DakkyDuck: Ah, so you saw my clip, hmm? Did it upset you? Think carefully before you answer. You don’t want to give too much away.
TheRealCreator: Something tells me Jackson Cross is tired of people drooling over him. I think he got into this business for pure passion. Just like you with your streams. You can’t fake enthusiasm like that.
DakkyDuck: What changed, then? Oh, and I’ll add a ‘hypothetically’ so we can keep playing this game.
I smile again, energized, not even remotely tired. Normally, on nights like these—when the corporate side of this business has emptied me out—I just want to pass out when I get home. But not now.
I answer her honestly.
TheRealCreator: Money. Once money gets involved, everyone changes. People no longer care as much about the creation, about creating something that makes people care. It becomes sums. Business relationships. Networking. You take a man built on programming and passion and maybe a little arrogance, and you turn him into another gray suit.
After I click send, I lean back, breathing slowly. I don’t share this side of me with anyone. Not even Pete. I keep it inside, thinking of my thousands of employees, of satisfying the shareholders, all while trying to make Empire’s Fall as good as it can be.
DakkyDuck: I’m sorry that happened to you. That must really suck. But Jackson Cross built something special. Magical, even. Do you have any idea how many people have met through Empire? How many weddings have happened as a result? There are babies in this world who wouldn’t exist without it.
I clear my throat, shocked by how touched I am. She calls mestranger, and I should hold onto that. Remind myself of how dangerous this could be. But the more I talk to her, the less I care.
There’s only one real solution. End the chat. Cut all contact.
But already, I know I’m never doing that.
DakkyDuck: You should be proud, Jackson.
I swallow. Still holding back. If I confirm that it’s me, it’s on paper. Perhaps I’ve misjudged her. Maybe she will try to use me.
TheRealCreator: I find it difficult to trust people. Especially online.
DakkyDuck: That announcement was pretty clear. If you think holding back here makes any difference, then fair enough.
TheRealCreator: I want to show you something. Log in to Empire and add me. My name is the same there as it is here.
DakkyDuck: Okay… Give me five.
As I wait, I remind myself it’s not too late to back out. Perhaps she meant what she said, and she really isn’t attracted to me. Ifthis is one-sided, there’s no future. My attraction to her is crystal clear, no doubt, just pure, ferocious hunger.
This morning, I woke with a stiff hunger in my briefs, as lingering dreams clung to me. Her thick hips. Her confident smile. Her curly, gorgeous hair.
DakkyDuck: Done.
I boot up the game, accept her friend request, then enter one of the lowest populated servers and invite her to my game. My avatar is a human who looks, I realize too late, suspiciously like Jackson Cross… black-silver hair, a suit designed for a special event that wouldn’t look out of place in an office. I even have the special nickname,CEO, which was earned four years ago through a minigame.
Her character is a tall, graceful elf, with none of the curves that the woman herself has.
TheRealCreator: I prefer your real life avatar.
I tell her once she’s inside my base.
The elf laughs, then a chat window pops up above her head.
DakkyDuck: Are you kidding? Look at me here. I’m like a supermodel!
TheRealCreator: You’re like a supermodel in real life.
DakkyDuck: Erm, no, I’m not.
TheRealCreator: Okay, maybe not. But that’s only because the standards are beyond fucked, beautiful. I like your wide hips. That thick, perfect ass. That big smile and those wide, excited eyes.
She moves her character closer.
