping on the bus back to home, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that it might work. Not the way the System wanted, of course—he had no intention of creating a masterpiece. If anything, this game would be a disaster so spectacular it might derail the entire Tycoon Project.
He opened the door quietly, the house dim except for the soft glow of the television in the living room. Grandpa Joe had fallen asleep in his recliner, a blanket draped haphazardly over his lap. Alex smiled faintly.
As he climbed the stairs to his room, he felt the weight of the day pressing down. The familiar creak of the wooden steps under his feet, the faint smell of old varnish—it was all so... normal. Too normal for someone who had just been handed the keys to rewrite their life.
Inside his room, Alex kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The System hadn’t chirped in since he left the building, but he knew it was there, watching, waiting.
“Tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes. “Tomorrow, we start this madness.”
Not tonight.
He drifted off to sleep.
The Morning After
The knock on the door came too early, rapping like a swarm of bees on his skull.
"Alex!" Brian’s voice rang out, too cheery for the hour. "Wake up, man, we’ve got work to do!"
Alex groaned, peeling himself from the bed, the sheets clinging to his body like a second skin. It had barely been 7 hours since he’d laid down for sleep, but the adrenaline was already coursing through him, at the insistent banging on his bedroom door. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his brain.
He had somehow taken his pants and shirt off in his sleep leaving him only in his underwear. He quickly looked around his floor for something, yanking on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He opened the door to find Brian standing there, his wild hair practically bouncing with excitement. He looked like a kid who had just won the lottery and was about to spend every penny on candy.
“You still look half asleep, dude,” Brian observed, eyes twinkling with that infectious enthusiasm.
Alex ran a hand through his hair, still trying to wake up. “Yeah, well, I don’t exactly have a team of baristas making me macchiatos first thing in the morning, Brian.”
Brian let out a laugh so loud it echoed down the hall, causing Alex to wince. I hope that didn’t wake anyone up. “I was up all night, thinking about our empire, man! Think about it! We’ve got it all: edible socks, subscription-based air fresheners... we’re gonna be billionaires!”
“Uh huh,” Alex said, rubbing his temple. “Look, Brian, I’ve got a cheaper idea. Forget the socks for a second. Hear me out.”
Brian’s face lit up. “Oh man, you got something? Hit me with it!”
“We are making a game,” Alex said, his voice low but confident.
Brian blinked, obviously not expecting that. “A... game? Dude, we’ve got like, zero game development experience. You know that, right?”
Alex grinned. “I know. But that’s kind of the point. I’m gonna make it a disaster. A rage-inducing, impossible game that people will love to hate.”
Brian’s eyes widened in shock. “What?! A rage game? Like, how? I mean, I’m down for some chaos, but this is... different.”
Alex nodded, faux solemnly agreeing.
The plan had formed on the walk home last night ready to convince Brian.
Before Alex could start his sales pitch The closest door swung open to Alex’s room.
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Dylan walked out clearly peeved that a stranger was in his home and making a racket. Looking to murder the source of the sound. Persona 3 music plays from his room, Alex's vision goes into a cut screen of Dylan.
Dylan Hartman (16): The Sharp-Tongued Spectator
The screen glitches, flickering between static and streaks of neon green. A figure emerges: Dylan Hartman, slouched in a well-worn chair, a smirk playing on his lips. A gaming controller dangles from his hand, glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Always in the player seat, never in the game."
The background sharpens—pixelated skyscrapers and a grid of binary code swirl behind him, the numbers tumbling like falling rain. Dylan leans forward, fingers dancing over imaginary keys. The sound of a sarcastic chuckle echoes as if daring anyone to challenge his sharp wit or quicker comebacks.
A voice echoes through the void:
“Player 2? Not my style. I’ve always been the one calling the shots.”
With a flick of his wrist, the scene glitches again, fading into static.
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Alex shook his head as reality snapped back in an instant. Not even a second had passed.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” Dylan asked, his tone as casual as if he were asking about the weather.
Brian blinked, clearly struggling to process the situation. Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh.
“Language, Dylan,” Alex said, mustering as much authority as he could. “This is Brian Thompson, my unexpected guest and new business associate. We’re sorry for waking you. Go back to… whatever it is you do in your room.”
He waved a hand dismissively, trying to shoo his brother away.
Dylan recoiled, his face scrunching as if Alex had just sucker-punched him. “Who the fuck are you?” he snapped, glaring at Alex and completely ignoring Brian.
