other drivel?”
“Now, Jake, calm do wn. It’s not like I’m asking for your first born.”
“You might as well be! For Christ’s sake, Gil! Pluto’s Playground is basically a nonviolent game. How can we add fighting scenes? It’ll destroy the entire concept.”
“You’re wrong, there. We have the elements in place, we just need to expand. For example, on level six, when the player does battle with giant worms. We give him more ammo, maybe some nuclear weapons to blow the sucker up.”
“Gil –”
“No, hear me out. Basically, the game is perfect but we need to make a few adjustments. An alien fight scene on level-four. And, we need something sensational on level-one, to hook the little bastards right from the beginning. Nothing too gory, mind you, maybe a planet explosion, a few bodies drifting by.”
“Have you lost your bloody mind?”
“Now, Jake, I knew you’d be upset by this, but be reasonable and think about it. It makes good business sense –”
“I won’t do it.”
Gil coughed. “Well, actually, you won’t have to. The changes have already been made and you can see it in the arcade. The test group is trying it out.”
Jake kept his mouth shut. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He glared at Gil, wiped the sweat from his head with an angry swipe of the towel, and stalked off the court.
He showered quickly and threw his clothes on, then returned to Marvelworks head office. At street level, a small video arcade attracted kids anxious to play the new games for free. This arcade was another brainchild of Gil’s and it served a dual purpose: valuable feedback and free advertising. The kids gave the corporation their reaction to new products, and if they liked them, they told their friends. Although the arcade was open to everyone, a core group of kids evolved, neatly representing the buyer’s profile, mainly boys aged ten to sixteen. They lined up in front of the machines, lanky bodies in baggy clothing, baseball caps covering unwashed hair and cheeks wadded full of chewing gum: theirs was an unofficial uniform.
Marvelworks knew something else about this control group: although they were highly intelligent, they remained social outcasts among their own peers. They were nerds. Geeks. Through their enjoyment and success at video games, they found acceptance among kindred spirits. At Marvelworks, and at other video outlets across the country, these pre-teens and pre-adults found a niche where they were encouraged to do what they did best.
As Jake stormed in, his features set tightly, no one paid attention. He recognized most of the kids, knew a few by name. “Hey, Rat, let me see Pluto’s Playground.”
“S’awesome, Dude. Dynamite game.” Rat talked while keeping his eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying. Jake watched a mutilated body fly towards the screen, the lifeless face frozen in agony. A quick glance around the room confirmed what he suspected. Pluto’s Playground bore little resemblance to the game he developed.
“Ah, Jake, There you are! I figured you’d come here. Have you calmed down yet?”
“I’m calm, Gil. Very calm.”
“Listen, I know it wasn’t fair to spring this on you, and make the changes without telling you, but the decision was made on the weekend you refused to work. You remember? The weekend you went away with your kids instead of being here.”
Jake remained motionless, his features set.
Gil cleared his throat before continuing. “At first, someone suggested we make alternate arrangements in case we couldn’t locate the programming error, and for a while there, it seemed we’d never find it. These changes were made as a contingency plan, but the contingency turned out better than the original.”
Jake watched more bloodshed on the screen and turned away in disgust. “You waited three weeks to let me know? Why not tell me immediately?”
“Thought it’d be better to show you the finished product.”
“To coin a phrase from my kids,
“Now, Jake, calm do wn. It’s not like I’m asking for your first born.”
“You might as well be! For Christ’s sake, Gil! Pluto’s Playground is basically a nonviolent game. How can we add fighting scenes? It’ll destroy the entire concept.”
“You’re wrong, there. We have the elements in place, we just need to expand. For example, on level six, when the player does battle with giant worms. We give him more ammo, maybe some nuclear weapons to blow the sucker up.”
“Gil –”
“No, hear me out. Basically, the game is perfect but we need to make a few adjustments. An alien fight scene on level-four. And, we need something sensational on level-one, to hook the little bastards right from the beginning. Nothing too gory, mind you, maybe a planet explosion, a few bodies drifting by.”
“Have you lost your bloody mind?”
“Now, Jake, I knew you’d be upset by this, but be reasonable and think about it. It makes good business sense –”
“I won’t do it.”
Gil coughed. “Well, actually, you won’t have to. The changes have already been made and you can see it in the arcade. The test group is trying it out.”
Jake kept his mouth shut. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He glared at Gil, wiped the sweat from his head with an angry swipe of the towel, and stalked off the court.
He showered quickly and threw his clothes on, then returned to Marvelworks head office. At street level, a small video arcade attracted kids anxious to play the new games for free. This arcade was another brainchild of Gil’s and it served a dual purpose: valuable feedback and free advertising. The kids gave the corporation their reaction to new products, and if they liked them, they told their friends. Although the arcade was open to everyone, a core group of kids evolved, neatly representing the buyer’s profile, mainly boys aged ten to sixteen. They lined up in front of the machines, lanky bodies in baggy clothing, baseball caps covering unwashed hair and cheeks wadded full of chewing gum: theirs was an unofficial uniform.
Marvelworks knew something else about this control group: although they were highly intelligent, they remained social outcasts among their own peers. They were nerds. Geeks. Through their enjoyment and success at video games, they found acceptance among kindred spirits. At Marvelworks, and at other video outlets across the country, these pre-teens and pre-adults found a niche where they were encouraged to do what they did best.
As Jake stormed in, his features set tightly, no one paid attention. He recognized most of the kids, knew a few by name. “Hey, Rat, let me see Pluto’s Playground.”
“S’awesome, Dude. Dynamite game.” Rat talked while keeping his eyes glued to the screen, fingers flying. Jake watched a mutilated body fly towards the screen, the lifeless face frozen in agony. A quick glance around the room confirmed what he suspected. Pluto’s Playground bore little resemblance to the game he developed.
“Ah, Jake, There you are! I figured you’d come here. Have you calmed down yet?”
“I’m calm, Gil. Very calm.”
“Listen, I know it wasn’t fair to spring this on you, and make the changes without telling you, but the decision was made on the weekend you refused to work. You remember? The weekend you went away with your kids instead of being here.”
Jake remained motionless, his features set.
Gil cleared his throat before continuing. “At first, someone suggested we make alternate arrangements in case we couldn’t locate the programming error, and for a while there, it seemed we’d never find it. These changes were made as a contingency plan, but the contingency turned out better than the original.”
Jake watched more bloodshed on the screen and turned away in disgust. “You waited three weeks to let me know? Why not tell me immediately?”
“Thought it’d be better to show you the finished product.”
“To coin a phrase from my kids,
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