Page 45 of Glitched Play

"Connections," I correct. "We're not giving them reasons to stay. We're creating reasons they won't want to leave."

I move closer to his desk, excitement pushing the nerves aside. This is the part I couldn't explain before. The game isn't the problem. The game is good. But good games are everywhere. What we're missing is everything that happens around the game.

“Rookie classes so new players don’t enter alone. Mentor pairings so somebody experienced is responsible for pulling them in. First-rival achievements, because the fastest way to make someone care is to give them a person they want to beat.”

Witt leans back in his chair, watching me now instead of the report. I keep going.

“Team welcome messages that make them feel claimed from day one. Community challenges that require players to show up for one another. Recognition for first wins, first losses, and first rematches, because those are the moments people remember."

His eyes narrow slightly. Not disagreement. I've spent enough time with Witt to recognize when his brain is moving faster than the rest of him.

"You're creating history before they have any," he says.

Pointing at him, I say, "Exactly."

I grab my tablet. "Actually, it'll make more sense if I show you."

I glance at the glass walls surrounding his office, then back at him. "Can I get these up there?"

He taps something on his keyboard. The clear glass flickers, then my mockups spread across it one after another.

I stop. "Okay. That's ridiculously cool."

"Continue."

Of course. Billion-dollar disappearing glass technology and I get continue.

I walk to the first mockup. "This is what I mean."

I stammer at first then my nerves disappear. “If we want people to treat these teams like real teams, then we have to give them real ways to show loyalty. Not just online, in person. Team logos. Team colors. Printable flags. Fans should be able to download them, print them, and bring them to in-person e-gaming events so they’re waving flags for their favorite teams the same way Austin Armadillos fans show up in Parker O’Ryan’s number eighty jersey. People don’t just cheer because someone is good. They cheer because they feel like the team belongs to them."

He stops tapping. It’s such a small thing, the silence of his fingers against the desk, because he’s been measuring my argument one quiet tap at a time. His focus drops to the slide, then shifts across the projected logos, the flags, the onboarding flow, the achievement path.

His gaze lifts back to mine. "You’re right.” His gaze lifts. “However.”

I grin. "There he is." Something suspiciously close to amusement appears in his eyes before he stands.

And since I didn’t expect him to move, we collide.

Not hard.

Enough that my shoulder brushes his chest. His hand closes around my elbow automatically to steady me. For one impossible second, nothing else exists.

The contact lasts maybe two seconds. Maybe less. Still long enough for me to become painfully aware of the heat of his hand. Long enough to notice how broad his shoulders are. Long enough to forget what I was saying.

His fingers loosen immediately, keeping professional and annoyingly appropriate. "You solved it." His voice sounds slightly rougher or maybe it’s my imagination.

I clear my throat.

"Like I said, you hired the best."

He studies me for a second, then says quietly, "I'm starting to think I did."

And somehow that affects me more than it should.

By the time I get home, my brain feels like someone ran a marathon through it.

The first week at Synatrix has been everything I wanted. Exciting and challenging but most of all working with someone who has vision for the future. But it’s more exhausting than my previous job and my brain is tired of exercising.