Oh no, Alex thought, panic prickling at his spine. I just talked to him like an adult. Damn it, it’s way too early in the morning for this.
Dylan’s expression hardened, a mix of confusion and anger written all over his face.
Alex quickly rolled his eyes and shifted gears, making his voice as snarky as possible. “God, I try to act all mature for once, and you go and throw a tantrum. Just get back to your sweat cave, play your games, and jack off your teammates.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Dylan fired back without missing a beat. “I’m not playing COD, you ugly cow!” He stormed off, slamming his door with enough force to rattle the walls.
Alex stood there for a moment, pretending to be furious. In truth, his heart was pounding. That was way too close. It was still morning, but he doubted anything else today would top almost blowing his cover.
In the silence that followed, Brian muttered, “Man, I hope my little brother doesn’t end up like that.”
Alex sighed, brushing past Brian as he made his way downstairs, signaling for him to follow. Without much thought, he replied, a faint sense of obligation to defend Dylan’s honor creeping in. “He’ll grow out of it. Puberty’s kicking him like a mule right now, so yeah, he’s going to be a dick for another couple of years. But that’s normal.”
Brian chuckled softly but didn’t press further.
As they descended the creaky staircase, Alex’s thoughts wandered to Dylan—not the cocky, hormonal teen he was now, but the man he would eventually become. Dylan had always been obsessed with video games, to the point where they were more than just a hobby—they were his dream. He’d once talked about going pro, imagining himself on big stages, competing in tournaments, and maybe even getting famous.
It didn’t pan out.
Sure, Dylan had talent, but success in gaming required connections, sponsorships, and a lot of luck. Dylan hadn’t been lucky. After college, the dream faded, and he settled into a more conventional path, earning a degree in computer science. Alex knew he’d gone on to work in IT for some big company, but beyond that, Dylan’s future was a blur.
One thing was clear, though: Dylan’s achievements were more impressive than Alex’s had been. Then again, Alex mused bitterly, that wasn’t exactly a high bar.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, Alex glanced toward the living room as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Grandpa Joe’s old recliner sat near the corner, a relic of the past that never quite matched the rest of the furniture. Alex half-expected to see the old man slouched there, snoring with his mouth wide open, but the chair was empty. A flicker of relief crossed his face. At least Grandpa had managed to get himself to bed for once.
The kitchen was bathed in the pale glow of the morning sun streaming through the window. Alex pulled out a chair at the small, scratched-up dining table and gestured for Brian to sit. “Take a seat,” he said.
Brian obeyed, slumping into the chair with a tired groan. His eyes wandered around the kitchen, taking in its outdated appliances and mismatched cabinets. It was far from luxurious, but it had a kind of homely charm that Alex had always taken for granted.
“You want something to drink?” Alex asked as he headed toward the counter.
“Coffee,” Brian replied without hesitation.
“Figures,” Alex muttered with a smirk. He grabbed two chipped mugs from the cabinet, their mismatched patterns a testament to years of hand-me-downs and thrift store finds. He set them down on the counter and started brewing a pot.
As the rich aroma of coffee filled the air, Alex leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the machine drip. The quiet hum of the kitchen filled the space until Alex finally broke it.
“We’ve only got a thousand bucks to work with…” he said, his voice low but steady.
Brian, who seemed to have drifted into his own thoughts, snapped back to attention. His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces for.
“That’s why I think a game is the best idea,” Alex continued, his tone firmer now. “And it needs to stand out. Paying some wannabe game developer who’s hungry enough to prove themselves? That’s our best shot.”
Brian let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping nervously on the table’s edge. His expression shifted to something heavier, more somber. “I don’t know, Alex. I’m just… hesitant. This is our one shot. If we mess this up, there’s no do-over. It’s everything or nothing.”
Alex blinked, surprised by the sudden seriousness in Brian’s voice. It was a rare thing to see him like this—usually, he was cracking jokes or skating by with casual indifference. For a moment, Alex felt the weight of Brian’s words pressing on his own shoulders.
Matching his friend’s tone, Alex nodded slowly. “You’re not wrong. It’s a gamble. But, Brian…” He paused, his lips curling into a sly grin. “I’m a gambling man. And when I gamble, I cheat. I stack the deck in my favor.”
Brian raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. “Cheating, huh? That’s your big plan?”
