“Ethan—”
“And making video games isn't it. Not to him. I need to show him it’s worth it.” I grab my controller, then set it down again. “You know what? Speaking of that, I've got a deadlinetonight. My senior project is due for beta testing at midnight.”
“We can talk about?—”
“Why am I fucking around playing Mario Kart when I should be working?” I'm already standing, heading for the stairs. “I'll see you later, man.”
“Ethan, come on?—”
But I'm already in my room, door closed, sinking into my desk chair. The article link stares at me from my phone. Accounting. My dad wants me to be an accountant.
Dad
Just want you to have options, son. Real options.
I turn my phone face down and open my game files.
Midnight lurks outside the skylight,but inside my attic room, every LED blares like it’s high noon. The house is empty—Freddie’s at Alex’s, probably making out during a nature documentary. Troy’s convincing Delilah that watching him play NBA counts as quality time, and Alfie’s definitely three hours deep into some physics podcast that would make my brain leak out my ears.
Which means I’ve got five hours of blessed silence to push the next build of Fault Line to thirty anonymous sophomore beta testers who will absolutely destroy me if I’m even five minutes late.
I’m hunched at my desk, death-gripping a stress ball while Fault Line glows on my second monitor. Two years of work staring back at me, and the ending still feels like lying to someone’s face.
You play as this apprentice wizard. Typical chosen one,except the twist is your mentor—the Archmage—is kind of a dick. The whole game is about proving yourself worthy by crafting this ultimate staff. Six hours of gameplay dedicated to collecting rare crystals, carving runes, and learning spells. The staff becomes everything. Your identity. Your power. Your proof that you matter.
Then the final boss fight happens. Dragon—because, well, it has to be a dragon. And in the climactic moment, your staff—this thing you’ve poured everything into—shatters.
Currently, the Archmage just... fixes it. Waves his hand, sparkles everywhere, “Good job, kid. You passed the test.” Roll credits while epic music swells.
It’s bullshit. Safe, cowardly bullshit.
A soft knock interrupts my spiral.
“It’s open.”
Alfie shuffles in, hair defying gravity. “Still drinking battery acid?”
He nods at my Code Red pyramid. Three cans deep and counting.
“Fuel of champions,” I mutter, not looking away from the screen. “Unlike your pretentious leaf water.”
“My tea is calming and sophisticated. And that, my friend, is the fuel of kidney stones.” He navigates my disaster zone of crumpled concept art and crashes onto the futon. “How’s it going? Today’s deadline, yeah?”
“It’s...” I slam my mouse down. “Fucked. Well, just the ending’s fucked.”
“Show me.”
I queue up the final cutscene. Alfie watches in silence—the dragon fight, the staff breaking, the Archmage’s instant forgiveness and magical fix. When it ends with the triumphant orchestra, his face scrunches up almost comically.
“That’s...” He searches for words. “Incredibly unsatisfying.”
“I know.”
“Like, offensively safe.”
“Iknow.” I spin to face him. “But every time I try to write something real, something that actually means something, I just”—I make a vague gesture—“freeze up.”
Alfie studies me with that look he gets when he’s about to ask something uncomfortable. “What’s the story actually about? Like, underneath the wizard stuff?”
