As far as my dream of opening my own studio was concerned, I needed a bit more experience in the backend before I’d feel comfortable taking the leap. Freespire was the perfect place to start. The company's biggest hit was a competitive survival horror game called Kill Floor, where you played either a killer ora survivor trying to escape dozens of spooky scenarios with your life.
The very game that I’d made my career with.
They’d invited me to come down to their office to playtest some new maps and characters they planned to release for the next season. Super top secret, the kind of thing that required an NDA before they’d even confirm why they wanted me to come in—I was fuckingbuzzing.
It was pretty hard to break into the horror genre as a woman, much less get taken seriously. And I was far from the typical horror fan with my bubblegum pink hair and wardrobe to match. Plus, to make matters worse, at least in the eyes of the over-puritanical general populace, I also streamed on SLCK’d.
I wasn't anywhere close to as racy as Tara, but being a sex worker didn't exactly open up a lot of doors when it came to opportunities involving marketing dollars.
Fucking stupid if you asked me, what was going to sell cologne better than your fake internet girlfriend telling you that she loved it?
But finally,finally! Someone had taken a chance on me. And not only that, they were looking for my feedback and input? I wasn't going to let anything, especially not Dorothy, stop me from making a good impression.
My viewership numbers were stronger than ever. I was winning matches like I was trying out for the pro circuit. And, this morning, my hair decided all on its own to look absolutely perfect, the little braids decorating my waist-length pigtails adding just the right amount of texture to an otherwise simple hairstyle.
I. Was. Killing. It.
And it was only going to get better.
It took a bit longer than I would've liked to get to the studio—the gridlock traffic of the midmorning was a bit of a surprise. It’dbeen a long time since I’d had what most would consider to be a ‘typical job’, but like, didn't most places need you in the office by eight or nine? It was wild that at nine-thirty there were still so many commuters on the road. Luckily, the building had its own parking, so I didn’t have to mess around looking for a place to ditch Dorothy before I collected my ticket and headed inside.
From the information packet, I knew that I needed to go to the fifty-eighth floor. The elevator doors opened the moment I pressed the button, like they knew I was in a rush.
After I was ascending into the sky—and towards what I hoped was my future—I reached into my bag and pulled out my favorite lip gloss, applying an even coat that gave my mouth the perfect pink, glittery shine.
It's going to be a piece of cake,I told myself, trying to calm the nerves that had me fidgeting with my clothes in the reflection of the stainless-steel doors.You're charming. People love you. And this will give you a chance to network and get some insider knowledge about what it's really like to run one of these things.
Everything I want wants me more.
I repeated the affirmation to myself until the doors opened, spitting me out into a row of elevators opening to the lobby, tucked neatly behind a pair of glass double doors bearing the company's name and logo—a little orange paint dab swish with thick sans serif font.
Freespire.
“Hey,” the beta behind the desk called, a pair of chunky hot pink glasses perched on the edge of her nose, and her light brown hair pulled up into a pair of slightly asymmetrical space buns. ‘Flora,’ her nametag read. “You here for the playtest?”
“Uh, yeah, sorry I'm a little?—”
“Late? Don't worry, they were running behind anyway,” she said, clicking her mouse a few times. “You must be Eva, right?”
“That's me,” I nodded, tucking my hands behind my back to stop from picking at my nails.
“Perfect, here's your visitor's badge, make sure you wear that so it's visible,” she offered me a black lanyard with orange lettering down the side, the card on the bottom, in large letters marking my name, ‘EVA,’ and my—however temporary—role, ‘playtester.’
I could've screamed with excitement, my fingers trembling as I took the badge and put the lanyard around my neck, fluffing out my hair.
“Let me walk you. I know you’ve already signed the NDA, but it's best that you don't stumble into any place you're not supposed to be.”
“Thank you,” I said as she rounded the desk.
I wasn't tall, but this girl wastiny, barely grazing my shoulder as she led me through the lobby into a seating area with a couple of people working on laptops. Windows encased the space, flooding the floor with light as we wove between couches and low tables towards a metal staircase that led to a small loft with more seating above, a half-wall separating the open-floor-plan office from the landing.
“I love your hair,” the girl said as we walked.
I nearly missed it, I was so busy gawking at… everything. The rows of desks, the glassed-in breakout rooms, and offices. And, the most impressive thing—giant, true-to-size statuettes of the Kill Floor survivors and killers dominating the center of the space.
It was kind of like being in a cathedral dedicated to my favorite video game, drawing to mind the church motifs in another title I used to play before I'd really gotten addicted to more fast-paced survival RPGs.
So fucking cool.