“Damn right,” Alex said, his grin widening. “We need to make a mark. Something no one will forget. Something so wild, so bold, people won’t just notice—it’ll smack them in the face.”
With that, Alex turned back to the coffee maker, grabbed the full pot, and poured two steaming mugs. The rich, dark liquid swirled as he slid one across the table to Brian. Then, mug in hand, he pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him.
Brian stared at the coffee for a moment, his fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. “You make it sound easy,” he said, his voice quieter now.
“It’s not,” Alex admitted, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “But nothing worth doing ever is.”
For a moment, the two sat in silence, the weight of their situation hanging between them like an unspoken challenge. But as Alex leaned forward, the faint gleam of determination in his eyes.
He could create something that was so infuriating no one would want to play it. Brian doesn’t need to look at it like that though.
“Think, People loved things that made them mad, especially if they couldn’t put the controller down.”
Brian grinned; knowing exactly what Alex was talking about Brian grabbed the mug and chugged the whole thing in one go, completely on board. “I love it! Alright, alright, we’ve got a game plan. So what’s the game?”
Alex paced the room, his mind churning through the details. “Picture this: you’re a skier. You start at the top of a snowy mountain, and the goal is simple—get to the bottom. But the catch is, the controls suck. The skier’s all over the place. Obstacles appear out of nowhere. And every time you crash, the game insults you.”
Brian’s jaw dropped. “You’re gonna make the game insult people?”
“Yup,” Alex replied, sitting down at his desk and opening his laptop. “The more you mess up, the more it taunts you. Like, ‘Nice job, genius. Maybe try using your eyes next time,’ or ‘Who taught you to ski? Your grandma?’”
Brian slapped his leg, laughing so hard he almost knocked over a chair. “I love it! People will either throw their controllers at the screen or cry with laughter!”
“Exactly,” Alex said, grinning. “It’s gonna be an absolute disaster that people can’t miss. Just what we need to kick this thing off.”
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It didn’t take long for Alex to find a freelance developer, someone just desperate enough to take the job for a measly $700. They agreed to deliver a basic version of the game within the next two weeks.
The process was a whirlwind of activity. Brian and Alex scoured free asset libraries, finding pixelated skier sprites, basic snowy mountain textures, and tree images that looked like they’d been taken straight from a low-budget 90s game. They weren’t worried about quality—they were focused on the chaos.
To save money Brian took over the voiceover work, recording a slew of taunts and insults with a mic that picked up his every word. He shouted at the mic, leaning into the role of a sarcastic commentator who mocked the player’s every mistake. “Oh, you missed the jump? Nice job, genius. You’re about as graceful as a drunk giraffe. You dropped your pocket!”
Alex couldn’t help but laugh. “You sound like a madman, but it’s perfect.”
Brian shot him a grin. “Thanks, I try. But listen, I’ve got a few lines of my own. Like, ‘Wow, I haven’t seen someone fail this badly since my uncle tried to fix his own car.’”
“That’s gold,” Alex said, his fingers typing out the game’s description for the marketplace. They agreed to name it Slalom Struggle—a nod to how ridiculous the whole thing was.
As two weeks passed, the game slowly took shape. Alex and Brian constantly thinking of new things to add or take away. The controls were janky, the obstacles almost impossible to avoid, and the insults came faster and sharper. When the first test version was ready, Alex opened it on his laptop and watched as Brian gave it a try.
“Here we go,” Brian muttered, his hands shaking slightly. “This is it. Our ticket to greatness.”
The game began. The skier took off, speeding down the mountain at breakneck speed. Alex watched, barely containing his laughter as Brian struggled to control the character, crashing into trees and rocks with a sound that was almost comical.
“Whoa! Okay! I’m... I’m not ready for this!” Brian yelled, slamming into a rock and hearing the voiceover bark, “Nice try, buddy. Maybe try skiing with your eyes open next time.”
Brian grinned and nearly spat out his coffee. “This is perfect!”
With the game completed, Alex and Brian uploaded it to a basic indie game platform. They had no illusions—it wasn’t going to win any awards. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to make something people couldn’t ignore, even if they hated it.
Alex leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen. “Alright, that’s it. The first step in our ‘empire.’”
Brian raised his cup of coffee in a mock toast. “To success!”
Alex laughed, his mind already thinking about the next move. Slalom Struggle might be a mess, but it was theirs. And in this strange new reality, it was all part of the plan.
For now, though, it felt good to have something finished, ready for publishing.